In the waiting room awaiting Christina's turn. It feels like a long morning so far. I am unsure what to think about being here. I park, load my pockets with keys camera batteries snack, grab badge holder, and of course my coffee cup. My cup still has the hospital tape that read "Daddy" from Christina's take down surgery. The writing wore off long ago, but I still see it.

I walk in, stop at the info desk, get my badge, head to the restroom, walk to the OR waiting area and sit. I see the parents still green watch me with a puzzled look. I smile at them and think to myself how that used to be me.

To all the parents at the hospital: hi.