Oh, baby!
This year, Groundhog Day took on a new and special meaning for my wife and me. No, we didn’t care if the rodent saw his shadow, and we weren’t particularly worried about the warmth of the spring to come. No, it was time to bring our little co-pilot into this world.
You see, my wife is a pilot and I am a flight attendant. Nine months ago, we established that it is possible for the cabin to get the cockpit pregnant. Now, after 14 wonderful years of marriage — and countless reminders that “Your lives are about to change” — our son was about to be born.
Since the baby was determined to be big, the doctors scheduled an induction. It was all very civilized. We checked in with a bag and made our way to a private room, where the nurses hooked up some monitors; my wife had the epidural, her waters broke and we watched the contractions grow. It was not at all like I had imagined. I had imagined boiling water, tearing sheets and running around the room frantically while my wife shouted horrible things at me.
None of that materialized. Instead, when the crucial time came, the doctor asked me if I wanted to deliver the baby. I was not expecting this. In my nervous confusion, my extensive vocabulary took over as I responded, “Uh, okay.”
The rest is but a blur of tears, joy and astonished wonder.
I had often dreamed of what our baby would look like when he was born, but it was nothing like I had pictured. He was blue, covered with a Crisco-like substance, had a long misshapen cone head, and was screaming at the top of his lungs. Yet, apart from my wife on our wedding day, he was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.
Two years ago, when I wrote a column saying babies should be banned from first class, a reader got so incensed that she wished me a lifetime of sterility. Luckily, that did not happen and now we had the formula of Cabin + Cockpit = Little Boy. No, in the future, you won’t see me traveling in first class with my son, but you might get quite a few columns about the ups and downs of traveling with younger fliers.
Meanwhile, please welcome to the world Oliver James Wysong, born February 2, 2006, at 6:30 p.m., weighing 8 pounds, 9 ounces. I promise to be the father to him that I never really had myself.
Thank you to all who have sent their kind wishes and congratulations. I will be back next week, with traveling tips and tales, but right now I have a diaper to change.