As I stated before, my view of hospitals and their inner workings has been horribly tainted by primetime television. On TV, baby deliveries are ALWAYS chaotic. There’s a doctor yelling at the mom, “Keep pushing, Mrs. Johnson! Your baby is almost here!” Mrs. Johnson is shouting expletives at her husband between contractions as Mr. Johnson brushes sweaty tendrils of hair out of her face and frightenedly asks the nurse, “Why is that machine beeping?! What does that mean?! What are you doing to my wife?!” The nurse responds with urgent annoyance, “Please step aside, Mr. Johnson! Let us do our jobs!”

Once again, hospital dramas had failed me.

The experience that Kari and I had in the labor and delivery room was almost Zen-like. The nurses were calm and kind. The doctor was confident and encouraging. There was a surreal stillness throughout the morning, even while Kari was pushing during her contractions. I’m sure Kari felt a lot more anxiety than I did, but even she admitted the delivery of our son was much more peaceful than she anticipated.

Little did I know we were experiencing the calm before a storm of overwhelming emotions.