Whoever dubbed New York, New York "the city that never sleeps" should visit The Maternity Ward. My recent visit included a drop-in on several screenings of "A Star Is Born" at the late-show theatre, right near Mama's Breast (all night milk bar) and Papa's Gas Station ("We burp you on your way."). To a chorus of infant cries, I drafted this column at 1:00 a.m. Of course, it was 3:00 p.m. in Tokyo, so I suppose it wasn't so late after all. The whole experience of birthing seems to be a very traumatic way to build a family. Fortunately, it did lead to two very happy results. It gave me a new daughter, Lauralee, the Little Sister. And it taught me some valuable lessons, which it is my patriotic duty to share with you. The first lesson all men, take note is that my wife is my hero. As the husband, I experienced the whole birthing outburst second-hand. After careful observation, I conclude that this is the best way to experience it. (Apparently I had some first-hand experience over 40 years ago, but I can't remember too many details.) Most husbands suffer great humiliation during childbirth. Wives hurl razor-sharp insults like "I hate you!" and "You fink!" and "You did this to me!" and "I HATE YOU!!!" My wife, truly original even in pure agony, didn't use any of those words. In fact, sh |
