Little Guy

Gavin,

We’re now waiting and it seems a great delay. It isn’t though. It only seems so because the attempt to induce your mother failed. You decided you weren’t ready.

We’ll be visiting the hospital for the fifth time in six days today. They’ve been keeping a very close eye on you both. You’re doing great. They watch your heart beat via a monitor which spits information onto a graph. They look for elevations and slow downs based on the needs of your movements. You move often. Very often and with great escalation of heart beats and then moments of calmness brings it back down again. You have a strong heart.

Your grandmother, my mother, is on her way from Western MA.  She’ll be coming with us and staying at the house for your first week. Last week your grandmother was hauling down both of your uncles and your aunt. Your mothers side of the family was also here and waiting. When you decided to stay put a while longer they were sent home. That was when your grandmother informed me that after her water had broken I had decided I wasn’t ready and wouldn’t come say hello. When the doctors watch your heart monitor they ask your mother if you ever stop. She tells them no and that you take after your father. Then they all look at me. I’m generally standing. I hardly sit. Why sit when you can stand and why stand when you can walk.

Although this morning I did sit. In your room. I sat and read. I’ve decided that in a few years when I want to take you and your mother fly fishing early in the morning that if you’re not awake- I have a plan. Because I’m watching carefully and learn quickly I have a feeling you may have us waiting a few times through out your life. My plan is this. When you don’t wake up, because it’s too early to fish, I’ll fetch a favorite book of mine and go to your room. I’ll start reading next to your bed. It might be Hemingway. It might be Steinbeck.  We’ll find out. Either way, I’ll read to you until you realize you’re fully awake and ready to fish.

Your bedroom. RI. 8/31/15