CSI: Home Showing

WEEK

1

Where do we go from here? This was supposed to be week 39. I was supposed to provide the regular report on the growth and development of the unborn child, based on the information provided by kindly old BabyCenter.com. It would have said that "it's likely he already measures about 20 inches and weighs a bit over 7 pounds." Well, we don't need BabyCenter to tell us that, because we have doctors and nurses to give us a more accurate figure.

In hindsight, it is interesting to read what BabyCenter has to say about water breaking: "Membranes rupture before the beginning of labor in less than 15 percent of pregnancies" -- unlike most television shows. It looks like we beat the odds, because R's water broke in fairly spectacular fashion right at the beginning of labour, while we were lying in bed. This is where our lives begin to sound like an exciting TV drama/sitcom/infomercial/etc.

We were in such a rush to throw our hospital bag together and leave the house, we left the bed exactly how it was, complete with an oversize snoogle pillow hanging from the bed onto the floor. There were pregnancy books on the dresser in the bedroom and on the coffee table in the living room. There were two boxes of nursing pads on the bathroom counter as well as a baby stroller, half-wrapped in plastic, sitting in the basement.

The day Scott was born, we were still scheduled to have a realtor bring some clients in for a showing of our home. We assumed that because the house had sold, this appointment would have been canceled, but we found a business card sitting on our kitchen table upon our return, right next to the sale agreement that we'd signed Tuesday night and left there. I can't help but wonder what that realtor thought when she came through our home. Clearly, something was amiss, since everything was immaculate except for the bizarre scene in the bedroom and the pregnancy books all around. Had she watched enough episodes of shows like CSI to figure out that R's water broke in that bed and we had to rush off to the hospital?

Or did she just decide we were slobs? You wouldn't have to be a forensics specialist to figure that out about me.