It was three o’clock in the morning when my wife went into labor with Parker. When it happened, she started whisper-yelling at me from our master bathroom. You know what I mean by “whisper-yelling”? It’s like you’re whispering, but loudly (I don’t know why she whisper-yelled; we were the only people in the home at the time so she could’ve shouted at the top of her lungs if she wanted).

I remember waking up in a daze not knowing where I was, and it took a moment for me to get my bearings. When I finally came around, my wife’s muted screaming suddenly registered with my brain:

“Wesley! I THINK my water broke!” I distinctly remember her saying, “I THINK!”

My eyes were wide and I wasn’t sure what my response should be since it seemed my wife hadn’t quite determined if her water had absolutely broken, so I replied with, “What should we do?”

She looked at me slightly annoyed and said, “We should go to the hospital.” She spoke these words at normal volume. The whisper-yelling was apparently no longer necessary.

The next thing I remember is driving our SUV to the hospital while my wife breathed in the passenger seat. I remember looking down and realizing I was wearing pants. I didn’t remember putting on pants. But I was glad I did.