It was Sunday morning, just two days after the birth. I had stayed over at the hospital Saturday night and so reeked of a combination of hospital bed, dirty newborn diaper, and just a hint of BO from the ‘night terrors’ that leave me drenched in sweat. Considering in my disheveled state I was pretty much an embarrassment to humanity, and the exhaustion left me in a ‘drunk Hasselhoff’ level of coherence, I was unceremoniously sent home by my wife so I could get cleaned up, feed the cats, get the mail, check on Narnia, etc.

With great reluctance (and yet reckless speed) I drove home, arriving to a rousing chorus of meows from a pair of cats happy to see me, or more specifically my forefinger, the one that pops open their Fancy feast. After feeding the animals (whose enthusiasm quickly faded once the tuna was gone), I took a shower, shaved, painted my nails and put my face on. I toasted some pop tarts and was reading casually through the mail, enjoying at long last a moment of serenity and normalcy in a weekend that was anything but. Naturally, the phone rang.

“Hey, it’s Kim. The pediatric orthopedist is here. Can you come back like right now?”

There was urgency and trepidation in her voice. And yet there were steaming morsels of Poptarts begging for consumption. Oh the sacrifices of fatherhood, felt so early on! I dutifully hastened to accomplish my homebound tasks, gathering a wide and varied array of items I had been sent to get. Then it was back in the car for a furious drive to the hospital. Finally a mad dash to the elevators, a slow ride up, and then I burst through the door to fond a genial man sitting in the room with my wife, and my newborn child wearing what appeared to be clinical lederhosen.

What had occurred in my absence was the arrival of a pediatric orthopedist to our room, and the subsequent diagnosis that our new daughter had subluximol hip joints. In essence, her hips had the ability to dislocate. While I personally believe that to be a superpower, medical science disagrees, and corrective measures are taken early in life to prevent the issue from causing pain later on life.

To correct the issue, Justine was placed into a Pavlik harness, which sounds like something some Eastern European Cold War doctor dreamed up, which also happens to be how the thing looks. And, in truth, it actually WAS invented by an Eastern European doctor. The harness is designed to keep the baby’s hip joints in the proper location so that everything will form correctly. The timeframe we were given was three months, and since she has a pretty mild case, that should be all.

At first, it was a hard pill to swallow. You have this conception that your baby is perfect in every way, and being told that she has to wear this ‘corrective device’ shatters that notion. But in truth, it’s a small price to pay for a lifetime free of hip issues for her. And further research on hip dysplasia demonstrates that things could be much worse – some kids even need to be in a half body cast for months – which makes the harness seem quaint by comparison.

In any case we had to quickly come to grips with the situation, and figure out the laughable task of trying to weave a diaper around the darn thing. On the plus side, it’s a great stabilizer for her -for example, when space is tight we can hang her on the clothes hook on the back of the bedroom door. And she’s all set with a costume for Oktoberfest.

After the madness of the orthopedist subsided, we got back to our hospital routine of sleeping when possible, entertaining visitors, and trying to decipher the mysteries of breastfeeding. We took full advantage of the nursery, sending Justine off to sleep, get her oiled changed, tire rotation, etc.

Monday night we were able to do a live video broadcast with my parents and siblings, much to their delight. Free WiFi in the hospital is a wonderful thing.

Finally, on Tuesday morning, the hospital decided to kick us out, citing noise complaints and excessive drunkenness. It was an emotional moment, losing the safety net that the postpartum floor provides to new parents. As we buckled Justine into her car seat and climbed into the car, the realization that this wholly dependent bundle of goo was now solely our responsibility started to sink in.

Better stop at the liquor store on the way home…

Part One: A Procedure to Remember

Despite having a week of extra preparation time, there was still a flurry of activity at the house the night before ‘B-Day’ (or I guess in this situation, ‘C-Day’). We had to finish cleaning the house, repack the hospital bag (now a little more robustly since we knew we were staying), change the oil on the cats, etc. Eventually we went to bed, wondering if we would be able to sleep with the impending EOLAWKI (End of Life As We Know It). Amazingly we both slept reasonably well.

In many ways, the morning of the c-section was like a normal day of work for me. I got up at the usual time, took a shower, had some tea and poptarts, completed the NY Times crossword puzzle, wrote a few stanzas of poetry and of course finished my vigorous calisthenics routine. After a few “before” pictures with both of us and Kim’s parents who had traveled up for the event, Kim waddled into the CR-V and we drove to the hospital to meet our destiny.

We parked the car and took the long ride up the elevator again. After the version a couple of weeks ago, we knew what to expect. Or at least we thought we did. Last week, the nurse took us right down to our room – this time they seemed somewhat surprised that we had arrived. We actually had to sit in a little waiting area so that they could “figure it out.” We would later learn that this minor delay was actually the first of many.

We finally were taken back to a prep room – much smaller than the room that we were in for the version, which was in actuality a “birthing chamber” – that explains the claw marks on the furniture. Our little prep room consisted of a gurney, some equipment, a sink, a small shelf, a stool, and a TV. Kim changed into her hospital gown and assumed her position on the gurney. Then we went through the same preparation steps we had gone through a week before – some time on the fetal monitor, reinsertion of the IV (much less painful this time), answering all the questions we had before (first baby? smoker? education level? boxers or briefs?), a “mani-pedi” and a little hot stone massage. After about an hour of constant activity, we suddenly found ourselves alone, assuming that preparation now moved to the operating theatre.

Apparently not. Because we sat, and sat, and sat. Kim’s parent’s stopped by to say hello and ended up staying with us as we watched Good Morning America, and then the Price is Right. Our section was scheduled for 11:30, and as that time came and went we started to get a bit antsy. After the Drew Carey bowed out and the afternoon news came on, we started to get a little more concerned. If we made it to Guiding Light, we decided, we were out of there. I had seen a home C-Section kit online and said we’d just do that. Kim wanted to wait a bit longer.

Finally around 12:30 our OBGYN arrived and came in to say hello. That’s when we found out that we had been “bumped” for an emergency C-Section for someone else. This was pretty upsetting (I had, in fact, sprung for the “Gold Club” membership to ensure that this would not happen, but apparently the fine print talks about such exceptions) but they were almost done and then it would be our time. As it turns out, the hospital was making a Guinness attempt with section deliveries – we ended 5th in what eventually turned out to be 8 procedures they performed that morning.

The nerves started to creep back in as the activity in the room picked up again. We met with our anesthesiologist who once again gave us the worst case scenarios. He seemed a bit more optimistic than the one we had seen at the version. The nurse came in with a funny hat for Kim, and a full on jump suit for me, complete with funny hat AND mask. With a lot of emotion, it was time and they rolled Kim out of the prep and in to get the spinal, while I stayed back to don my scrubs and watch the end of E!’s Daily 10 (Jamie Lyn had her baby!)

Standing in the waiting room, I couldn’t help but wonder what lay ahead for me. In the immediacy of course, I knew I was about to see, for the first time, the inside of Kim’s gut. Also meeting my first born child. But in the long run, would I ever be as free and independent as I was at this exact moment? Part of me thought about bolting, but I realized that the valet was probably at lunch so I was stuck. Another part of me thought I should take advantage of my last few minutes of ‘child-bachelorhood’ – but I didn’t have a beer handy and I don’t think the nurses would have appreciated all the cursing. As I pondered these thoughts, the nurse came back and said those fateful words: “We are ready for you.”

I was led back to the operating theatre, which I can describe in two words as “big” and “bright.” In retrospect this should not have been surprising – doing surgery in a dark closet would probably not be ideal. Kim was positioned on a table, her arms straight out from her body. Just below her neck was a large curtain that covered everything from her neck down. I could see behind her 4 folks working on her belly already – apparently they don’t wait for me to begin. I came in and set down next to her, inquiring how she was feeling, whether it was what she expected, and who played Urkel on Family Matters. (It was Jaleel White). She was doing fine – she was desperately trying to move her legs, for the simple reason that she could not feel them.

I was only in there for a minute or two when they told me to have my camera ready.

“For what?” I inquired.

“Your baby is coming out in like 3 seconds.” they replied.

“Oh.” I had heard this was a quick procedure, but geez. Within a second they were hauling me up and I saw everything. Kim’s gut. Our OBGYN. A screaming baby. Kim’s splayed open gut. Of course the camera misfired and I missed the key shot. But who cares – the object of our journey was out and entirely covered in goo. They flashed her over the screen, (“It’s a girl!”) so Kim could get a look and then whisked her over to another table to get cleaned off. Kim was in tears.

I went over to the table to stare at this tiny person, still not entirely believing that it was now our responsibility. It took a few seconds to realize that our baby had her feet over her head. Stuck in the womb with her legs up at her head for 9 months left our baby believing that the proper way to lay was in the pike position. It was the second glimpse of our child that Kim had – and something I think Kim will always remember.

I watched and snapped photos as they put the goo in her eyes, and gave her the Vitamin K shot. They did the APGAR test (9.9 – definitely going on the Harvard application) and then took her over and weighed her (6 pounds, 11 ounces). A length would have to wait because of her current “leg up” predicament. Meanwhile, Kim had asked to see the placenta, which had been removed and put into an aluminum bucket which looked remarkably like the one that I make turkey burgers in. The nurse brought it over, giving Kim a detailed explanation of what was what, etc. Gross.

Finally they wrapped up our new baby, swaddling her tightly into a little ball and then thrust her into my arms. It was at this moment that the reality of the situation took hold – up until now I had felt in many ways as just a photographer for this life-changing event – now I knew that one of the lives that was changing was my own. With that, the nurse led me and the baby out of the room and into recovery as the doctor finished closing up Kim.

I sat in a glider in a room just down the hall, holding Justine as she slept, waiting for my wife and repeating the same thing in my head over and over again.

“Don’t drop her, don’t drop her, don’t drop her…”

Justine Eleanor Frantz
Born at 1:12 PM on an overcast day in Syracuse (high of 72 degrees)
Weighing in at 6 lbs 11 oz
Length is 21 1/4 inches
Head covered in “a little hair” – jet black
Entered the hospital at 9:35, delivery at 1:12 PM (3 hours, 37 minutes)
33 Home runs hit in Major League Baseball this day

We rose early on Monday, Kim making me a wonderful breakfast of eggs benedict (with a marvelous hollandaise sauce) while we sat out on our veranda, watching the sun rise and cherishing potentially our last moments sans-children together. Actually, I stumbled out of bed at the last possible moment, fell asleep in the shower and wolfed down a couple pop-tarts while Kim gathered all of our things for the hospital and spent a few minutes staring longingly at all the food she was not allowed to eat because of the procedure. We piled our stuff into the car and headed off to the hospital.

It was a bit unnerving to take the elevator right up to Labor and Delivery.  While we both had a gut feeling that today wasn’t ‘the day,’ we still had to go into this procedure assuming that it would be.  For all we knew, we’d be coming back down this elevator in a few days with a screaming baby rather than in just a few hours with all of our unused gear.  Needless to say, the elevator ride up was pretty silent.

The nurses station quickly put us in a room and began the laborious process (no pun intended) of completing all the various tasks that necessitated our early arrival (again, no pun intended).  There were, of course, questionairres to fill out, more paperwork to sign, even more blood to be drawn.  By far the worst thing they had to do was to put an IV into Kim, should the need arise in the event of an emergency.  Kim had never had an IV before and had assumed that it was pretty much the same as giving blood.  Turns out in this particular case the IV they put in had to be, for various reasons, about the size of a garden hose.  Ouch.  Kim was also hooked up to a fetal monitor to make sure everything was good down there.

We got to meet all sorts of folks while we waited for our diminuitive OBGYN.  Suzanne, our nurse, was absolutely wonderful, and talked to us at length, answering our questions about nearly everything.  She handled most of the pre-procedure stuff.  We also met an anesthesiologist, who scared the crap out of us (which is apparently what anesthesiologists do) with a wide variety of worst case scenarios.  (“Should a lightning bolt strike your gurney during an emergency procedure in the operating theatre, we immediately knock you out with an ether-infused rag.”) Our last visitor before the procedure was “Mark,” (no relation) a medical student who “won” the opportunity to observe the version and was “very excited” to do so.

Just minutes before the procedure, in came a resident with a fancy ultrasound machine, to both a) make sure that Chi-Baba had not suddenly come to his/her senses and rolled over and b) to provide some fancy visuals during the version.  She gooped up Kim’s belly and waved her magic wand, and then this confused look came over her face – not something you want to see a doctor do.  See, apparently our fetus was in a very, very odd position.  She figured out, with no help from “Mark,” that the baby would not be able to move the 90 degrees down to lock into position, but would, in fact, need to roll 270 DEGREES to get where he/she needed to be.  Kim and I figured out at this point that this probably wasn’t going to work.

Finally our OBGYN arrived, and wasted little time getting into position to do the version.  She was going to push on the head, while the resident would push on the butt.  The medical student’s task was to keep the ultrasound wand on top of the baby’s heart to monitor it during the move.  We were ready.

Well, at least Kim and I were.  We both noticed that the two women were about to push in the SAME direction.  I’m no geometry expert, but i doubt something will rotate if you push both ends of it the same way.  We mentioned this to them (rather forcefully) and they went back into the huddle.  After some ‘chalk talking’ and a review of the playbook, they were on the same page.  “Mark,” on the other hand, had absolutely no idea what he was doing.  One of the key’s to successfully ultrasounding is “firmly pushing” the wand into the gut – something our med student seemed to think really meant “feather touch”.  Thus, detecting a heart beat was at best a hit or miss affair for him.  One would think his ability to do this would be key to this whole affair, but the doctor’s seemed non-plussed about it, and so we didn’t worry.  Well, maybe a little.

With everyone set now, the version began.  I was shocked.  It’s hard to describe what they do.  Well, actually it’s kind of easy.  Our OBGYN pushed REALLY HARD on the top part of the womb while the resident pushed REALLY HARD on the bottom part of the womb, while Kim looked to be in A LOT OF PAIN, while I tried to calm her down with A LOT OF PRAISE and “Mark” looked like a “DEER IN HEADLIGHTS”.  I’m amazed that what they did to my wife is a) an accepted medical practice b) apparently ok for the baby and c) not illegal.  I looked down at one point and Kim’s tummy was basically compressed into an 8 inch area and both doctors looked like they were moving loaded bookcases. Frightening.

As quickly as it began, it was over.  It became obvious that this stubborn little monster had no intentions of moving.  It was an emotional epiphany for us, because it meant for sure that a C-Section was in our future, something that we had considered a ‘worst-case scenario.’  Our doctor assured us it wasn’t anything that we did, that these things happen, that things are darkest before the dawn, there are many fish in the sea, and a variety of other colloquialisms that weren’t germaine to the situation at all.  After a bit of consoling, the room emptied out and we were left to ourselves to pick up the pieces and wait as they monitored the health of the baby after the ‘violence.’

After about an hour, we were released, and took the long walk back down the hallway to the elevator.

The way is now clear for us – we will be back to finish this journey.  And soon.

Humpty Chi-Bumbty sat head up in the womb,
Humpty Chi-Bumpty soon ran out of room.
All the hospital nurses and our OBGYN,
Couldn’t turn Chi-Bumpty around again.

Our ‘Cuse bash was held on the Sunday eight days after the Philly affair concluded. The original plan had been for that Saturday, but it turned out (to our amazement) that attendance would be approximately 400% better if it was shifted one day into the future. Easy going folks that we were, we graciously agreed to the change, although it was difficult for me to abandon my early Sunday morning golfing plans. After all, once baby arrives I will no longer be able to golf (or go to bars, attend baseball games, read John Grisham novels, or have any fun whatsoever that doesn’t involve ‘changing Mayor McPoopy’).

The entire shindig was primarily planned by my boss’s wife, Jennifer, whom Kim had spent many days with over the past few months helping take care of her children. The shower was to be a bit more traditional than the Jack and Jill bbq of the previous week, with the attendees primarily of the female variety and the agenda relatively ‘standard’ baby shower fare. Helping out Jennifer was my co-worker’s wife, Jenny and Kim’s mother in law, Claudia. As always, I lent my considerable expertise in “staying out of the way” to the planning. Judging by its success, I would give myself the lions share of the credit.

It was an awesome shower. The food was spectacular – Jennifer and her parents had spent countless hours cooking the night before to create a ridiculous set of hor doeurves that both tempted the olfactory senses and tickled the palate. Er. They smelled great and tasted better. I tried and loved everything (except the spring rolls, which my boss had mentioned that he had lovingly crafted and thus I avoided it like a Florida tomato). The sheer volume and variety was enough to even make Martha Stewart throw down her oven mitts in frustration.

As the women gorged themselves on the “tender victuals,” all were amused with some standardized baby games, including my personal favorite, the “cut the ribbon to what you think the circumference of the pregnant woman’s belly encompasses.” This is a fascinating exercise, if for no other reason than the fact that if you attempted this particular game at any other time in a woman’s life you’d be subject to open handed backslaps to the face (in a best case scenario) to second degree murder (in a worst case). Although a jury of female peers would probably rule ‘justifiable homicide.’

I amused myself during this period by wandering around with my fancy new camera, taking glamour shots of the ladies wolfing down mini-quiches and fruit kabobs. I also chased around my boss’s little dog in a vain attempt to tire the thing out. Honestly, the thing has ram scoops on its back to turbocharge it’s engine. Sensing my uselessness, when the time came to open the loot, the hosts graciously asked if I would like to participate, because after all, half of the baby is legally mine. I declined however, opting instead to hide in a corner and try to avoid directly staring at all the poop related accessories we received.

A big thank you to Claudia, Jenny K, and of course Jennifer, for putting on a wonderful affair. I’m sure it’s a memory my wife and I will treasure always. I’m sure that the fetus had fun too – although honestly he/she probably won’t mention it when you meet him/her.

As the shower came to a close, the feeling was somewhat bittersweet. Now that the last shower is over, the final gifts received, and all of our friends once again returning to the bridges many of them live under, the truth of the situation has become painfully clear. There are no more hurdles or milestones left to hang on for, no more big events or travel that we ‘just need to make it to.’

All that we have left to do is to complete the inevitable outcome that seemed so far away 9 months ago – meet this thing that lives in my wife’s stomach in person.

And eat the leftover deviled eggs, of course.

After it sinks in that, indeed, our child is a stubborn little guy/gal that would rather sit comfortably inside Mom rather than actually assume a position that would allow for easier ejection, you begin to look for ways of ‘nudging’ said fetus in the right direction. Or at least helping the process along. Decades ago, I’m assuming that discovering ways to turn a breech baby would involve a) a trip to the library b) a call to the local women’s rotary club or c) a pilgrimage into the jungles of Costa Rica to find a reclusive shaman named D’Atumbo who, legend has it, can turn breech babies simply with his gaze. Today we have the Internet.

Go ahead, search for “turning a breech baby” in Google. I’ll wait.

A lot of results, eh? (Incidentally, by searching in Google you are apparently qualified to offer said results to medical patients should you ever become a sonographer). Yessir, turning a breech baby is apparently one of those topics that generate a large number of ‘home-brew’ solutions, which far and away underscores the fact that there is no good solution to the problem. Granted, many of the solutions list alongside their instructions that this or that particular method is “80% effective” or “works 90%” of the time. This immediately raises red flags for me – if it was indeed that effective, wouldn’t our doctor advise us to “go get adjusted” or “burn sticks and stick them on the pinky toe”?

Regardless of the odds of these methods working, we began in earnest, Operation Flipper (Flipper, King of the Womb). This consisted of a broad scale assault on the breech, and involved a variety of tactics. The most common of which had Kim either lying on an ironing board leaning on our couch, her hips well above her tummy. The converse to this was her on all fours, rocking back and forth ‘Mecca style’ with her head near the floor and her hips up in the air. She did this numerous times a day. Of course you are supposed to do these (and in fact all methods) when the baby is moving. And of course as soon as Kim assumed these hilarious positions, the baby stopped moving. He/she undoubtedly shares my sense of humor.

As the blood rushed to her head, Kim tried a few other ideas. First was putting music (a wide variety of styles was tried, from classical to country to Polish rock-operas) at the base of her stomach, with the idea being that the fetus would “swing down to investigate.” Along the same lines, I sat there with a flashlight and traced a path from the top of the fundus down to the bottom of the womb – this time the baby would “go towards the light.” In desperation, I began using Kim’s belly button as a telephone to Chi-Baba, in the hopes that even if the baby wouldn’t come to Toby Keith, he might come to my voice. I should’ve known better – I can barely get the cats to look at me when I yell at them, let alone a tiny human trapped in a bag of water.

We talked to an acupuncturist, inquired with chiropracters, consulted with a foot reflexologist, and even talked with a geologist. (He had no ideas on the baby, but suggested slate for our back patio) The foot reflexologist had me pinching Kim’s big toe, which apparently causing the spleen to move, which will tickle the baby’s foot and then cause it to turn. Well, I pinched her toe. A lot. And other than a bruise on her toe, the baby stayed put.

This baby is going nowhere. All we have left to do now is to try and have this thing manually turned, something that is done by our OBGYN and happens in Labor and Delivery in case something should happen. It is our last chance if this thing doesn’t decide to flip on it’s own.

Kim tells me almost every day that the baby has the hiccups. But you know, I’m just not so sure – I think that the baby is just in there, all day, laughing it’s butt off at us.

We awoke Saturday morning to the chaos. Kim’s mother played an integral role in the planning and execution of the shower, and so of course we felt obligated to help where we could. Kim was up early, helping with food preparation and the like. I chipped in by sleeping late and staying out of the way (a skill I’ve perfected over the years). Eventually Kim’s mother disappeared off to set up everything, and Kim and I found some time to ourselves. I turned on the big Final Four lacrosse game (SU vs. Virginia) while Kim proceeded to gather data for her dream interpretation studies. Eventually the appointed time drew nigh, and we piled into the CR-V and headed off to receive all of our free stuff – er – attend our baby shower extravaganza.

It was a wonderful affair. It had been decided early on that we wanted to do this particular shower “Jack and Jill” style – which basically means that men and women (and children) are invited and that “pail fetching” games are the order of the day. Our shower was held at a township park near where we grew up, which offered us a pavilion, bathrooms, and easy access to grills for food and such. There were games set up – traditional baby shower games like “guess the number of candies in the baby bottle,” a “Price is right” affair using common baby items, and, for the older kids, “spin the baby.” Also available were a wide variety of athletic balls, hula hoops, a bean bag toss, and of course, skeet shooting and monkey wrestling.

We spent much of the shower just meeting with all of our friends, many of which we hadn’t seen in a long time. They all commented, much to Kim’s chagrin, how small her belly looked so late in the pregnancy. While normally a desirable quantity (“why, you are one fat pregnant tub o’ lard” usually doesn’t play well), with the recent questions regarding the baby’s size, it was not something she wanted to hear. We munched on all manner of tasty treats, some catered, some home made. My father dutifully manned the grill for hours, supplying the ravenous throngs with hot dogs and hamburgers, while others partook of one of those 6 foot subs. And of course there was cake, in this case of three different flavors, yellow, chocolate, and diaper (the latter, while super absorbent, was not edible).

Eventually, we moved into the classic baby shower denouement, the traditional “opening of the gifts,” with each unwrapped discovery greeted with oooohs and ahhhs from the women, and disinterested looks (and occasional yawns) from the men. With a volunteer scribe noting down each gift and it’s giver (for later thank you card dissemination), we slowly but surely made our way through the mountain of bags and boxes and finally, at long last, had in our possession some of the key items that we would undoubtedly use day after day when Chi-Baba finally made his/her appearance. We were awed by the generosity of everyone and had difficulty jamming all of the bounty into our car for the long trip home.

It was a great shower, and one that we’ll always remember. Many thanks to all those involved in planning it, especially Kim’s mother, Peg, and my sister Karin and sister in law Christine. Without their efforts, I’d probably have planned it, and while there would have been a lot more beer, there would also most likely have been a lot less guests and a lot more evil stares from my wife.

With the shower behind us, we traveled to the hospital to visit with my father-in-law’s father, who lay gravely ill. It was difficult to see him that way, clearly in pain and struggling for each breath. Over the course of Sunday and Monday we visited him twice, communicating with him as best we could. He needed an oxygen mask at all times which made his mouth very dry, and so it was very hard to understand what he was saying. We talked to him when we could, telling him about the baby and trying to maintain our composure. Finally, it was time for us to return to Syracuse, and we gave our tearful goodbyes, knowing that we would never see him again. He passed away just a few days later at the age of 89.

It was heart-rending experience. The juxtaposition of celebrating a new life while simultaneously watching another end is far too weighty a subject for this irreverent blog to attempt to articulate. Needless to say, it was a powerful and profound trip back to Philly, and one which we will long remember.

For me, at least, the last memory I will have of Bud’s Dad (as we called him) came at the hospital on our first visit. At one point, Kim’s mother asked him his opinion on the gender of our baby. He struggled to speak, and she pulled back the oxygen mask to expose his face. And then he fought his way through the pain and very clearly said “boy.” He seemed very sure of it – only time will tell if he was right. Regardless, I think, in my mind at least, his memory will always be linked with our coming baby, even though neither will meet in this world.

Rest in peace, Matthew Balch. You will be missed.