The summer we were expecting our first child, my husband and I, as new parents-to-be, faithfully attended prenatal classes. The final class ended with coffee and cake and an opportunity to meet and greet some of the other parents-to-be. We chatted with a few couples near us and then noticed one lady standing by herself at the coffee table. She seemed to be all on her own so we went over to say hi and introduce ourselves.
“I know it looks odd for me to be alone at something like this,” she said, “but my husband decided it was more important to paint the back porch this evening, so here I am, on my own.”
We chatted for a few minutes and learned that her baby was due at the beginning of October: ours was expected at the end of October. When the evening ended we we said good-bye and wished each other well .
In mid-October it became clear that our baby was going to be early. When I checked into the maternity ward, I noticed a man, obviously a new father-to-be, pacing nervously up and down the hall. We said “hi” as we passed in the hall, and suddenly it struck me that this was the missing husband. I’m not sure what prompted me to think that, but I finally approached him and asked, “Your wouldn’t happen to be ‘B’, would you?”
“Why, yes,” he said;, astonished. “How …?”
So, between my contractions and his pacing, we chatted and I explained how we had met his wife.
“Well, yes,” he admitted. He wasn’t much for coffee and cake affairs, he said, and the porch really did need painting.
Their baby was born at 6 pm and ours arrived at 1:40 the next morning. For the rest of the week, and that was how long new mothers were kept in the hospital in those days, we learned together to be new mothers and forged a friendship that has lasted these many decades since.