She was pregnant. Due in less than a week. I was sick. Sick again for the second time in two weeks.
My wife and I were out for lunch. I was trying to act like a normal human. I’m sure my wife was too. I can’t image what she was going through at 9 months pregnant. Women are strong.
Me on the other hand, I could feel the fatigue. Could feel the muscle aches. I was panicking. What if I was too sick to take care of my wife and new child? All I wanted was to be there for them.
I needed to use the restroom. I hobbled down the stairs. Tried to get the sickness out of me.
On my way back there was a little girl and her dad on the stairs. She was maybe a couple years old. She was in my way, but I didn't mind. She was super cute, and I was too tired to be annoyed.
She was repeating something, but I couldn't make out the words.
"Keep on fighting", her father said. "I'm not sure why she keeps saying that."
”Keep on fighting,” the little girl said again.
I smiled and scooted past her.
Keep on fighting. I needed to hear that. Maybe my wife needed to hear it. Maybe you do too. Maybe that's why it's stuck with me. Thank you little girl.
I was waiting for the right time to tell my wife about it. Keeping it in my back pocket for the perfect moment.
A couple days later my wife told me she was feeling off. I told her this story.
That was the day she went into labor.