A few short days after Christmas, my daughter will serve as chauffeur to what we both hope will be my final doctor’s appointment since breaking my foot almost 3 months ago. While we are both excited to hear that I can resume driving and other duties she’s taken on during my convalescence, we’re also apprehensive about the 30 mile drive to the hospital and clinic.
Because my daughter is, as the Bible says, great with child.
I have no desire to deliver a grandchild under any circumstances. But I really, really don’t want to welcome a new life into the world while tromping around in an orthopedic boot that looks like a costume piece from Young Frankenstein. In December. In Iowa. Where the weather can be frightful this time of year.
Sure, the baby isn’t due for another month, we tell each other. Sure, we’ll have our cell phones. Sure, we can dial 911 if need be. Sure, it’ll all work out, we reassure one another.
After all, I joke weakly, Mary and Joseph made it to Bethlehem, didn’t they?
Those words, once spoken, bring more peace than my attempts to control the situation by arranging for alternate transportation, constantly plugging in my phone so it’s 100% charged at all time, packing a baby delivery kit, and throwing the daughter’s suitcase in the car.
Joseph and Mary made it to Bethlehem on a donkey without a cell phone.
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