9:00 a.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
Today is the day Ted and I have been dreaming about our whole lives. After years of trying, then finally conceiving, we get to bring our first child into the world. Today, we meet our baby girl! I want labor and delivery to be as predictable and painless as possible, so we’re planning to get the Pitocin shot at noon, labor should start by 2:00, I’ll get the epidural at 3:00, and deliver by 4:00. Easy peasy. Give it up for modern science, baby!

Ted:
Today is the day I’ve been dreaming about my whole life. After years of calling, then finally quoting, I get to run my first big-time load in the freight world. Today, I haul cargo for International Paper! This is white-glove, and I want labor and delivery to be as predictable and profitable as possible, so I booked a half-decent carrier at a super-lean rate. Onsite by noon, loaded by 2:00, at the receiver by 3:00, delivered by the 4:00 cutoff. No sweaty Teddy. Give it up for same-day freight, baby!

10:30 a.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
I’m getting nervous, so I make a quick check call with my OB. Through a lot of background noise, he tells me not to arrive early and to avoid calling him unnecessarily. Still, I want to get rolling to the hospital anyway.

Ted:
I’m getting nervous, so I make a quick check call with the driver, Hector. Through broken English and blaring mariachi music, Hector says he doesn’t want to arrive before the appointment and not to bother him again while he’s driving. I tell him to get rolling to the shipper anyway.

11:30 a.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
Ted keeps checking his phone and mumbling to himself during the drive to the hospital—probably just texting everyone the big news. He misses a few turns, and it’s looking like we’re going to arrive late.

Ted:
I repeatedly refresh Hector’s tracker during the drive to the hospital, but Ash doesn’t even notice—she’s got her own thing going on. Hector hasn’t even moved yet. This guy is going to be late.

1:00 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
We’ve arrived, and it’s crazier than Rooms To Go on Black Friday up in here. I guess I wasn’t the only one raring to get it on after the Kenny Chesney show nine months ago. Hopefully, they get us a room soon.

Ted:
Hector finally arrives at the shipper, and of course it’s busier than a Flying J parking lot during DOT blitz week. Hector says he’s not the only one raring to get going. Hopefully, they can get us a dock soon.

3:00 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
I’m loaded up with Pitocin and strapped to a gurney. The nurse shows me a live image of the baby. It’s gray and fuzzy, but I can make her out. They’re rolling me to our room. One hour to delivery. Let’s go!

Ted:
Hector is loaded with the pallets strapped in the trailer. He sends a picture of the cargo. There’s something gray and fuzzy behind the pallets—probably just a sleeping bag. One hour to delivery. Let’s Go!

3:30 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
We’re in the delivery room, and another mom is wailing in labor next to us. They partialed the room, aggh!

Ted:
The receiver just called—there’s other cargo on Hector’s trailer. He partialed the load, aggh!

Ashley:
Oh God, this Pitocin is kicking my abdomen like a mule. Something’s wrong. I think I’m going to be sick.

Ted:
Oh my God—the receiver says the pallets look like they were kicked by a mule. Everything is going wrong. And the other “cargo,” the gray fuzzy thing that looked like a sleeping bag? It’s a barnyard animal. I think I’m going to be sick.

4:00 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
My mother couldn’t be here today. In her THC-induced paranoia, she was too scared to leave her trailer. She insisted I video-call her during delivery so she could coach me through it.

Ted:
Hector mentions he downed a few High Rise seltzers. Now, in his THC-induced paranoia, he’s unwilling to remove the cargo from the trailer himself. I insist he video-call me so I can coach him through it.

4:45 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
The epidural isn’t enough to quell the pain. Sweet Jesus, give me anything to make it stop. You don’t know what this feels like. Give me Nubain, nitrous oxide—give me a katana and cut me open. Just make it stop. Ted doesn’t even have insurance, and mine might not cover this. They say if the baby isn’t out in ten minutes, they’re rolling me into the OR. Please, no.

Ted:
I watch in horror as Hector mishandles the first pallet and it crashes off the trailer, further damaging the cargo. The handful of Xanax I swallowed isn’t enough to quell the pain. Lord, make it stop. You can’t possibly know what this feels like. Hector doesn’t have insurance, and I’m not even sure my contingency cargo policy covers this. The receiver says if the other pallet isn’t off the truck in ten minutes, they’re rolling it to tomorrow. Please, no.

4:59 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
It’s happening. I’m crowning—I can see the baby leaving the birth canal. My mother, still on video, babbles incoherently about how things were different in her day, but I’m too jazzed to hear it. Ted stands with his back to me, frothing in panic, alternating between shouts of agony and ecstasy. When our eyes meet, he looks at me like I couldn’t possibly understand what he’s going through.

Ted:
It’s happening. Hector’s got the last pallet on the jack, rolling it toward the trailer’s edge. He babbles incoherently about driver-assist fees, but I’m too amped to hear any of it.

Ashley:
I summon what strength I have left and, with one final push, my baby leaves my body and lands in the arms of an unfamiliar nurse they pulled from another floor. Tears stream down my flushed face in exaltation. It’s finally over.

Ted:
Hector staggers, but with one final shove of the pallet jack, I see the crate exit the trailer and land in the arms of a forklift borrowed from the company next door. The forklift driver looks furious about helping without compensation, but that’s his problem. It’s finally over.

5:10 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
In the whirlwind afterward, the nurse—working her day off—rushes out and forgets to have us sign the birth certificate. But that’s okay for now… I guess?

Ted:
Hector leaves in a huff, says he’s late for another pickup, and forgets to get the POD signed. That is not okay.

5:30 p.m. — Tuesday

Ashley:
It didn’t go as planned. Unexpected challenges came and went. Now it’s time for healing.

Ted:
It could not have gone worse. But it’s over.

Ashley:
One thing’s for sure—I’ll never do this again. I’m getting my tubes tied in the morning

Ted:
One thing’s for sure—International Paper will never work with me again. I’ll probably have a claim for damages emailed to me in the morning.

Ashley:
One thing is certain, though…

Ted:
What else is there to say but—

Together:
I Delivered!!!