Cherry Street Bed & Breakfast

It was exactly 52 weeks ago—shortly after dinnertime on a chilly Sunday night in late December—that Penelope began to show signs that the birth of wee Finn Gunn was imminent.

I don’t subscribe to the notion that certain foods have magical, labor-inducing properties but if you’re really ready to pop, a big bucket of extra-crispy fried chicken with all the “fixins” did the trick for us. Of course, that was incredibly coincidental and entirely accidental.

Oh, and totally delectable, but I digress…

With a week still to go until our official “due date”—for me, that phrase should only apply to library books, not little babies—Penelope called out the words that will forever be cemented in my memory: “Ah, uh, honey… I, um… I think my water broke.”

I’m not sure how I did it, but I remained calm, walking (not running) into the room.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

I’m not sure how she did it, but Penelope also remained calm. “Fine, actually.”

After talking with the nurse assigned to our baby-catcher’s after-hours line, we came to the mutual conclusion that the very top of her bag had broken, but no contractions had begun. “Stay home,” she said. “Wait it out there,” she said.

Okay, cool… that’s easy for you to say, but we’ll do it.

We’d “waited it out” for about ten hours, and by morning it was evident that we’d need to head to the hospital. I grabbed our “go bag” and gingerly drove the predawn streets to the facility we would come to call the Cherry Street Bed & Breakfast.

A couple of months ago, Dana—my friend and fellow blogger—asked what had helped our readers during their own extended stays in the hospital.

For me and my wife, it is without question the extraordinary quality of the care we received. Several of our friends had had their babies delivered at CSB&B. We’d visited them during those times and had been impressed. We’d taken an extensive tour, and were again impressed.

When we arrived that Monday morning, we were pretty sure we’d selected the best place and best people available to us. Five days later, we were dead-square certain of it.

When we learned that our carefully-chosen delivery doctor would be long gone from the hospital by the time our son made his highly-anticipated arrival, we were understandably disappointed—but delighted to discover that the person who stood in her stead was outstanding.

When it became clear that we’d be staying a while, they assigned us to a room in which there was a spare bed for me to sleep—there was ample available space so this didn’t put any undue strain on the installation, but they had absolutely no obligation to make me feel comfortable.

When we had questions—pretty much the entire duration of our stay—answers were understandable and immediate. When it was time to go home, the transition was seamless.

When I look back and recollect where I was one year ago, I’m reminded of the incredibly good fortune we’ve had. When I look ahead and contemplate the myriad possibilities that lie ahead for Finn Gunn, my mind boggles and I yearn for the creature comforts of the Cheery Street Bed & Breakfast.

In December 2008, Doug Wyllie became a first-time dad. A veteran of more than ten years in corporate communications and journalism, Doug was writing about streaming video before YouTube, digital music before Napster, and wireless technology since the original Palm Pilot debuted. Doug presently serves as the editor of PoliceOne, where he writes on a broad range of topics and trends that affect public safety professionals. Here, Doug writes about all sorts of poop.