Tomorrow morning the Wife is scheduled to give birth to a little girl. We arrive at the hospital at 7 a.m., the nurses hot-wire her to Pitosin, (insert more car metaphors here), and we’re off to the races. I can’t believe this is the third time she’s done this, and I’m especially proud of how she’s moved forward from the loss of our newborn son last year. That experience makes this upcoming event surreal: It is difficult to conjure the image of me holding a newborn this time tomorrow. It’s amazing (truly) that any of them survive. I console myself that, fortunately, the odds are in our favor: you can’t beat the odds of a successful child birth in the United States in the 21st century.

Updates along with photos tomorrow soon.