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The call came in the early morning hours, 3:20 am in Paris, to be exact. A groggy Neal grabbed his phone from his night table and recognized the person calling from New York, which made it just after 9 pm there.
“What’s up, Moz,” Neal said around a yawn, realizing that his little buddy didn’t always respect personal space or time.
“It’s started, Neal!” Mozzie said excitedly.
“What’s started?” a sleepy man asked.
“The labor, Neal! Don’t you keep track of due dates?”
Suddenly, an expat living in France was wide awake. “Are you talking about Elizabeth? Is she having the baby now?”
“Are you dimwitted, Neal? Who else would I be talking about?” Mozzie sounded exasperated.
A now alert man ignored the criticism. “Since I’m sure you’ve inserted yourself right in the thick of things, what’s the ETA for the little guy, Moz?”
Neal could hear his bald friend heave a deep, frustrated sigh which meant he was probably rolling his eyes as well. “Well, let me clue you in, mon frere. It doesn’t work like that because nature doesn’t respect schedules and timetables. Babies come when they’re good and ready. Although at first, Mrs. Suit suspected it was more Braxton-Hicks’s contractions, but since her water just broke, they’re the real deal. Right now, the pains are still mild, and at last report, they were 15 minutes apart.”
“So, I think what you’re insinuating is that it may take a while before this baby makes his grand entrance. How’s she doing, Moz, and how’s Peter holding up?”
“The Suit is a basket case of nerves, but Mrs. Suit is serene. She religiously attended all her prenatal classes, and she’s completely prepared with a birth plan and a can-do attitude. She wants to try going the natural route, but as her doula, I made her aware that there is no shame in asking for an epidural.”
“You’re her what?”
“Doula, Neal. It’s a word derived from the ancient Greek word δούλα, which literally translated, means female servant. But in our modern-day vernacular, it’s a gender-neutral term that has come to mean a child birthing coach.”
“Um, since you’re obviously a man and have never personally experienced pregnancy, labor, or the delivery of a child, what makes you the expert, Mozzie?”
“I am not even going to dignify that question with an answer,” the little man replied with an attitude.
“Well, keep me posted, Buddy,” Neal said with a smile on his face.
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Later, at 7:30 am Paris time and 1:30 am New York time, Mozzie called again. “Okay, now we’re about to be on our way to the hospital to get a mother-to-be admitted. I’m taking everybody in my taxi since neither I nor Mrs. Suit trust the Suit to drive right now. I swear, you’d think this experience is on a par with a Defcon 1 alert by the military!”
“So, no nerves of steel for Peter, huh!” Neal laughed. “I think I’m starting to feel sorry for my old handler. Check back with me when you can, Moz, since it sounds like you’re going to be busy doing whatever it is you plan to do.”
The next call from “Mozzie the Doula” was at 11:47 am Paris time and 5:47 am New York time. “I stepped out for a few minutes on the pretense of getting some air. To keep you current, mon frere, there’s been steady progress here. Mrs. Suit is fully effaced and 9 centimeters dilated. Probably in the next hour, she’ll have to start pushing.”
“How’s Peter?” Neal wanted to know.
“Sweating bullets while he’s holding Elizabeth’s hand and eating all the lime suckers,” Mozzie snickered.
“I don’t think I understand everything about that statement, Buddy.”
“Well, your mouth tends to get dry when you’re panting,” Mozzie began to explain. “Oh, never mind, Neal. Just forget I said that. I wouldn’t want to overburden you with too much information.”
“So, it seems like it’s wheels down soon?” a listener asked hopefully.
“I’ll get back to you,” Mozzie cut the conversation short, but the lull was brief. Ten minutes later, there was an update, and the little man wasn’t happy.
“The Suit threw me out just at a crucial point in the process. He said this was supposed to be a private moment between a husband and wife.”
“Cut the guy some slack, Moz. Peter and Elizabeth have waited a long time for this miracle to happen and it should be an experience that unfolds between two people who are finally about to become parents.”
“Neal, I’ve delivered babies before, actually several in the back of my taxi. It is a true miracle to behold, and even the most jaded heart melts when a new little life takes that first breath. I wanted to be there to welcome a Burke progeny into the world. Now I’m relegated to pacing ugly green industrial carpeting in an obstetrical waiting room.”
“And I’ve been wearing out an antique Persian rug in my apartment,” Neal admitted. “You might think childbirth is wonderful, Moz, but I personally think it’s scary as hell.”
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A half-hour later, 12:15 pm Paris time and 6:15 am in New York, Mozzie was back on the horn. “He’s here, Neal! And he’s so perfect in every respect that it brought tears to my eyes. I snapped a quick picture, and it should pop into your phone any second.”
And when it did, the newborn made Neal’s eyes get misty as well because he was, indeed, a miracle who looked so loved in Elizabeth’s arms as Peter stared in awe wearing a goofy smile on his face.
“Gotta go, Moz,” Neal said to hide his sudden emotional state of mind.
“Wait, mon frere. Just so you know, they’re going to name the little guy ‘Neal.’ That should tell you how much you are missed.”
“Uh huh,” Neal whispered as he quickly disconnected. But after he ended the call, he let the happy/sad tears flow. In retrospect, he reasoned he had decided his own fate for what he thought was a good reason. Unfortunately, what he didn’t plan on was having to live and experience joy vicariously. And that really hurt much more than he could ever have imagined.