THAT’S LIFE

behind my husband, pushing a wheelchair.

It was too late for that. My husband started helping deliver Scott.

The doctor — whose shocked face peering into the car is an image I remember — cut the umbilical cord.

It was 4:22 a.m. by the car clock. Scott had a birthmark between his eyes, which my daddy joked was where he hit the dashboard.

I got out of the car in an embarrassing state of undress, and I always wondered whether that was captured on security footage.

I felt great afterward, and I did not have to pay a delivery-room fee, which made my husband happy. Another memory is that the nurse, Gwen, peered down at me and said: “Is that lipstick?”

I was the talk of the hospital for 24 hours; then a woman had triplets.

Fast forward 25 years — and it has been shockingly fast. A quarter of a century is like a blink, and my baby is all grown up, graduated from college and living in Kentucky. He’s the most well-read person I know, with one of the best vocabularies, and he works at the public library.

He also sometimes drives for Uber and Lyft. I hope for him that he never picks up a pregnant passenger in labor who gives birth in his car.

But it sure would make a good story. tkeith@arkansas online.com.