The Chapel

(not the actual chapel)

I can say one thing: the maternity unit where Kat gave birth to her son does it the right way.  The rooms are private and comfortable.  The dads get to stay with mom and baby until they are discharged and actually have a comfortable place to sleep.  Mom and Dad are both given meals, and, on the night before they are sent home, are given a "romantic" meal to share in their room.  My favorite part was that there were no visiting hours; visitors could come at any time as long as the parents were comfortable with it.  This is the way it should be.

While the new fam was in the hospital, I stayed at their house in between hospital visits.  I did their laundry, brought them dinner, went on Dunkin runs (as a non-coffee drinker, I apparently cannot appreciate how horrible hospital coffee really is).  It was nice.  I met my friend and my goddaughter for lunch, got my car washed, went shopping for odds and ends for the new baby.  It was nice.  I was relatively distracted.

One night, on my way to visiting hours, I passed the hospital chapel.  (They are supposed to be "non-denominational," but they never are, are they?)  For those of you who know me personally, you know that my own spiritual practices are a bit left of center (let's leave it at that, shall we?) but still, I felt compelled to enter.  It was dark and empty and actually inviting.  I imagined countless mourning loved ones, coming to pray for the good health of their ailing relative. My purpose was different, however.  I've always been one who enjoyed communing with Spirit through the written word, so I approached the big guest book.  I wrote:

(not the actual guest book either)

"Thank you for the birth of their beautiful,  healthy baby boy."

I was going to leave, and then I went back and added:

"And please bring me a new baby soon."
   

Maybe that was selfish. but I didn't care.