So, the Witch and I stayed up quite late last night making sure that Santa arrived with the proper amount of plunder in tow, and watching a pretty nifty MoTab Christmas concert involving the King's Singers.
(Hint: If you are ever wondering if the amazing Choir you are watching on PBS is MoTab, check and see if the dresses on the women look like colorful gunny sacks. If yes, then don't offer them spiked eggnog.)
On Christmas, it is a parent's prerogative to sleep in until they dang well feel like opening presents - or, more accurately, until the kids wake you up with some stunt (the opening song to Billy Joel's Glass Houses worked well for me).
So imagine my surprise when the Witch wakes me up at 3:00 to tell me two things. First, the kids are up and would like to open presents. Second, she is in labor, and maybe we should open presents right now just this once.
So we gather around the tree, and I read Luke 2, and then we open the presents in a frenzy of avarice - all the while with the Witch laboring in the background. We finish and immediate call a couple of saintly friends (it's now 3:20 am), who cheerfully come over to watch Pippi and Bardo. And off we go to the hospital.
A recap for those of you who may not be familiar with how things worked with Bardo: fast. Mad dash to the hospital, 15 minutes in the hospital itself, then a baby. We don't do that whole labor-for-ten-hours stuff.
And this time was no exception. Another mad dash to the hospital (I was literally doing triple digit speeds on the desolate freeways), another just in time arrival, another quick delivery.
So the wait is over. For purposes of this blog, I think we're going to call her Noel. But that's the Witch's call.