So, last weekend, after Jeff A. left town (always the best time to become obsessively organized), I decided that we had to put the finishing touches on our preparations for the baby pick-up.
Tickets? Check. Passport? Check. Cash? Check. Applications for citizenship? Check. Sleepers and onesies? Check. Swaddling blankets? Check. Formula? Check. Bottles? Check. Burping cloths? Check. Carriers? Check. Clippers, thermometer, pacifiers? Check, check, and check. Wipes? Check. Diaper bags? Check. Diapers? Sh*t, I forgot the diapers. Screw it; they MUST have diapers in India.
Thankfully, we were prepared when we received the message last Monday that our surrogate had gone into pre-term labor at 33 weeks. And, of course, it had to be on a holiday. After running around frantically trying to change airline tickets, we heard word that the doctors were able to delay delivery. Phew! Good for us and the babies; bad for our poor surrogate. Grow, babies, grow.
But one nice aspect of the scare was that it provided clarity. In one instant, it suddenly became all about the babies. No distractions; no stopping at "Go". Just get me to India as soon as possible.
The subsequent message that they had delayed labor threw everything into limbo. Water torture. Drip, drip, drip. Is it today? Drip, drip, drip. Are we there yet? Drip, drip, drip. How about now?
This, however, is one case in which delayed gratification was better.
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