Babies can’t be rushed from the womb. Apparently. We’ve been in a Maryland suburb of D.C. to help out and we hoped be here for the birth of our second grandchild for five days now. The due date was three days ago, and there doesn’t look to be any signs that the new grandbaby is going to pop out any time soon. So we wait, we bide time, we entertain – and are entertained by – our first granddaughter. We leave in three days, so of course we’re hoping for an imminent birth. But we’re also preparing for the disappointment of missing the arrival. Disappointing for missing the arrival, but there won’t be any disappointment whenever it comes about, even with us not here. (The induction – if needed – will be two days after we leave and are back home.) A spent satellite fell from the heavens sometime around midnight last night. The predictions of when and where it would drop ranged over 14 hours, give or take, and thousands of miles. Even this morning, when they knew the satellite had fallen to earth, they weren’t sure when exactly it had fallen or where it possibly could have fallen. And so we wait too for the falling of our baby. There is just so very little in life that can be predicted.
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