It’s easy to get carried away thinking about the joys of being parents — decorating a nursery, writing some awesome bedtime stories and being able to play with LEGOs and not feel weird.
But since I’ve never been good at sports and the only thing I can catch is a cold, the hunt is on for a doctor to deliver the baby. And you know, checkups and things.
Sounds simple enough, and for most people this would likely begin with a visit to the mom-to-be’s regular doctor.
Neither of us have a doctor in our home city of Lincoln. Hers is in Omaha and mine in Beatrice, where I work. It’s been around three years since either of us has been to a doctor, at least, and we don’t really consider them “ours.”
When we initially went to the urgent care center, the woman gave us a flier advertising the doctors in their network to consider.
Just a panel of smiling faces and names.
Here was the approach: Kayla planned to subtly ask some of her mom friends who their doctor was, without arousing suspicion. There was also talk of snooping through these friends’ personal photos for clues.
We weren’t the most graceful of spies. Think Austin Powers rather than James Bond, but we found some of the information we were looking for.
Frankly, taking this approach was more difficult than anticipated. I’m a path-of-least-resistance guy. If I have a question, I ask. So it was troublesome to see a clear approach in being direct with our peers and asking for help. But alas, mums the word for now.
We ultimately narrowed it down to doctors from two clinics. The winner ended up being the one closest to our house. Always a factor.
From there we started scanning the brief online bios, looking for a doctor to help bring our first child into the world.
The guy who looks 12? No.
The woman fresh out of school who looks ready to have a breakdown? No.
The doctor who went to Creighton? Not happening.
It was important to Kayla that her doctor went to the University of Nebraska, the fine institution that educated us.
And then, eureka! A doctor was selected.
The drawback is that our appointment isn’t for two weeks, at roughly her 7-8 week mark.
I’m told this is normal for a first visit, but I was thinking more like… tomorrow? Maybe the day after? Can we just wait by his car for him to get off work tonight and jump him with questions?
We have several prepared and are eager for answers. I guess Tom Petty had it right. The waiting is the hardest part. Add patience to the list of things I need to work on in the next nine months and beyond.
I scrolled through our doctor’s four-paragraph biography on the health center’s website, nodding like I had any ideas what his medical titles and scientific papers meant. My nods were joined by “ahhs” as I Googled a few words, just to make sure they were real.
It wasn’t until the fourth and final paragraph that it clicked in my mind.
This was the paragraph that highlighted his career as a Nebraska Cornhusker football player. Of course my diehard-football-fan of a partner would go with the football player, who made the Academic All Big 8 Team, to deliver our baby.
His biography doesn’t say what position he played. But I chuckled while reading and prayed he was a receiver.