As I write, today, I look out over a cobalt blue lake shadowed by wispy white clouds drifting ever so gently on a tepid wind. We got the call to be ready; Courtney is headed to the hospital. The due date is Saturday, April 25th, but Tommy called last night and indicated “things” seem to be progressing more rapidly. The baby’s been in position for a while, and Courtney had some headache issues yesterday which was a portend in the past of hormonal changes – the same things occurred with Little Tommy in 2017. My suitcase is open and awaits clothes in the dryer, and Christine is doing some spring cleaning and cleansing downstairs, making all intentions, at the moment, seem like birth. Getting ready for a new baby, especially this one, takes contemplative planning and patience. In the midst of a pandemic, that patience is tested as one wonders what is to become of the little guy’s entry into our world. Thank the stars for George Washington University Hospital’s preparation of Courtney being admitted because that anxiety of disease is lessened. Yet, normal circumstances are a far fetched thought, at this point, and a quiet palpitation renders its way through the mind. As I drive south, I will wonder how Christine will fair without her chef, butler, and game partner. I will wonder how Courtney is doing with mask and gloves trying to attach herself to a new baby. I will wonder how Tommy is being secluded and separated from his little family, since Little Tommy cannot be with his mom and new brother, and Tommy must be the go-between. And that’s where I come in. With my background, I can be caregiver to Little Tommy, Courtney, and a new baby. I can be a proud grandfather who has been so very careful the last month to stay safe and clean for the chance to participate in this wonderful event. For all in this time of tumult and turbulence, there’s one thing that can alter the outlook: Birth.