Ready or not, here I come.
On Wednesday, April 17, 2013, my wife and I welcomed our second child into the world: a son by the name of Henry. He came fast as if sliding furiously quick down a sliding board, legs splayed, the umbilical cord looking more like a bungee cord than a metabolic interchange from mother to son; and so fast that our doctor — who had just stepped out for a bowl of chili — did not make it back in time to catch (actual words spoken from our room to the nurse’s station: “paging Dr. Arnold”; “he needs to run fast”; “he needs to run faster”), nor did our nurse who had been with us all morning; instead, a nurse from the hallway station had to dash in, though I should not use the word dash since she came in rather calm and nonchalantly until my wife said, “I NEED TO PUSH! I FEEL THE NEED TO PUSH”, then the nurse looks down and sees the baby’s head crowning, then tells my wife to push again, then here comes Henry (two pushes, I am not exaggerating) full speed ahead as heretofore mentioned above.
That’s my boy
He took his sweet time, missing his due date (April 15) by a couple of days after having previously psyched out my wife at the end of March with false labor for four days; then when he was ready, he was ready.
The middle name bestowed upon Henry is Wayne — after my dad. My dad was Reginald Wayne but everybody called him Wayne. My middle name is Wayne, too, in case you ever get a future trivia question regarding current and former Phenix, Virginia residents with the middle name Wayne.
Here’s another: what was the name of Mike’s Service Center before Mike’s Service Center? Dahm’s Duck Inn.
Perhaps, I can find a gold grill pacifier for Henry and we can refer to him as Lil Wayne. They are almost the same height already.