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Actually, I don’t know if I can use ALL of the lines you provided, but I wanted to share a story anyway. One of these lines reminded me of it. Thank God you didn't close.

At about 2 o’clock on morning of September 2, 2006, my wife Sarah began complaining of cramping in her abdomen that radiated toward her back. It was the second time she’d had that feeling in the last 15 minutes. She was due on September 5 – nine months pregnant.

“Oh great!” I said jokingly. “Right when we’re about to go to bed!”

Sarah replied with a half-smile, as if to say ‘I can’t help it!’

I went upstairs and grabbed the stopwatch, which was apparently still running since the false alarm we had earlier in the week.

“I can’t figure out how to reset it! We’ll just have to time the next one.”

”DID YOU READ THE DANG DIRECTIONS?” she snapped.

“Nevermind… I got it. Wait – strike that, I just began another lap.” I pressed two more buttons. “There we go. Are you still having a contraction?”

She shook her hand side to side as she exhaled. A few seconds go by.

“Okay, it’s done.”

I began the timer.

The last two were estimated to be at fifteen minutes apart. We wait… both of us with the same expression of fear, excitement, and worry on our face. Seven minutes later she has another contraction.

“Oh my God! This is it!! Seven minutes! I can’t believe it! I mean… no doubt he’s ready to come out, but…. I’m going to bring the stuff out to the car. Do you need some water? Should I bring the tennis balls? My bathing suit? How about the pilates ball?”

All this is stuff was recommended during our childbirth class as items that might come in handy during delivery – ignoring the fact that it was recommended for natural delivery, and she was planning on getting an epidural.

The next contraction didn’t come for ten minutes, and for the next hour they fluxuated between 8 and 10 minutes. She decided she should get some rest.

I was too excited for rest, so I went outside and looked at the stars. The sky was very clear. As I gazed up, I saw two satellites pass overhead, and the red streak of a meteor. An hour later I went up to our room and curled up in bed.

She had filled out the rest of the steno pad we used to keep track of the contractions. It’s about 5am. We both laid quietly in bed, hoping to catch some sleep before it was time to leave. After 20 minutes she breaks the silence; “are you awake?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I CAN’T STOP SMILING.”

The next thing I remember, Sarah is shaking my shoulder.

“They’ve been 3 minutes apart for the past hour.”

“WHAT!!” I exclaimed. “That’s more than the legal limit!! You should’ve woken me!!” It was 7am.

I stumble drunkenly out of bed, brush my teeth, call labor & delivery, give them the heads up, slip on my shoes, grab a quick bite to eat. HEE HAW AND AWAY WE GO!!

I remember the drive there better than anything. It was cool, crisp, the sun was rising, there was a blue tint to the air.

“Can we listen to music?” she asked.

“What? What did you marry me for? I AM YOUR SINGER.” I proclaimed, which I punctuate with ‘Happy birthday’ in a operatic baritone voice; “Happy Birthday dear Jackson! Happy birthday to yoooooou!!”

She rolls her eyes at me as she scrolls through the iPod menu, hits play, and sets the white rectangular hunk on the dashboard.

Still in ‘lounge singer’ mode, “Thank you very much! I will be your labor coach, so if you have any questions…” I point my finger gun at her and click my tongue twice.

I was seriously lacking sleep. Little did I know.

It was 17 hours and 45 minutes later, at 2:15 am on Sunday, September 3, 2006, that Jackson was delivered by c-section; 24 hrs. and 15 minutes after contractions first started; 42 hours since either of us had a full nights sleep.

He was crying, but it sounded more like screaming. The nurse, Michelle -- who had become very familiar with us throughout the day -- brought him over to us, held him near Sarah's face for a few seconds, and took him away again.

Things got fuzzy from there. I remember wheeling him toward a processing area, where he was going to be weighed, measured, certified as having been born, and fitted with an electronic bracelet.

My mother was waiting by the nurses station just outside the processing area. She came up to the cart and looked at him in awe.

"Can I hold him?" she asked.

"Is it okay to hold him? I haven't even gotten to hold him yet, and neither has Sarah." I knew Sarah didn't want anybody to hold him before her, except me.

"Yes, by all means!" replied one of the nurses. Regrettably, I don't remember actually holding him then, but I know I did. We finished the trip to the processing area when Michelle took him to get his weight.

The Wednesday prior, when we were at the hospital because we thought Sarah's water had broken, the doctor did an ultrasound and gave us an estimate of his weight. The estimate was about 8 pounds. The estimate was a surprise to us both, since we are both smaller in stature.

Michelle put him on the digital scale, and I watched the numbers on the digital readout skip up to 5, 6, 7, 8... 10! Back down to 9. The ounces skipped around for a bit and finally settled on a number.

"9 pounds 7 ounces," Michelle announced.

"HOLY CRAP! Oh my God! Seriously?! What the heck!? Jackson!! You're such a big guy, oh my God!!"

Shortly after that, Sarah came lumbering in on a gurney, but she was out of it. Not only was she all doped up on anaesthesia and pain killers, but she had been up for 43 hours. The baby was placed on her belly and she tried breastfeeding him. That went ok.

Minutes later we were in the room we'd stay in for the next 3 days. No lights, except one over Jackson's head. Nurses were getting Sarah situated in her bed, and Jackson just stared right in the direction of our voices during the commotion. No expression on his face. He just stared. He Stared even after the nurses left, but it was 4:30am, and Sarah and I were both too tired to safely pick up the baby we'd waited 9 months to hold. It was a heartbreaking decision to make, but we had to ask the nurse to take him to the nursery for the night.

Once the last strand of our newborn son's hair had disappeared from view, we slept.

This story continues up to this moment, so I think I'll just stop there and just say "I'm just a stupid cupid" and "Youth is wasted on the young" fell victim to writers block.

Once there lived a person called Randy Roll, and since he was in love with rock 'n' roll music, people called him Rock 'n' Roll. There also lived another person who loved jokes, and her name was Claire Bianca. She was in classical training of jokes, and it was certainly paying off because when she told jokes, people went rolling around in laughter. Well, one day, when Claire Bianca was saying a joke, "Do you know what happened to the person who said 'I am a find musician'....." she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and her heart started going rat-a-tat-tat, and she said, "Omg he is sooo cute... I knooooooow it's only Rock 'n' Roll..... But I liiiiiiike it... I looooove him......" People constantly told Rock 'n' Roll and Claire Bianca that they would be a perfect couple because when they sang the romantic ballad at the senior talent show, their voices blended together like ice cream and chocolate syrup and formed a sweet harmony that no words could possibly describe. So, they married and had a child called Natalie and they lived happily ever after in their sweet world of music and singing. THE END.