Dave and I were with our older daughter Mary on a long driving vacation in Sardinia. Jean's baby was due late in September, 2003. As we drove along the incredibly wild coast of that Mediterraneian island, Mary's cell phone rang. We had missed being present at our first grandchild's birth. Samuel Obed was not concerned about calendars or holidays, and came on his own schedule....

Jean continues her story:

It was a long, long time before I could see you again. I was moved down to another room and given pain medication. I woke up later at night, about 1 a.m., and realized you had not been brought to me. I called the nurses' station.

"I only had a chance to nurse on one side," I told the nurse.

"You want to see your baby, don't you?" she asked. Oh do I, I thought. I want my baby!

The hospital had many standards for safety, including matching your wristband to mine before handing you over.

Then I sat there holding you in those early morning hours, just you and me. How sweet your head smelled, how marvelous to see those eyes. Oh my precious baby boy, did you know how much you were loved?

So many months I thought about everything I put in my mouth, how I moved, what I did. How would this affect the baby? I noted your moves and when you were active and looked forward to every visit to Dr. Akbar to be able to hear your heartbeat. How strange, now that you were no longer within me. I missed that presence.

The hospital room itself became a bit of a refuge to me. For some reason, I didn't feel like I could leave. The hospital staff had me tracking information about nursing and diaper changes. If you were in the room with me, you were either in my arms, or your Daddy's arms or in a clear bassinet. You were to stay in my sight at all times, so if I were to go to the bathroom, I had to pull you along, so your bassinet was just outside the bathroom door where I could see you. For me to shower, you had to go