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Letter from the Editor

March 14.

The day I met Jeff on a blind date. Planned as a quick coffee, it lingered into dinner, spanned two boroughs, three weather episodes (clear, rain, wet snow), and many hours. When I returned home later that night, I knew I had just met my husband.

March 14. One year later.

I was in Dr. B.’s office, quite nervous as she removed fluid from my belly for a requisite amniocentesis to check on the growing baby. All was well, thank God.

Hence, the day March 14, became significant. Our first date and the day the test gave us good news about our developing son.

So, when we had to pick a day to have our second baby, naturally, we chose March 14.

My obstetrician/gynecologist Dr. B., a sole practitioner, was scheduled to be in California on my due date a week later and wanted to make sure that she, who saw me through my first pregnancy and delivery and took care of me during my second pregnancy, was the doctor who delivered this baby.

While I wasn’t thrilled to have this birth scheduled, I had no choice.

“Okay,” she said, checking her schedule. “March 14 won’t work. I have a conference here that day. How about March 17?”

St. Patrick’s Day?

Uh, uh, I thought. I don’t want to share this baby’s birthday with a major national day. Parades, beer, green. No thanks. But, again, I had no choice. That day was penciled in.

On my last visit to Dr. B. before our scheduled day, she checked me. She said I was far enough along and wanted me in the hospital that evening!

Dr. B. was bleary-eyed having attended two births in the last 24 hours. She was relieved her patients delivered, and those babies were born without a hitch before her trip to California. She wanted the same for me.

Jeff suggested that perhaps we could wait until the next morning. She could get rest, and we would prepare to have our baby in a civilized manner. She consented.

The next morning, we got 18-month-old Yehuda a babysitter and went to the hospital.

Dr. B. came to check on me in between sessions of her conference. All was going well.

On her third check on me, right after I asked for the epidural but before it was administered, Dr. B., declared my readiness for birth.

Shaina was born very shortly thereafter.

The day was March 14.

Even better, it was Rosh Chodesh Nisan, the month of Pesach and the redemption of the Jewish people.

True, true, true as that cliché is: Man plans and You-Know-Who laughs.

Cheers,

Heidi Bratt

Editor, Jewish Standard Our Children

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