speak easy by Rodney Wilson Baby Talk / My wife and I are control freaks. Sadly for us, Mother Nature and newborns don’t respect schedules. / We had it all planned out and knew how it was going to go. With two kids at home, the birth of our son would hardly be our first rodeo. When the arrival of our firstborn daughter went a bit sideways (literally — the kid was “transverse,” fancy talk for “sitting sideways inside mom”), we rolled with the punches and welcomed our first child to the world via a surprise C-section. When the nurse announced our second daughter was breech (that’s butt-first, y’all) and the doctor suggested a C-section, we knew the drill. So when our son’s existence was confirmed by a pair of pink lines on a plastic stick, we called the doctor and set the delivery date. They reserved a surgery room for one C-section on Saturday, Sept. 17, at 10 a.m. Easy-peasy. Save the date, we’ll get groceries on Friday and pack on Friday night. Some people like adventure and uncertainty. They thrive on chaos, excel when things get willy-nilly. My wife and I are not these people. There’s a calendar in every room of our house decreeing a schedule to which we adhere religiously. It’s undeniable that, as small business owners with an endless stream of side work, not knowing what comes next is not an option. But there’s also a chicken-versus-egg scenario at play in which one could argue we were drawn to our harried lifestyle by an overwhelming need to bring order to the great, 16 akron life random chaos of 21st-century living. Whatever, we have control issues. Not surprisingly then, we had that week all planned out: birthday outing with our soon-to-be middle child on Thursday, birthday party with grandma and grandpa on Friday, hospital on Saturday. We even penciled in some last-minute jitters for Friday night — but they’d have to happen early evening, since we needed our eight hours to be ready for the hospital Saturday at 10 a.m. If you’ve ever watched TV sit-coms, you know the pop-culture trope that childbirth provides comedy writers, down to the appropriate laugh-track cues: “My water broke!” followed by some Dick Van Dyke-style rush-ing around the house, speeding to the hospital, “I love you/I hate you/I love you/I hate you,” fol-lowed by a beautiful baby and ... scene. That we didn’t get to participate in this culturally approved rite of passage would get us down from time to time, but the blow was softened by the statistic rattled off at our very first birthing class many years ago: One in three pregnancies ends in a C-section. And knowing how to sched-may 2012 ule our Friday was a workable trade-off. But then Friday started earlier than scheduled when my wife shook me awake at 5:30 in the morning and stage-whispered, “Honey ... I think my water just broke!” Which was followed by some Dick Van Dyke-style rushing around the house, a har-ried drive to the hospital that blatantly disregarded 76 West’s speed signage, followed by a doctor saying, “Yeah, you’re not gonna make it ‘til tomorrow.” We didn’t break so much from script that we circumvented the C-section, but the whole thing was capped off with a beautiful baby. That old saying about the best-laid plans is never more true than in those final days of a pregnancy. We didn’t make the birthday party, came home to an empty refrigerator and com-pletely missed our window of opportunity for those last-minute jitters — but we couldn’t have been happier. Even a control freak like myself isn’t immune to the wonder of nature disregard-ing personal schedules to usher a new person into the world. Turns out, sometimes unpredict-ability can be good. / Rodney Wilson is a local freelance writer and coffee shop owner who, when not producing articles or making cappuccinos, spends his time trying to remember what a night of unbroken sleep is like. His newborn son, Bowman Carter Wilson, is healthy, happy and irre-sistibly cuddly. Comments? E-mail them to firstname.lastname@example.org.