Photo by Horia Varlan
I’ve got nothing.
I’m serious. My sister-in-law is having contractions and I’m running around like every bumbling father in television who learns his wife is in labor. My brother ate supper while walking circles in the living room. The dogs are on the floor, chewing through their bones like they have power saws for jaws.
I have snacks. I have a bag packed. I’m ready to do this thing . . . vicariously, of course.
Of course, my sister is sitting on the couch, calmly looking at her laptop. She’s better off than we are.
No one ever told me that–when the mother goes into labor–everyone else in the family does, too.
I’m having contractions every two minutes.