Right now I’m in a delivery room in Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, listening to my unborn son’s amplified heartbeat, hours away from being a father.

I’m writing this between contractions and nurse drop-ins, a paragraph at a time as Elena and her mother try to grab the briefest of naps. I imagine I’ll do most of my writing this way for a while. At least that’s what everyone keeps telling me. “You don’t understand, bro. You think you do, but you don’t.” “Sleep now, bro. Your life is over.” Not the most encouraging of advice, but I’ve tried to take what I could from it: Sleep when you can, however briefly, and get your work done the same way.

I typically don’t bring my family or personal issues into my writing, but this is the most significant event of my life. Getting our son was more difficult than we anticipated. Unexpected health issues got in the way, and lifestyle changes had to be made. Even when we finally got pregnant, I often caught myself preparing for bad news. With all the challenges we’d faced, it seemed implausible that we would get here.

But we did. What used to be a guest room has a crib in it now. Elena got her baby shower. My car is parked below with an infant carseat in the back. It’s my son’s birthday, and I’ve been listening to his heartbeat all night. I know that the distress I feel at every little shift and hiccup will probably last the rest of my life, but even just the sound is worth the crazy.

There are other sounds in this room, too. The whirring of an automated blood pressure gauge, machinery beeping when it goes too high, or when a bag of fluid needs to be replaced. Reminders that, although it’s possible to do this in a tent or the back of a car, the reason childbirth is so safe here is because of technology and people who are trained all to hell on how to use it. Anytime something doesn’t look optimal, a nurse or doctor comes in, tweaks something, and goes back out to continue monitoring. Walter Reed is the Not Effing Around Crew.

The baby knows our voices well (which I’m naively hoping will help calm him when he arrives). I’ve read to him at length… Not kids’ books like Curious George or the terrifying giant red Satan-dog whose name escapes me, but old Tolkien translations, which I like for the musical quality to the language. He’s also heard plenty of trumpet, and seems to like it. I think my recent practice habits have predisposed him towards Bernstein and Gershwin, but I expect his tastes to run more towards John Williams as we get closer to summer tour. I am so stoked to read to him and play for him face-to-face, I can’t stand it.

Your heartbeat is my favorite sound, little man. I’ll try not to love you so fiercely that I drive you away, though it may be hard. I’ll never push my own unmet goals on you. I’ll teach you everything I can, and do everything I can to prepare you for the day you leave us. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I love you and promise to do my best by you.