January isn’t usually the month that brings new growth to mind. But, it did in 1980. In some respects, it was what many consider a stereotypical North Dakota winter day – with bitter cold and blowing snow. After a call came at work that I needed to get home on the double because my wife’s water broke, nothing was typical from then on.

Upon arrival at the hospital, a wheelchair ride to the third floor brought us to what was then referred to as ‘the labor room.’ The space had two beds separated by a sliding curtain, one of which was already occupied by an expectant mother who had been laboring for more than 24 hours. Waiting for the doctor to arrive, an offensive odor filled the room. A peek around the curtain revealed the woman in the other bed was puffing away on a cigarette (something allowed in the hospital at the time) as she watched “I Love Lucy” with the volume blaring. Neither of these were details I hoped to remember related to the birth of my first child, yet their memory persists even now. I stepped outside and implored the nurse to insist the cigarette be extinguished and Lucy’s whimpering to Ricky be dialed back. Within an hour, a 4 lb. 6 oz. daughter came into the world four weeks early.

Not to be outdone by his sister, a brother also arrived in January four years later. He was so anxious to see what winter was all about, he made his appearance eight weeks early, tipping the scales at 3 lb. 2 oz. He needed a little help to slip through the customary entry port into the world. The doctor opted to place a two-inch diameter suction cup on his bald head to enable a helpful tug. After he was out and on his own, his mother asked how big the suction cup was. When I reported its size, she responded, “Are you sure? I thought it was the size of a hub cap.”

Grandparents now, my wife Rita and I enjoy five grandchildren. A month before number five was to make another January appearance a year ago tomorrow, her mother came for a visit. Our expecting daughter became nauseated and called her doctor who wanted to see her as soon as possible. Rita and I loaded up the car and left for Williston with our daughter, along with her 18 month-old — our grandson.

Arriving at the birthing center there around 1 a.m., Rita and her daughter went inside while our sleeping 18-month-old grandson, Declan, and I remained in the warmth of the car. About 45 minutes later, I heard rumbling of what seemed a bowel movement coming from the car seat in the back. Having not changed a diaper for forty years, waiting to see if little Declan might continue his slumber was a reasonable strategy. Ten minutes later, another splatter of trumpet sound originated from behind me as Declan fussed a little. There seemed no alternative but to get my hands dirty.

I retrieved a clean diaper and wipes from the back, then extracted Declan, slumbering once more, from his car seat purgatory. I knew a fellow back home who could detail the car’s interior if a full-fledged blowout caused putrid contents to spill out. With no good alternative to avoid exposure of his delicate parts to the near-zero temperatures outside, I cranked up the car heater, opened the passenger side door and laid my grandson on the seat to start the deed.

Much to my surprise (and relief), earlier noises proved to be only flatulence. I sent a Thank-you Lord upstairs, then secured the new diaper to prove I still had what it takes.

We’ll see if any more January additions might join our assortment of grandchildren. But, as a precaution, there are rubber gloves in the glove compartment now to prevent certain elements from lodging under my fingernails during unforeseen circumstances.