Hospital Fort Knox

Today we went to visit friends in hospital who have just had a baby. They kids know them really well, as they have babysat for us, and often come over for dinner. So the girls have been watching our friend's stomach expand, thought up names, and asked repeatedly when the baby would be born. After Dante got home from school, the kids each chose a gift to wrap up for the baby. The girls had done a drawing each, and put on their pretty dresses for the big occassion. Dante even changed his t-shirt, as the one he was wearing had paint on it. Angie directed me to do a new hairdo that she had seen in a magazine (which didn't put me in a great mood, as Angie finds it hard to stand still on two feet - and my efforts didn't quite match up to the picture). Off we went to pick up Daddy from uni, then on to the hospital.

Having reached the hospital, we managed to find the women's building. At the front door we pressed the buzzer and explained our presence to be let inside. Fine. Then, Scott and I both had to sign in, show photo ID, and have yellow wristbands put on us. Still coping OK. We went on the left to the first floor, and got to the door of the maternity ward. Locked. Pushed the button, and told the lady who were we there to see.

"Are those children with you?" "Yes". "Whose are they?" "Ours" (sunny disposition gone to slightly cloudy). "Whose children are they" (again!) "OURS" (slightly louder, sun going, clouds rolling in). "You can't bring the children in. You will have to take it in turns to come in." "OK" (short and blunt, as sun has gone, and clouds that have rolled in are a shade darker than before).

The door buzzes and I walk in, calmly, trying to focus on happy thoughts about seeing my friend and the new baby. Walk to the nurses station and tell them who I have come to see. She is around the other side. I could walk all the way up the corrider, around the corner, and down the other corrider, but those dark clouds are still lurking, and I walk across the gap in the nurses station. "You can't walk through here!" "OK" (I say as I keep walking briskly across, clouds now looking quite thunderish) "You can't walk through here. This is the nurses station. You have to go around. Blah blah blah." I get to my friends' door, knock, and go in.

My friend look exhausted. Poor girl. After we talked for a while, she asks permission for the nurse to take the baby to the nursery, where they can open the blinds, so our children can see the baby. She is tiny and wrinkly, and the kids are fascinated. I let the dark clouds roll away, happy to see the kids are OK about looking at the new baby through the glass, knowing that in a couple of days, we can visit the family in their home with no security to go through. The kids leave their gifts with baby's Dad. We remembered to sign out on our way back to the car.

The north shore of Chicago certainly protects its newest American citizens very well.