A giant blue birthing tub in front of the piano overtook the living room; a large embroidered quilt—a privacy barrier— divided our family room from the dining room. Coffee cakes with small slivers eaten stood by in the kitchen. Stacks of towels, pads, plastic liners, and a music playlist were also at the ready, anticipating our moment of destiny. Our homeschooled daughter had asked us to host the home birth for her first child, and the time was near.
We were all awash with joyful anticipation during the baby shower and ensuing preparations. The nursery for my new grandchild looked adorable with its black corner canopy-crib and the pink-checkered curtains that I had made myself. All that was needed was for labor to begin. After a false alarm or two, the due date passed by.
