Seven years ago, I was four days into fatherhood. I had seen the unimaginable, experienced the natural miraculous process of my first son coming into the world. It was a long night, one that I planned as much as I could.
My friend, David, says that I mapped out the evening with as much intention as he’d seen me do anything. I really believe my unconscious was speaking when, 2-3 days before the boy’s arrival, I told David that in a couple days I’d call him around 10 or 10:30, we’d pick him up, and he’d drive us to the hospital. He’d leave us there and bring our car home. We’d have the baby. And so forth. What I articulated–with some humorous exceptions being kept by those who keep secrets–happened.
There was a long playlist after the birth. Dawn had not wanted to hear the music I planned for the labor. Labor was quiet because that’s what she needed it to be. After he came, I played this song first by Nina Simone, and it still gives me what it gave me then.