Before the actual birth, I tried to convince myself there could be no room for fear. That in fact, the only way I was going to get through this and come out smelling like a rose was to keep my wits about me, focus on my breathing and counting, and to push when I felt the need to push.
When the labor pains worsened I forgot all prior convincing, edged out of that window to stand on the ledge of fear. Trying to push this baby through the birth canal was like trying to push a blimp through the Washburn Tunnel. All the preparatory lessons flew off that ledge like birds to the wind.
As the sun rose over Houston, the rays of dawn crept through the hospital blinds, bringing with them the first cry of my newborn nine pound, fourteen ounce son, affirming that old adage that everything is bigger in Texas. And, as my eyes lit on the dozen yellow roses you had sent me, the thought that if I was going to come out of this smelling like a rose, the yellow rose of Texas was the one Iād want to be.