As we sit and think in the waiting room,
The triage woman calls out our last name.
My wife has our first baby in her womb.
I only hope for the best to remain.

Starring at the one heart rate monitor,
Each beat is like climbing up a mountain.
The doctor closely watches like sonar.
She pushes hard like a water fountain.

For some odd reason I feel a strange fate.
The baby is born, and her name is Jane.
Now you should go check the mother’s heart rate.
As her beat walks across the great straight plain.

Jane misses her mother daily too much.
Even though I get to keep Jane’s soft touch.