I would never have considered the possibility that grandparents might stand in for the delivery of a grandson - but when our daughter said she wanted her mother and me to be there when her first child was born, we quickly agreed.
We were not smart enough to predict it would happen in the middle of the night.Actually, we scrapped the U. Class of '64 reunion dinner at the Fort Douglas Country Club - one we had already paid for - to race down to Utah Valley Medical Center. Kelly's contractions were accelerating, and she and Preston had wisely checked in.
When we arrived, it struck me how much had changed since our last child was born. I remembered counting and timing contractions from a cold slab in an empty, stark, cold room - then racing down the hall to the delivery room - still not sure the doctor had arrived.
Then I was left out in the hall.
Now we watched a complex technical display including Kelly's blood pressure, the rate of her contractions and her baby's heart rate.
This was high-tech stuff.
Moreover, the room we would occupy through the birth was spacious and comfortable, the bed comfy and adjustable - and there were no other women in the same room separated by curtains.
Amy Garner, a highly personable and effective RN, told us she is accustomed to having many more people, of all ages, in the room, some against the walls and lying on the floor.
That's definitely too many - but I would never want to go back to the days when fathers nervously paced in a waiting room - as I did in anticipation of our first two children.
When they first let me enter the delivery room - with our third - doctor and nurse dressed me in a hospital gown and mask, then questioned me closely about my ability to "stand it."
Not this time.
Everyone assumed we would make it. So we hung around in street clothes, made well-meaning jokes and tried to give moral support to the mother-to-be - for about 8 hours. Kelly suffered through it in noble fashion, making witty comments in the middle of her most difficult contractions.
When the rest of us mentioned our increasing fatigue, she said, "Pardon me if I'm not sympathetic." She was amazing.
Wayne Mineer, a physician with exceptional bedside manner, made his first appearance at 1 a.m. When he came the second time, he was dressed for a delivery.
He performed with gentle expertise.
The official time of birth was 2:51 a.m. The 7-pound baby boy's cry was robust - but except for impressive sideburns, he was dangerously short on hair. My unwelcome genes, I guess.
Kelly held little Nicholas close to her and purred, as only a mother can, "I love you." Nick squirmed and rolled his eyes, not sure whether this world was better than the one he left.
Then husband and grandparents took turns holding him, while Kelly asked for a cherry Coke. Miraculously, the stress and anticipation had turned into happy exhaustion.
In the meantime, doctor and nurse exhibited quiet composure in the completion of the task.
During an interlude, I dropped two floors to the snack bar and picked up some hot pancakes and syrup for Kelly, who was predictably famished.
When we finally left the hospital for the sleepy drive back to Salt Lake City, it was 4 a.m. We knew our daughter's physical pain was far from over. But we also knew she was happy - and we were exhilarated to have been part of a bonding experience.