CLOCK MANAGEMENT

CLOCK MANAGEMENT

Lights up

3:17 a.m. Hospital maternity ward. Dim lights. Monitors beep softly. A nurse charts without looking up. Two exhausted parents buzz on caffeine and the exhilarating feelings of being new parents. Father: (dead serious, competitive quarterback energy): Honey, thanks for throwing the football at me in the maternity ward. Now throw me our three-day-old baby. I’m ready. Wife: You are absolutely not ready. You tried to spike an egg. Nurse: (without looking up): Sir, if you attempt a Hail Mary with that child, I will personally bench you. Father: (whisper-intense, fourth quarter energy): I’ve been training my whole life for this moment. Wife: You fainted during the epidural. Nurse: And you asked if the baby comes with a no-trade clause. Father: (defensive): I wanted to ask before I sign the birth certificate. That’s just responsible franchise management. Nurse: I read in the charts that you tried to start high-stakes negotiation during an active labor strike when the baby’s head started to show. Tiny squeaky baby cries. Everything stops. Father looks at the bassinet. The quarterback melts. Father: (soft, overwhelmed): …Okay. Maybe we start with a handoff. Mother: (gentler now): That’s better. Mother carefully places the baby in Father’s arms. He freezes. Awe. Silence except for the monitor. Father: (whispering): Oh. Oh wow. Nurse: Look at that. Rookie season. Father instinctively adjusts, perfectly supporting the baby’s head. Father: (quiet, sincere): Alright. I’ve got you. Wife: (smiling): Very good, honey. Let’s kneel and let the clock run down. Father: (nods, calm): Smart. Protect the lead. Protect my baby’s head. Beat. He rocks gently. Softly, almost instinctively, he starts a rhythmic stadium chant under his breath. Father: (soft chant): Boom… boom… clap. Boom… boom… clap. He smiles at the baby. Father: (whisper-singing, proud): We… are… the cha— Nurse: Sir. Immediate silence. Father: (resetting): Lullaby. That was a lullaby. Beat. He rocks gently again. Father: (barely containing it): I’ve got the baby secure… One microscopic step forward. Father: (urgent whisper): …NOW LET’S RUN

IN FOR A TOUCHDOWN ON A QUARTERBACK SNEAK— Nurse: Sir. Father freezes mid-inch. Look at the nurse. Look at the baby. Father: (immediate reset): We’re kneeling. Beat. Father: (to baby, soft and steady): No blitz is getting past me. Lights out.