In the early morning hours of his business trip day, 4:20 AM to be exact, I poked my husband in the side and said, "This is it, get ready to go to the hospital." Groggy with sleep he responded, "Are you sure?" Believe me when I say that women know when they're going into labor. I supressed the impulse to whack him with a pillow. I had more important things to worry about.

Our little red Volkswagen Bug slipped into the hospital parking lot at 6:00 AM sharp. I was situated in my room in record time and things progressed nicely, until mid-afternoon when everything slowed and stopped. It seemed our baby had other plans. Twelve long and, at times, boring hours later our little bundle decided to make his appearance. At first glance our son's dark skin and black hair made me wonder if somehow he was switched right after birth.

Our baby was a funny little guy, not overly content as a newborn, but very alert, almost wise. He had a way of looking at you with knowing eyes. I was sure that he was sizing us up, and glad he didn't know how little we knew about raising children. He may have put in for a transfer.

I was ecstactic to be a new mother, but very nervous about taking a newborn home. I knew absolutely nothing about babies and confessed my limitations to the nurse. In all seriousness she informed me that they couldn't keep him. They maintained a strict "no return" policy at the hospital. I had a feeling she had heard my story before.

Those first days and weeks were a blur, but everyone survived. Of course our lives dramatically changed forever, and for the better I might add. Parenthood can bring out the best or the worst in people, I think. I choose to think it brought out our best. And so we decided to try it again, but our next miracle didn't come along for many, many years. More later.