We quickly gather our things, throw them into the car, and head to the hospital. At the moment I have no idea how extremely close we are to the baby being delivered in the car. Ellen tells me later that she was squeezing her legs together as tightly as possible, trying to keep him where he was.
About 6:00, we pull into the hospital, I lift Ellen from the car into a wheelchair (thankfully she is about 5 feet tall and less than 100 pounds), and we rush her up to the labor ward. The nurses get her onto a bed, and then hand me some paperwork that they say must be completed before anything else can happen. I run back down to the front desk, complete everything as quickly as I can, and run back up.
It must be just after 6:15 at this point. I walk back into the delivery room and there is Xavier, on a table, still being cleaned up. For a second I can't figure out what I'm seeing. How is he already here? Then my eyes well up and the tears begin to flow. All I can say is, "My son."
The nurses stare at me with a mix of confusion, concern and amusement. I don't care at all. I am too busy admiring my son.
Later I will realize that he still looked a little half-baked that day and needed some time to unfold. But in the moment, he is just perfect.
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