TL/DR- We had a baby. Exactly 4 months, 12 hours, and 44 years after your dad was born on April 25th, at 5:53pm
My wife, the steady rock, was amazing. The care team was amazing. By the end, there were a lot of tears and a considerable amount of laughter that wasn't a direct result of my terrible sense of humor. (I only managed one joke, as the 1st name of one of the doctor's was "Brock" so I asked if anyone had ever referred to him as "Doc Brock". I was quickly shooshed by my wife, which could've been a shoosh or possibly her push-breathing during contractions.) It was a pretty normal birth on the perfect day, however it's forever skewed my relationship with TV birth's since it was only a month ago I was watching a TV program at the gym on Netflix that was showing a woman giving birth at home, with only her husband and a midwife while she glistened, sort of grimaced, and out popped a rubber baby with ZERO effort and I shouted "BULLLLLLLSHIT*" while on the treadmill. I'm surprised my membership wasn't suspended.
She was teeny tiny- not premature, mind you...she was fully formed, just pocket sized. Five pounds, fourteen ounces of blonde, curly-haired perfection**. Nurse Rachel got her wish and was able to meet her before the end of her shift, and from beginning of the show until baby made their debut was a whopping 45 minutes- an impressive feat we've been chalking up to really good luck, and my wife being fortunate enough to be active and ambulatory during the majority of her pregnancy. Afterwards, we welcomed family, checked the overwhelming number of voice messages when we finally turned our phones on, became accustomed to the few days of post-birth hospital life (You're surprise how few fucks you give walking into a gift shop or cafe' in naught but your sleep shorts and unkempt hair to get your wife some ginger ale.)
We welcomed few visitors outside of family before leaving, with one friend staring at the overnight nurse who left as she was visiting before commenting: "Jesus...they are beautiful". We were given the final departure instructions our last day-in the form of body healing and self care for my wife, which included no nookie for a few weeks. (Our nurse, somewhat aghast and conspiratorial, confided to us: "I have WALKED IN on people having sex the day after childbirth. And I have HEARD of women going in for their 3 month Ob/Gyn follow-up and learning they're PREGNANT!"...so if, uh...you know the depth of exhaustion and physical "don't even think-about-it"-ness post-childbirth, then to hear those two stories'd make your butt-hair cringe.)
When we left, our daughter was...impossibly...delicate seeming. In a car seat that seemed entirely too big for her, as she slept soundly the whole way home. It was a sunny day, Spring, I had just over a week left of time away from work, and I was still processing the fact that this was one of those days I'd remember as being the first of it's kind, and I'd never forget, until the literal day I shuffle off to the sweet unknown. A dad. A family. A crowd. And at the time as the billboards and exits on 94Westbound whipped by, I still wasn't 100% in my right head-space about the ordeal or what was to come
*"Arrow" season 7 finale. Oliver Queen and Felicity give birth to their daughter, Mia and it was hot soap opera garbage it was FINE OKAY? IT'S JUST A GODDAMN CW SUPERHERO SHOW WHAT DID I WANT AN EPISODE OF NOVA?
**Me. I had white blonde curly hair for the 1st ten years of my life that I hated until I discovered Aussie Sprunch Hairspray to paste it down. I worry that she'll hate it to, and be resentful of people who go out of their way to curl or perm their hair.
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Post-Partum Post-Mortem
So that, my daughter, is the story of you. I'll probably fill you in on the hairier details should you someday ask, or care. I don't know what kind of person you'll be, or if you'll wind up the kind of megalomaniacal evil genius that doffs their previous persona in the interest of growth, and has no love or sentiment toward their past. Mom and Dad will always remind each other of the details and the in-between, as we just did tonight filling in the 2020 Yoga Cats calendar (we give each other every year) with important dates and flip through 2019 to copy over birthday's. 4/25, the perfect day, will always be yours, and for mom and dad to remember the events that took place to get you here.
So far, 8 months in, I'm clearly no better a writer than I was when I started- much less when I started blogging 16 years ago. We had, and still have, those sleepless nights where we blink and through the fug of exhaustion wonder what we've gotten ourselves into. I changed my first diaper...a grown, 44 year old man rubbing his eyes at 2am and putting down a puppy pee pad on your changing table so he doesn't have to throw the towel-pad in the wash because he's lazy. Just tucking his hair back and doing it. We've taken professional pictures, shown you off to family and friends, celebrated birthdays and public outings to the park, to the mall. Made it through the Summer, the too-short Fall and Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas (daddy's birthday!) and into the new year. Your hairy brother- your first good boy- our doggo Blu has adopted you, giving you kisses and bringing you his stuffed pig. Our cat...has largely ignored you after you took over his sleeping cage in the nursery. (Aka- your crib) You're in day care, with all the other infant gnip-gnorks, being social and making your teachers smile when we drop you off and being sent home with smeary art work we love and lovingly stick on the fridge.
And though we laugh now at the thought of embarrassing you, mom and dad were antsy when it came to intimacy and learned (early on) how to navigate that in the brief moments when you were sleeping mere feet away and when your cries would make us laugh and stop and awkwardly stumble to check on your sweet self.
I want to give you the sun and stars, but I don't want to blind you to the world, my love. Even we have cloudy and dark days that come as a surprise. You were born into an uneasy and divisive time in the world as it is- but here at home mom and dad are human and so are you. We've been exhausted to the point of tears, sometimes unable to speak clearly or in the honest and steady way that used to define who we were. The early days of attention and audiences dwindle, and you suddenly find yourself back in a routine that makes you feel isolated, and very alone. Even when your house feels very full. The hubris of your dad thinking that there isn't too much he cannot handle and that nothing will really change will sink him, mentally, when things upturn like things always do when there's a newborn at home. And when you get older, changes can be very very hard.
There are dark days when your dad is tired of socializing with family, and the obligations become overwhelming. When he gets down because his mom and dad- your gramma and grampa- aren't here any more to see you grow up. Because his extended family is spread pretty far and is hard to visit all the time. Because his friends who are his framily have their own families and obligations, and it can make you feel like you've done something wrong, even if you haven't.
We've been sick, together, with you, and unable to have the other be the strong and healthy partner who steers while the other convalesces, and even experienced the fear and panic that happens when you find your infant daughter in the ICU with tubes and monitors and and a viral sickness that robs her of her little breath.
But from those moments, little love, mom and dad have grown as well. We imagined we'd be parents who wouldn't blindly panic at the first sniffle, and now are much more cautious in how delicate your health can be. We've both adopted healthier habits at home as well- we're both resuming our physical health routines (you laugh and stare as daddy does his silly stretches and kicks in the morning, and giggle when he sing-song counts the reps lifting weights while you're in your swing.) Daddy is teetotalling, maybe for good, and this is a word you'll understand better when you get older, but it's something your gramma had to do when he was a baby, and something your dad decided to do in order to adopt better habits and (hopefully) live to be 100. Or at least be the foxy 62 year old dad in the audience when you graduate high school.
And you've grown, my little peanut. I remember telling friends when you were this tiny, pink potato that couldn't hold up it's neck that I couldn't wait to see your personality, and it didn't disappoint. The first smiles, laughs, giggles, and articulating "da-da-da-da-da-da" over and over again put us over the moon. Even the moods, the fits, the thoughtful looks when we know you're crapping your pants are all things to wonder about. And like my wife is always reminding me- for as many things you're experiencing that are new and for the first time? We are, too.
And as much as I don't like conforming to the normal, I can't wait to see the kind of person you'll become. Mommy and daddy love you very much, my loving joy.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
Friday, December 27, 2019
The calm before the storm...
If I can back up again...there are secure doors outside of the maternity ward at the hospital...
I forget if I mentioned it before, but when we had our hospital tour earlier in the year, when you arrive on baby day you learn that you're required to buzz the maternity entrance, wait, and then be let in. (There is NO dramatic kicking in the door demanding to see your wife) Security door buzzers sort of give me the smallest bit of pause for some weird reason. I think buzzers to be embarrassing, having to press a button which is probably making a BIG noise somewhere behind the doors while someone is sitting there, watching a video feed snickering at my not-able-to-be-let-in-ineptitude cruelly waits to see if I start looking around for help before buzzing me in. It sounds dramatic, sure, but on the morning of April 25th it's safe to say I wasn't in my right headspace already so these kind of scenarios seem perfectly reasonable.
What the door-buzzer-gatekeeper would have seen in the monitor around 9:30 am, was an adult man wearing the dad-iest outfit possible consisting of cargo shorts, a hoodie, short-sleeved patterned shirt, and brimming with enough baggage/luggage you'd think he's in the pre-check line at the airport to go on an overseas flight.
The buzzing ends. A telltale click as the doors swing inward...
I enter...
As I walk in there's this tall, attractive blonde nurse who's wearing an easy smile and looking at me (I assume) like she's seen MANY sweaty overweight nervous dad's day-in-day-out for years except... she's been making eye contact with me for...a little too long and...Is...is she... she is. She's still staring? And oh boy...NOW she's walking toward me and heyyyyyy, am I exuding new dad pheromones or something? Maybe it's the peanut butter from the dog earlier this morning? Do..do I still got game? Do I..play..games...gameboy...Nintendo...
(Note: The medical staff being fetching is going to be coming up later. Stay with us.)
She speaks to me..
Nurse: "Mike?"
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: (Says my wife's name)
Me: "Yes. Can you. I mean, sorry. Which, uh, is she in the same room we were in 2 days ago or has she..like. Moved?"
Nurse: (Laughing) "No. I'm NURSE Rachel."
Me: "I'm sorry. Ha. Could...are you serious? Because I'm kinda fucking frazzled and I don't know if you just said my wife's name or not"
Nurse: (More...laughing. This is good for me. I have an audience) "Sorry! Nope, come on down. She's getting prepped for her epidural and I snuck her some contraband peanut butter toast because she said she was hungry. You (points at me) are good. She (Clicks thumb back down hallway) is down thataway"
I already like Nurse Rachel quite a bit.
As I drop my stuff in her room, I'm relieved to see my wife was prepped and looking more comfortable than she had in weeks. The anesthesiologist came in shortly after to assist with the procedure and as he was checking my wifes lines he commented that they "Looked really good" with a hint of surprise. Nurse Rachel endeared herself to me even further with her feigned disgust at the passively condescending way he made the comment, and was having none of it.
"I know. I did them myself".
I guess I wasn't prepared for that kind of verbal sparring, but it was cool to see that she wasn't about to take his shit. He seemed unfazed as he moved on, and later I was told it wasn't meant to be prickish, but he makes dozens and dozens of rounds every day, does his job with clinical efficiency, and moves on,. So...it was a compliment? Question mark? Anway.
The light's in her room were dimmed so resting could take place when my wife's mom showed up to lend support as my wife drifted in and out of sleep. I took the time to walk and chat with Nurse Rachel in order to get caught up on doings in the brief time I went home and came back since apparently:
-A large construction team started doing loud, NOISY work on the automatic doors to surgery which were very close to my wife's room and were preventing her from sleeping. Nurse Rachel went out and took them to task for their inconsideration, and (HILARIOUSLY) the staff gave us a Target gift card for the inconvenience.
-The maternity wing of the hospital, very quickly and early, hit occupational capacity in the morning so the fact that we arrived as early as we did was a good sign, as they started having to direct new parents to their respective "B" choice hospitals. (No room at the Inn, dig?)
-There was an emergency C section that Nurse Rachel needed to assist with soon after my wife was set up with her IV's. (My wife recalled much screaming and calamity in the halls. Nurse Rachel ran off without so much as a word when her walkie started squawking. When she came back she said "We're good. Someone was just a prime candidate for a Caesarian today".) As our nurse herself, well we toured the wing and she showed me where to get the crunchy delicious hospital ice when I asked if I could have some, and told me a little about herself:
Married with 2 boys. She did some modeling (see?) to pay for nursing school. Loves her job. Gave me some indirect pointers and pro-tips for new parents that she said she wished she knew. ("Don't cut their nails until much, much later. You will chew their nails, which sounds gross but it's fine. I cut my first son's nails and didn't realize they weren't fully formed which meant I was snipping skin and he buh-LED!!! I was like...'UGH! I'M the WORST mom EVER!' You'll say you're the worst parent a lot for the first few months.")
I managed to catch a few winks in the afternoon so when I woke up we sent mom away for a little bit as the care team was coming in for some baby birthing business. The first thing I noticed was my wife's regular Ob/Gyn wasn't among them as the introductions were being made- not the end of the world, but you always hope that relationship continues from beginning to end.
The second thing I noticed? Which I meant to keep to myself forever in order to treat the day of the birth of my child with respect and sensitivity...was was that they were all young and cute. Great.
This doctor was a tan, brightly dispositioned woman with the kind of energy that said she finished an Ironman this morning before hitting a sunrise yoga class, who also had a really awesome laugh (sidenote- Wife wants it mentioned she probably shops at or models for Athleta) SHE says "So, I'll be attending the birth because your doctor isn't on call tonight, however we were classmates and did our residency together so we're actually good friends." (This was...really kind of cool to hear. I expected a lot of dispassionate and clinical business-minded folk sans humor.) We're then introduced to the remaining care team and told "We're hear to see where you're dilated to, and to break your water to see if we can't move things along a bit faster, yeah?"
NOT ON MY WATCH, DOC!
"Wait. WAIT wait wait wait wait. If THIS is true, then my biology classes lied to us, the birthing class lied to us. MY wife was SUPPOSED to be in the kitchen mixing SOMETHING and it was going to break and flow dramatically all over the hardwood floors. I'm feeling we're missing part of the experience!"
They laugh at my stupid faux umbrage, which is nice, as my wife's eyes roll back so hard it's as if she's inspecting her pillow. We all start chatting and I learn the care team is all under 30 and 2 of them are getting their residency. They are all blonde with hair in pony tails. One has glasses. All have Crocs on which I tell them we've noticed and I'm given the dispassionate commentary I've expected when I'm told it's easier to wash blood and human tissue off of them at the end of the shift. Rad. I mention my wife had to buy Crocs which my wife groans about, even sedated, because she hates that she owns Croc sandals even though they're comfy AF.
Before she leaves, Nurse Rachel hangs back and says something I imagine she says to a lot of people, but in the moment I wanted it committed it to memory: "So. I really like the both of you. A lot. My shift ends at 7pm, but I want to meet this baby tonight. I think it'll happen, so I'll be back in a bit to check. We're almost there."
And then we're left alone again. Just...I know who I am. I'm sensitive about being weird and strange and not-so-serious. I know I'm nervous and on a good day I'm a frassy talky-meat making stupid jokes. Conversely, I know the gravity of what we're going through that morning. And I want my wife to see me as me and not me playing a role of stoic dad. I want the care team to know I trust them and won't second guess them or act like I know more because I read something somewhere. The easier of a patient and patient partner I am, the better I think it'll be for everyone. If a little levity let's them know I won't lose my shit when it's go time, then I'd like to think my being silly while also being respectful make a better experience during this brief, emotional and intense affair.
Mom returns and brushes my wife's hair. I check my phone and confirm the pets and the house are taken care of before shutting off my phone for the last time of the evening.
My wife beckons me over as mom retreats to give updates to the family via text. I'm holding her hand and she says to me:
"I'm scared"
"I know. But we're in it. And I'm right here. And I'm not going any where. You got this."
"I love you"
"I love you"
"Why are all the doctors and nurses so hot?"
"I'm glad you noticed so I didn't have to keep it to myself"
"Seriously. And young"
"Ok. We'll carbon date them later."
It's too quiet. Nurse Rachel returns. She floomfs some pillows. Brings more water and ice. Checks machines...I'm curious.
"Hey".
"Yeah?"
"Shouldn't there be more people here? I feel like we paid for more people" (Laughter. It's an affirming laugh. I didn't tell my wife that I was starting to shake a little.)
"Not right now. When it's 'go time', you'll know"
"Ok. Can I...Can I ask probably a stupid question?"
"Shoot"
"Have you ever had to deliver a baby by yourself before?"
Nurse Rachel stops tucking in my wife for a second and looks at me curiously before that look changes to sort of a hard steely squint.
"It's not a dumb question. And 'Yes'. LOT'S of times."
"Ah."
"Sometimes the doctor is late, sometimes the baby gets impatient...hell, I've even recruited the dad to help out and pull the kid out"
I have a purpose.
"Really?"
"Yup"
I step away from the bed and hold my arms out and bent up with my hands closed and pointing upward. "I'm ready".
"...I'm sorry. What are you doing?"
"Let's go. Let's do this"
Nurse Rachel looks really confused as she goes back to her actual job but I was saved by one of the residents laughing as she walked in (Blonde. Ponytail. Glasses. Cute.)
"He wants to get scrubbed for surgery"
Much relief. Joke grenade exploded.
"Seriously. I'm ready. I can do this. I've watched 'M*A*S*H' like, 5 or 6 times over. I'm hella ready"
"That's amazing. I LOVE 'M*A*S*H'..." (She loves it, by the way.)
"Me too. My Dad and I used to watch together when I I was a kid. I remem-..."
The birth mother objects, at this juncture...
"Stop. STOP. Please. No more jokes. No more. I don't want to be giving birth with the theme music from 'M*A*S*H' stuck in my head. Please."*
Chastened, I muttered an apology and moved back up to my station by my wife's head. At this point, things get a little muddled as I remember giving her sips of water and kissing her head a lot while the "blip" of the monitor next to me was steady. Muddled, mind you. And fast. Because I feel like I looked down at my wife and said supportive things, and then I looked up and before I really knew what was happening ("Do I need a mask? A gown? A shower?") a team of doctor's and nurses in gowns, plastic face shields, gloves, and the whole shebang swarmed in and broke my wife's bed apart into birthing mode with the speed and efficiency of an Indy 500 tire change.
It was "go time".
*My wife would later tell me as we were talking about it her brain was already envisioning the opening scene during the credits of the brown grassy fields as the helicopter shadow speeds over the landscape.
I forget if I mentioned it before, but when we had our hospital tour earlier in the year, when you arrive on baby day you learn that you're required to buzz the maternity entrance, wait, and then be let in. (There is NO dramatic kicking in the door demanding to see your wife) Security door buzzers sort of give me the smallest bit of pause for some weird reason. I think buzzers to be embarrassing, having to press a button which is probably making a BIG noise somewhere behind the doors while someone is sitting there, watching a video feed snickering at my not-able-to-be-let-in-ineptitude cruelly waits to see if I start looking around for help before buzzing me in. It sounds dramatic, sure, but on the morning of April 25th it's safe to say I wasn't in my right headspace already so these kind of scenarios seem perfectly reasonable.
What the door-buzzer-gatekeeper would have seen in the monitor around 9:30 am, was an adult man wearing the dad-iest outfit possible consisting of cargo shorts, a hoodie, short-sleeved patterned shirt, and brimming with enough baggage/luggage you'd think he's in the pre-check line at the airport to go on an overseas flight.
The buzzing ends. A telltale click as the doors swing inward...
I enter...
As I walk in there's this tall, attractive blonde nurse who's wearing an easy smile and looking at me (I assume) like she's seen MANY sweaty overweight nervous dad's day-in-day-out for years except... she's been making eye contact with me for...a little too long and...Is...is she... she is. She's still staring? And oh boy...NOW she's walking toward me and heyyyyyy, am I exuding new dad pheromones or something? Maybe it's the peanut butter from the dog earlier this morning? Do..do I still got game? Do I..play..games...gameboy...Nintendo...
(Note: The medical staff being fetching is going to be coming up later. Stay with us.)
She speaks to me..
Nurse: "Mike?"
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: (Says my wife's name)
Me: "Yes. Can you. I mean, sorry. Which, uh, is she in the same room we were in 2 days ago or has she..like. Moved?"
Nurse: (Laughing) "No. I'm NURSE Rachel."
Me: "I'm sorry. Ha. Could...are you serious? Because I'm kinda fucking frazzled and I don't know if you just said my wife's name or not"
Nurse: (More...laughing. This is good for me. I have an audience) "Sorry! Nope, come on down. She's getting prepped for her epidural and I snuck her some contraband peanut butter toast because she said she was hungry. You (points at me) are good. She (Clicks thumb back down hallway) is down thataway"
I already like Nurse Rachel quite a bit.
As I drop my stuff in her room, I'm relieved to see my wife was prepped and looking more comfortable than she had in weeks. The anesthesiologist came in shortly after to assist with the procedure and as he was checking my wifes lines he commented that they "Looked really good" with a hint of surprise. Nurse Rachel endeared herself to me even further with her feigned disgust at the passively condescending way he made the comment, and was having none of it.
"I know. I did them myself".
I guess I wasn't prepared for that kind of verbal sparring, but it was cool to see that she wasn't about to take his shit. He seemed unfazed as he moved on, and later I was told it wasn't meant to be prickish, but he makes dozens and dozens of rounds every day, does his job with clinical efficiency, and moves on,. So...it was a compliment? Question mark? Anway.
The light's in her room were dimmed so resting could take place when my wife's mom showed up to lend support as my wife drifted in and out of sleep. I took the time to walk and chat with Nurse Rachel in order to get caught up on doings in the brief time I went home and came back since apparently:
-A large construction team started doing loud, NOISY work on the automatic doors to surgery which were very close to my wife's room and were preventing her from sleeping. Nurse Rachel went out and took them to task for their inconsideration, and (HILARIOUSLY) the staff gave us a Target gift card for the inconvenience.
-The maternity wing of the hospital, very quickly and early, hit occupational capacity in the morning so the fact that we arrived as early as we did was a good sign, as they started having to direct new parents to their respective "B" choice hospitals. (No room at the Inn, dig?)
-There was an emergency C section that Nurse Rachel needed to assist with soon after my wife was set up with her IV's. (My wife recalled much screaming and calamity in the halls. Nurse Rachel ran off without so much as a word when her walkie started squawking. When she came back she said "We're good. Someone was just a prime candidate for a Caesarian today".) As our nurse herself, well we toured the wing and she showed me where to get the crunchy delicious hospital ice when I asked if I could have some, and told me a little about herself:
Married with 2 boys. She did some modeling (see?) to pay for nursing school. Loves her job. Gave me some indirect pointers and pro-tips for new parents that she said she wished she knew. ("Don't cut their nails until much, much later. You will chew their nails, which sounds gross but it's fine. I cut my first son's nails and didn't realize they weren't fully formed which meant I was snipping skin and he buh-LED!!! I was like...'UGH! I'M the WORST mom EVER!' You'll say you're the worst parent a lot for the first few months.")
I managed to catch a few winks in the afternoon so when I woke up we sent mom away for a little bit as the care team was coming in for some baby birthing business. The first thing I noticed was my wife's regular Ob/Gyn wasn't among them as the introductions were being made- not the end of the world, but you always hope that relationship continues from beginning to end.
The second thing I noticed? Which I meant to keep to myself forever in order to treat the day of the birth of my child with respect and sensitivity...was was that they were all young and cute. Great.
This doctor was a tan, brightly dispositioned woman with the kind of energy that said she finished an Ironman this morning before hitting a sunrise yoga class, who also had a really awesome laugh (sidenote- Wife wants it mentioned she probably shops at or models for Athleta) SHE says "So, I'll be attending the birth because your doctor isn't on call tonight, however we were classmates and did our residency together so we're actually good friends." (This was...really kind of cool to hear. I expected a lot of dispassionate and clinical business-minded folk sans humor.) We're then introduced to the remaining care team and told "We're hear to see where you're dilated to, and to break your water to see if we can't move things along a bit faster, yeah?"
NOT ON MY WATCH, DOC!
"Wait. WAIT wait wait wait wait. If THIS is true, then my biology classes lied to us, the birthing class lied to us. MY wife was SUPPOSED to be in the kitchen mixing SOMETHING and it was going to break and flow dramatically all over the hardwood floors. I'm feeling we're missing part of the experience!"
They laugh at my stupid faux umbrage, which is nice, as my wife's eyes roll back so hard it's as if she's inspecting her pillow. We all start chatting and I learn the care team is all under 30 and 2 of them are getting their residency. They are all blonde with hair in pony tails. One has glasses. All have Crocs on which I tell them we've noticed and I'm given the dispassionate commentary I've expected when I'm told it's easier to wash blood and human tissue off of them at the end of the shift. Rad. I mention my wife had to buy Crocs which my wife groans about, even sedated, because she hates that she owns Croc sandals even though they're comfy AF.
Before she leaves, Nurse Rachel hangs back and says something I imagine she says to a lot of people, but in the moment I wanted it committed it to memory: "So. I really like the both of you. A lot. My shift ends at 7pm, but I want to meet this baby tonight. I think it'll happen, so I'll be back in a bit to check. We're almost there."
And then we're left alone again. Just...I know who I am. I'm sensitive about being weird and strange and not-so-serious. I know I'm nervous and on a good day I'm a frassy talky-meat making stupid jokes. Conversely, I know the gravity of what we're going through that morning. And I want my wife to see me as me and not me playing a role of stoic dad. I want the care team to know I trust them and won't second guess them or act like I know more because I read something somewhere. The easier of a patient and patient partner I am, the better I think it'll be for everyone. If a little levity let's them know I won't lose my shit when it's go time, then I'd like to think my being silly while also being respectful make a better experience during this brief, emotional and intense affair.
Mom returns and brushes my wife's hair. I check my phone and confirm the pets and the house are taken care of before shutting off my phone for the last time of the evening.
My wife beckons me over as mom retreats to give updates to the family via text. I'm holding her hand and she says to me:
"I'm scared"
"I know. But we're in it. And I'm right here. And I'm not going any where. You got this."
"I love you"
"I love you"
"Why are all the doctors and nurses so hot?"
"I'm glad you noticed so I didn't have to keep it to myself"
"Seriously. And young"
"Ok. We'll carbon date them later."
It's too quiet. Nurse Rachel returns. She floomfs some pillows. Brings more water and ice. Checks machines...I'm curious.
"Hey".
"Yeah?"
"Shouldn't there be more people here? I feel like we paid for more people" (Laughter. It's an affirming laugh. I didn't tell my wife that I was starting to shake a little.)
"Not right now. When it's 'go time', you'll know"
"Ok. Can I...Can I ask probably a stupid question?"
"Shoot"
"Have you ever had to deliver a baby by yourself before?"
Nurse Rachel stops tucking in my wife for a second and looks at me curiously before that look changes to sort of a hard steely squint.
"It's not a dumb question. And 'Yes'. LOT'S of times."
"Ah."
"Sometimes the doctor is late, sometimes the baby gets impatient...hell, I've even recruited the dad to help out and pull the kid out"
I have a purpose.
"Really?"
"Yup"
I step away from the bed and hold my arms out and bent up with my hands closed and pointing upward. "I'm ready".
"...I'm sorry. What are you doing?"
"Let's go. Let's do this"
Nurse Rachel looks really confused as she goes back to her actual job but I was saved by one of the residents laughing as she walked in (Blonde. Ponytail. Glasses. Cute.)
"He wants to get scrubbed for surgery"
Much relief. Joke grenade exploded.
"Seriously. I'm ready. I can do this. I've watched 'M*A*S*H' like, 5 or 6 times over. I'm hella ready"
"That's amazing. I LOVE 'M*A*S*H'..." (She loves it, by the way.)
"Me too. My Dad and I used to watch together when I I was a kid. I remem-..."
The birth mother objects, at this juncture...
"Stop. STOP. Please. No more jokes. No more. I don't want to be giving birth with the theme music from 'M*A*S*H' stuck in my head. Please."*
Chastened, I muttered an apology and moved back up to my station by my wife's head. At this point, things get a little muddled as I remember giving her sips of water and kissing her head a lot while the "blip" of the monitor next to me was steady. Muddled, mind you. And fast. Because I feel like I looked down at my wife and said supportive things, and then I looked up and before I really knew what was happening ("Do I need a mask? A gown? A shower?") a team of doctor's and nurses in gowns, plastic face shields, gloves, and the whole shebang swarmed in and broke my wife's bed apart into birthing mode with the speed and efficiency of an Indy 500 tire change.
It was "go time".
*My wife would later tell me as we were talking about it her brain was already envisioning the opening scene during the credits of the brown grassy fields as the helicopter shadow speeds over the landscape.
Sunday, December 08, 2019
Go time, take two...
3:45am on Thursday, April 25th 2019.
Before I forget, and my wife brushes her teeth, the dog needs his meds. Heartworm and Flea/Tick. The former he gobbles as if it was steak. The later, he fights...really...really fights. By the time I manage to get it down his hacking gullet I have peanut butter smeared up and down my arms.
"Fuck...fuck...fuck fuck fuck goddammit FUCK!!!"
"HONEY! Are you okay?"
"No. Yes! The goddamn dog just put up the fight of the century and I smell like a Reese's candy. I can't leave until I shower"
"O...okay?" (This...from the woman who is waiting...patiently...painfully...to dilate...these last three days)
As we set off to leave, I mention leaving the overnight stuff at home and we just grab snacks- anticipating we'll get sent home, but not until we get some better pain management advice. Sure, the baby is due but my wife hasn't eaten or slept in three days and isn't exactly going to have much energy when it's time to dance. Come to think of it, neither had I. And prosecco doesn't exactly count. I digress.
In the car, I'm full of apologies and hand holding. I'm sorry for being a dick. I hate you're in pain. I can't imagine any of this, but even if we need to go back every day for a butt-shot of morphine we'll go. I'll quit my job or whatever- you're not alone and I'm not going to leave your side. I love you.
As 4am rolls into 4:30, our same doc as before comes in and has the same sympathetic simpering comment "Back again, huh?" ("Yes. We missed you SO much") "Ok. If you can get up on the gurney I'll have another look" (My wife is pushing it around, not even able to get out of her coat unassisted and without feeling like she's going to fall over. I've had it.)
"Oh. Hey. I've got some good news. It looks like you're at 2cm!"
holyfuckingjesusfinally
"So...you guys could still go home and labor if you'd wanted, orrrrrr..."
"Nope. No. Nuh-uh. Drugs."
"..rrrrrr we could admit you and it looks like you want admitted?"
Jesus. Doctor Clue. Line one.
And just like that, we got a room at the Inn. Which, early sleeplessness notwithstanding? Was a blessing in disguise since the hospital hit capacity in the maternity ward by mid-morning and were turning people away to their back-up hospitals by afternoon. We made it in time. Score.
We also didn't have any of our shit and I had a ton of phone calls to make.
As the nurse helps my wife get situated, I tell her I'm going to go home and come right back.
"Why don't you take a nap, honey?*"
"Are...wait, are you sure?"
"Yes. You're exhausted. I'm here and I'm fine. Set your alarm!!! But yeah, grab a nap"
Don't have to tell me twice. BUT FIRST! I check with the nurse who's readying the room:
"Beg pardon? I'm needing to go home and get my pet situation taken care of and get our things. She's. She's not going to baby-up if I'm gone for 2 hours?"
"Nope. She'll be getting some low dose fentanyl and hopefully some sleep herself before the team comes in and gives her the epidural."
"Great"
"I mean...it probably won't happen but IT HAS!!!!" (Last part, emphasis mine. In my head")
"Oh. Ok. I better go then. One more thing...did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Nevermind. It's just the last nurse and I both went to Park Cen---"
"Well actually... back in the day I lived across Zane from this park by Crestview? Is that..."
"Hamilton park?"
"THAT'S IT! So wait...where did...
(Wife) "GO!!!"
Go I did. It was a bright sunny day. 1st day of the...last...first...day...anyway, I think I was thinking that the next time I drive this way I was going to have 3 passengers.
I got home and set my alarm for 1 hour. Put the bags by the front door. Texted the team who was pet-sitting. And passed TF out. When my alarm went off, it ripped me out of a coma so deep I almost didn't notice both my dog and my cat were under the covers flanking me and sleeping (This never happens). I got a text from my wife asking my status as she had eaten and was heading toward epidural town. As I sprinted out to my car, my neighbor across the street waved and yelled "Hi, Mikey!!! When's that baby of yours due again?!?!"
"ANY FUCKING MINUTE NOW, KATHY, AND I'M ALREADY LATE!!! GAHHHHHD BYEEEEEEE!!!"
Drama. And it was here, that the other imaginary scenario of me speeding toward the hospital while my wife Lamaze breathes with one hand on the window and one on her stomach with her leg up on the dash while I get a roaring police escort has been completely supplanted by my driving...fast...but carefully enough to not get pulled over before arriving.
In fact? I don't think I was thinking much at all. I thought I'd be more a flutter, but I was- for better or worse- in the zone. Which isn't really glamorous. I just needed an audience to get me back. And thankfully, there were nurses and doctors who would laugh at my jokes...goddammit.
Before I forget, and my wife brushes her teeth, the dog needs his meds. Heartworm and Flea/Tick. The former he gobbles as if it was steak. The later, he fights...really...really fights. By the time I manage to get it down his hacking gullet I have peanut butter smeared up and down my arms.
"Fuck...fuck...fuck fuck fuck goddammit FUCK!!!"
"HONEY! Are you okay?"
"No. Yes! The goddamn dog just put up the fight of the century and I smell like a Reese's candy. I can't leave until I shower"
"O...okay?" (This...from the woman who is waiting...patiently...painfully...to dilate...these last three days)
As we set off to leave, I mention leaving the overnight stuff at home and we just grab snacks- anticipating we'll get sent home, but not until we get some better pain management advice. Sure, the baby is due but my wife hasn't eaten or slept in three days and isn't exactly going to have much energy when it's time to dance. Come to think of it, neither had I. And prosecco doesn't exactly count. I digress.
In the car, I'm full of apologies and hand holding. I'm sorry for being a dick. I hate you're in pain. I can't imagine any of this, but even if we need to go back every day for a butt-shot of morphine we'll go. I'll quit my job or whatever- you're not alone and I'm not going to leave your side. I love you.
As 4am rolls into 4:30, our same doc as before comes in and has the same sympathetic simpering comment "Back again, huh?" ("Yes. We missed you SO much") "Ok. If you can get up on the gurney I'll have another look" (My wife is pushing it around, not even able to get out of her coat unassisted and without feeling like she's going to fall over. I've had it.)
"Oh. Hey. I've got some good news. It looks like you're at 2cm!"
holyfuckingjesusfinally
"So...you guys could still go home and labor if you'd wanted, orrrrrr..."
"Nope. No. Nuh-uh. Drugs."
"..rrrrrr we could admit you and it looks like you want admitted?"
Jesus. Doctor Clue. Line one.
And just like that, we got a room at the Inn. Which, early sleeplessness notwithstanding? Was a blessing in disguise since the hospital hit capacity in the maternity ward by mid-morning and were turning people away to their back-up hospitals by afternoon. We made it in time. Score.
We also didn't have any of our shit and I had a ton of phone calls to make.
As the nurse helps my wife get situated, I tell her I'm going to go home and come right back.
"Why don't you take a nap, honey?*"
"Are...wait, are you sure?"
"Yes. You're exhausted. I'm here and I'm fine. Set your alarm!!! But yeah, grab a nap"
Don't have to tell me twice. BUT FIRST! I check with the nurse who's readying the room:
"Beg pardon? I'm needing to go home and get my pet situation taken care of and get our things. She's. She's not going to baby-up if I'm gone for 2 hours?"
"Nope. She'll be getting some low dose fentanyl and hopefully some sleep herself before the team comes in and gives her the epidural."
"Great"
"I mean...it probably won't happen but IT HAS!!!!" (Last part, emphasis mine. In my head")
"Oh. Ok. I better go then. One more thing...did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Nevermind. It's just the last nurse and I both went to Park Cen---"
"Well actually... back in the day I lived across Zane from this park by Crestview? Is that..."
"Hamilton park?"
"THAT'S IT! So wait...where did...
(Wife) "GO!!!"
Go I did. It was a bright sunny day. 1st day of the...last...first...day...anyway, I think I was thinking that the next time I drive this way I was going to have 3 passengers.
I got home and set my alarm for 1 hour. Put the bags by the front door. Texted the team who was pet-sitting. And passed TF out. When my alarm went off, it ripped me out of a coma so deep I almost didn't notice both my dog and my cat were under the covers flanking me and sleeping (This never happens). I got a text from my wife asking my status as she had eaten and was heading toward epidural town. As I sprinted out to my car, my neighbor across the street waved and yelled "Hi, Mikey!!! When's that baby of yours due again?!?!"
"ANY FUCKING MINUTE NOW, KATHY, AND I'M ALREADY LATE!!! GAHHHHHD BYEEEEEEE!!!"
Drama. And it was here, that the other imaginary scenario of me speeding toward the hospital while my wife Lamaze breathes with one hand on the window and one on her stomach with her leg up on the dash while I get a roaring police escort has been completely supplanted by my driving...fast...but carefully enough to not get pulled over before arriving.
In fact? I don't think I was thinking much at all. I thought I'd be more a flutter, but I was- for better or worse- in the zone. Which isn't really glamorous. I just needed an audience to get me back. And thankfully, there were nurses and doctors who would laugh at my jokes...goddammit.
I have discovered a term I hate more than "Geriatric Pregnancy"
From Wiki:
"Pre-labor consists of the early signs before labor starts. It is the body's preparation for real labor.
Prodromal labor has been misnamed as “false labor." Prodromal labor begins much as traditional labor but does not progress to the birth of the baby."
From the doctor:
"Right now, your baby is sunny side up. She's pointing in the right direction, but you aren't dilated and your water hasn't broken. Also, you're not at 39 weeks "officially", so we can't induce. She's basically playing with the nerves on your spine, which is causing the discomfort."
From my wife:
(Indecipherable whimpering, retching, and breathing)
Have you ever heard someone scream IRL? Not like, "little kid screaming for the sake of screaming" or amusement park screams on the roller coaster. Or even theatrical screaming. I'm talking the good old fashioned can't take it any more variety. I rolled my ankle a few years ago carrying a heavy box down some rickety stairs. Thought it snapped in half. Screamed. Back in 2009 I got a phone call that my dad passed away. Fell to ground. Screamed. Neighbors even stopped over the next day to make sure everything was okay. Those were real screams, but i wasn't listening to myself.
The first time I heard my wife scream like that I guess I wasn't ready for the coppery flood of adrenaline in my mouth and my fists to clench involuntarily as I mentally wanted to find who was attacking her and DEFEND!!!!..Even though I was in a perfectly serviceable hospital with a perfectly respectable doctor who's arm was presently under a blanket checking my wife's nethers as her scream made my eardrums thud.
We were given the above disclaimer regarding pre-labor, and the TL/DR was that nothing could be done except we could try walking around for an hour. The doctor must've seen this before because she said "We just need some water breakage or some dilation. She's ready. The baby is ready. We just need to get past this last step."
Right.
You'd think we could have meandered the whole of Region's in an hour, but the fact was with the retching and the stopping to bend over and breathe...we barely got to the cafe'. (I was starving. It was almost 9 at night and we hadn't even thought of food, as if my wife could have eaten. She tried, bless her, to keep down some pita bread but it didn't stay and it was back up and into one of those barf bags with the plastic ring on top.) At one point, closing in on the end of our hour before it was back to the exam room my wife hobbled...interminably slowly...to the restroom. And after a long enough time the St. Paul Police security doubled back to give me another "why are you loitering outside the ladies room" look, my wife came out just as miserable and said she was glad I packed the change of clothes for her. (Making potty and retching...are not the best combination in the world.)
We made it back to the room for another peek from the doctor which brought another, albeit slightly lessened, scream with the news I was sort of anticipating- still no dilation. It was suggested we labor at home, but it was so late we asked to be admitted where my wife was gowned up and given a blissful shot of morphine in the butt before she got settled in to sleep. In one of the first of many weird coincidences and right before my wife's morphine shot, the nurse helping us out stared the chart a few times before saying my last name out loud about 3 x's.
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: "That's just not a last name you hear that often. Did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
Me: "Yyyyyesss?"
Nurse: "On Colorado?"
Me: "Jesus, we moved when I was five or six. Big white colonial that backed up to the farm field that's a housing development now"
Nurse: "YES! I thought I recognized the name. We were around the 'U' street on Douglas."
Me: "No shit? (Thinks back) So you might've known the _______?"
Nurse: "Yup"
Me: "OH! And the ______?!?!"
Nurse: "THAT was a big time party house!"
Me: "Did you graduate from PC?"
WIFE: "Hello? Can we play catch up later and give me drugs? Pleeeease?"
Crazy.
ANYWAY, the next day there was another cervical check, another (SLIGHTLY lessened) scream, and orders to go home and suffer. Basically. My wife was given a prescription for Extra Strength Tylenol ("It was like being given a band-aid for a compound fracture..." My wife cried while waiting to pick it up, she felt so hopeless.) We went home where my wife was able to get some more sleep but by the end of that day, it was back to the terrible screaming pain. The next day wasn't much better, except my wife had her final scheduled Ob-Gyn appointment which didn't yield anything more except sympathetic expressions from her doctor and the unhelpful "I know it's really uncomfortable, but..." responses.
The message was clear- You're in it. This is part of it. You're going to have to suck it up.
By the end of Wednesday, 4/24/2019...we were getting frayed. We were going back and forth if we should go back. I was missing another day of work at a brand new job. Her parents were both incredibly concerned after her mom came to visit and my wife broke down crying from the pain. I knew she wanted to go back and get help but I knew she'd be sent home to suffer some more. I started get the impression her family was thinking I was keeping my wife from getting help when there was nothing further from the truth. Hopeless and with my support person pregnant and miserable I.. I was just...hopeless.
It was a gray, miserable day. But it was warmer after a terrible Winter. And I needed to clear the fug after all the pain and our fighting.
So I checked on my wife and went for a quick 3 mile trot. After I got home I guzzled some wine and tried rubbing her lower back before telling her I needed to go back to work in the morning and if she said the word, I wouldn't. "I'm on day three of my unpaid maternity leave...and I can't afford to be off any more if it's not go time." It made me feel like an uncaring cad, but we both knew I needed the full 2 weeks to be home with EVERYONE when the everyone in question was finally under the same roof and no co-habiting in my wife's belly.
I showered and passed out, then woke up to moaning and crying and giving more lower back rubs before passing out, then getting woken up again. For good. For real.
"I can't take it any more. Can we please go in?"
You got it, my love. Just let me do the talking when we get there, because if I get another sympathetic look and we get sent home...I'm writing a nasty Yelp review.
"Pre-labor consists of the early signs before labor starts. It is the body's preparation for real labor.
Prodromal labor has been misnamed as “false labor." Prodromal labor begins much as traditional labor but does not progress to the birth of the baby."
From the doctor:
"Right now, your baby is sunny side up. She's pointing in the right direction, but you aren't dilated and your water hasn't broken. Also, you're not at 39 weeks "officially", so we can't induce. She's basically playing with the nerves on your spine, which is causing the discomfort."
From my wife:
(Indecipherable whimpering, retching, and breathing)
Have you ever heard someone scream IRL? Not like, "little kid screaming for the sake of screaming" or amusement park screams on the roller coaster. Or even theatrical screaming. I'm talking the good old fashioned can't take it any more variety. I rolled my ankle a few years ago carrying a heavy box down some rickety stairs. Thought it snapped in half. Screamed. Back in 2009 I got a phone call that my dad passed away. Fell to ground. Screamed. Neighbors even stopped over the next day to make sure everything was okay. Those were real screams, but i wasn't listening to myself.
The first time I heard my wife scream like that I guess I wasn't ready for the coppery flood of adrenaline in my mouth and my fists to clench involuntarily as I mentally wanted to find who was attacking her and DEFEND!!!!..Even though I was in a perfectly serviceable hospital with a perfectly respectable doctor who's arm was presently under a blanket checking my wife's nethers as her scream made my eardrums thud.
We were given the above disclaimer regarding pre-labor, and the TL/DR was that nothing could be done except we could try walking around for an hour. The doctor must've seen this before because she said "We just need some water breakage or some dilation. She's ready. The baby is ready. We just need to get past this last step."
Right.
You'd think we could have meandered the whole of Region's in an hour, but the fact was with the retching and the stopping to bend over and breathe...we barely got to the cafe'. (I was starving. It was almost 9 at night and we hadn't even thought of food, as if my wife could have eaten. She tried, bless her, to keep down some pita bread but it didn't stay and it was back up and into one of those barf bags with the plastic ring on top.) At one point, closing in on the end of our hour before it was back to the exam room my wife hobbled...interminably slowly...to the restroom. And after a long enough time the St. Paul Police security doubled back to give me another "why are you loitering outside the ladies room" look, my wife came out just as miserable and said she was glad I packed the change of clothes for her. (Making potty and retching...are not the best combination in the world.)
We made it back to the room for another peek from the doctor which brought another, albeit slightly lessened, scream with the news I was sort of anticipating- still no dilation. It was suggested we labor at home, but it was so late we asked to be admitted where my wife was gowned up and given a blissful shot of morphine in the butt before she got settled in to sleep. In one of the first of many weird coincidences and right before my wife's morphine shot, the nurse helping us out stared the chart a few times before saying my last name out loud about 3 x's.
Me: "Yes?"
Nurse: "That's just not a last name you hear that often. Did you grow up in Brooklyn Park?"
Me: "Yyyyyesss?"
Nurse: "On Colorado?"
Me: "Jesus, we moved when I was five or six. Big white colonial that backed up to the farm field that's a housing development now"
Nurse: "YES! I thought I recognized the name. We were around the 'U' street on Douglas."
Me: "No shit? (Thinks back) So you might've known the _______?"
Nurse: "Yup"
Me: "OH! And the ______?!?!"
Nurse: "THAT was a big time party house!"
Me: "Did you graduate from PC?"
WIFE: "Hello? Can we play catch up later and give me drugs? Pleeeease?"
Crazy.
ANYWAY, the next day there was another cervical check, another (SLIGHTLY lessened) scream, and orders to go home and suffer. Basically. My wife was given a prescription for Extra Strength Tylenol ("It was like being given a band-aid for a compound fracture..." My wife cried while waiting to pick it up, she felt so hopeless.) We went home where my wife was able to get some more sleep but by the end of that day, it was back to the terrible screaming pain. The next day wasn't much better, except my wife had her final scheduled Ob-Gyn appointment which didn't yield anything more except sympathetic expressions from her doctor and the unhelpful "I know it's really uncomfortable, but..." responses.
The message was clear- You're in it. This is part of it. You're going to have to suck it up.
By the end of Wednesday, 4/24/2019...we were getting frayed. We were going back and forth if we should go back. I was missing another day of work at a brand new job. Her parents were both incredibly concerned after her mom came to visit and my wife broke down crying from the pain. I knew she wanted to go back and get help but I knew she'd be sent home to suffer some more. I started get the impression her family was thinking I was keeping my wife from getting help when there was nothing further from the truth. Hopeless and with my support person pregnant and miserable I.. I was just...hopeless.
It was a gray, miserable day. But it was warmer after a terrible Winter. And I needed to clear the fug after all the pain and our fighting.
So I checked on my wife and went for a quick 3 mile trot. After I got home I guzzled some wine and tried rubbing her lower back before telling her I needed to go back to work in the morning and if she said the word, I wouldn't. "I'm on day three of my unpaid maternity leave...and I can't afford to be off any more if it's not go time." It made me feel like an uncaring cad, but we both knew I needed the full 2 weeks to be home with EVERYONE when the everyone in question was finally under the same roof and no co-habiting in my wife's belly.
I showered and passed out, then woke up to moaning and crying and giving more lower back rubs before passing out, then getting woken up again. For good. For real.
"I can't take it any more. Can we please go in?"
You got it, my love. Just let me do the talking when we get there, because if I get another sympathetic look and we get sent home...I'm writing a nasty Yelp review.
Sunday, September 08, 2019
"I Think You're Going to Have a Baby Tonight!!!!"*
(*Or not)
The morning after my wife had the one-in-the-morning contraction:
"Did you want me to call the baby line?'
"No. It's probably just (Insert: gas, cramp, false hope)..."
"Are you sure? I can call in to work"
"No. We shouldn't waste the time off. I'll be fine."
"Ok. Will you (Insert: Call, text, email, all of the above) please?"
"Of course."
"Can we have a less cliche' saying than 'I think it's happening' when it actually happens?"
"Ha Ha."
After having *just* had Easter dinner and the terse conversation regarding late-to-the-party babies (AND how much like everything I was right about- from the sex of the baby, to the nesting instinct being a myth, to...obviously...our daughter WOULD be born EXACTLY one week late), this gave me the initial feeling of a false alarm. And hey if there was ONE take-away I remember from our tour of Regions Hospital to show peeps I was listening, it was to CALL THE BABY LINE before coming to the hospital. (Naturally, this made perfect sense. It would put you in touch with a helpful nurse that may calm your nerves and help ascertain if it's truly a false alarm versus a "git in here now". With a phone call. Brilliant. And the best tool for procrastinators.)
So we went to work that morning like usual. Everything status quo. Nothing to see here, just move along, folks...(My wife's lunch time small talk was funny. "How's it going, R?"/"Oh fine. I think I'm having pre-labor contractions (rubs belly while microwave "DINGS".)/"I didn't think you'd share that much."
Then the Monday was over. I got home from work. It was pissing rain. I ran out to get our Winter coats from the dry cleaner so we could store them for the Summer. And I made a joke to the cashier that I hope to never see them again until next week. (HAR!!! ) Then I sort of stood there before leaving. Standing there, holding my wife's winter coats. And stared at the maternity coat thinking it might be the last go. The first coat- i.e. her normal winter coat- lasted until almost December when she needed to upsize to the roomier one.
It was just...you know. Anyway, back to home.
Home to putting on my bathrobe. To some wine. To some forcing the dog out to potty in the rain. To a little more wine. To taking off my pants. To...my phone buzzing off the chain.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mike? This is ______ from R's work. She's having really bad contractions and we're taking her home so you don't wonder why a few different cars pull up in front"
"O...k?"
"Yeah, she can't drive right now so we'll see you soon! Bye!!!"
She sounded so excited. And I was like...
Wait, what now?
NOW?!?!?
I watched the front window until I saw her car and another car pull up behind it. Unbeknownst to me (but again, makes perfect sense), my wife made contingencies with her fellow employees to catch a ride home should babytime arrive early. As her co-worker bustled up to hold the doors, I saw my wife slowwwwly extricate herself from the car. Full of smiles, her co-worker gives me a warm hug saying "I think someone's having a baby tonight!!!!"
And there's me. Still in my robe. Still...sans pants...a bit too little clothing for me to be interacting that closely with my wife's fellow employees. (Wife interjection: To be fair, he was called WELL in advance so he COULD have thrown some pants on! Husband Rebuttal: I hate pants. Sustained.)
As I looked over her shoulder I un-hugged and asked (I ASKED, lordy!) if she'd mind if I run out and give my wife a hand. At this point, my wife was doubled over hanging on the car door retching, which was clue number one something seemed really... off.
I get her as comfortable as I can on the couch while taking off her Crocs. As her co-workers leave and wish us luck. Her dad texted he's heading over and I interviewed my wife about her contraction time-frames, how many minutes apart, grabbing some paper to keep track, and then finally...FINALLY I rang up the BABYLINE to give the nurse a holler. (Dramatic swell of music as the pre-programmed number is pushed)
And we got...Jim (*Not the real name).
Jim...was probably a float? Maybe handling the phone on a busy night? Regardless, I so was wound up and upset that after the call I asked my wife how we got the B-Squad Junior Varsity phone attendant, but lest you get too upset at my commentary...hear me out:
My wife was attempting to answer the initial compulsory questions while in spasms of pain (It was easier for her to answer the nurse directly than my playing...telephone). Jim, after every answer, would then place my wife on a protracted hold. Phone is then handed to me while she retches and breathes and holds either my, or her dad's hand to squeeze while she cries. Dog is pacing concernedly and whimpering. More holds. More waiting. More waiting.
It goes from believing this is normal...this is part of the birth process and yes, calm down because we're now getting to the "final emergency questions ". Her take, by my wife:
I don't remember all of the first questions. But the emergency questions started off with Jim asking me: 'Now, can you see the umbilical cord at all?'/'I, uh, see what?!?!?'/'It would be a bluish-gray color'/'Jim, I would have LED with that!'/'Please hold' (Jim comes back) 'Last question, can you see the babies head at all?...'
Jim...Jim? JIMBO! I haven't seen my own v@gina in 3 months. No.'/'Ok. Gotta ask. Please hold...(Jim comes back) You should probably come in.' (I can attest to watching this conversation in person and it was MUCH less funny if you were there.)
Here, I was glad we were packed and ready. I bundle up wife while she kisses dad. I text friends to advise we wouldn't be home and to watch the house and pets...And away we go! Ready as I'll ever be, I guess...
Gosh! April 22. Wonder what celebrity birthday's there are today or famous historical events. I mean, it could be April 23rd after all the pushing and labor since babies are NEVER born as soon as you're admitted and it'll probably be a 4am Facebook announcement on April 23rd but whatever. (Pats wife's leg. See's all the different entrances) Ok, trying to remember where they wanted us to park if we're inmates. (Rushes wife to the security door and remembering push the intercom button to be let in versus knocking.) Sign in, show medical cards, send wife back to get gowned and answer preliminary quest- THIS IS ALL SO EXCITING AND WEIRD AND IT'S HAPPENING A WEEK EARLY GOD MY WIFE CAN YOU BELIEVE HER MOXIE SHE IS *SO* IMPATIENT WHEN SHE WANTS SOMETHING DONE RIGHT NOW AND..."
"Sir? You can come back now"
It was actually too quiet. In the 5 or so waiting rooms, my wife is the only patient. The lights are lowered to what I'm sure is a calming hue, with only ambient side lighting and the blips of portable equipment casting shadows. It's not calming at all. It eerily reminds me of being in a church after hours, and my wife is panting, breathing, moaning, crying, and it's all a little much. More over, my deep gut is feeling something is weird. Not, bad...or harmful. Just, this isn't how it was "supposed" to go. Big surprise to everyone reading thus far, I'm sure. Still...
A very kind nurse and the on-staff doctor came in with some more general labor questions while my wife writhed in bed. (She couldn't sit still. Every few minutes she'd get up to bend over to try and breathe through it, when I started to get scared that she'd tangle herself in her bedsheets and fall . But HEY! We're in a goddamn hospital. If you have an accident it should be here. If there's something wrong with the wife or kiddo, they'll mobilize. THIS IS PART OF THE BIRTH EXPERIENCE I'd think. THIS IS JUST SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T CONSIDER, DOOFUS!!!
"Ok...I need to do a cervical exam to check the baby's head placement so you're going to feel some pressure and some discomfort, okay? Just keep breathing and I can stop if you need me to but we have to find out where she is, okay?"
"Okay".
And to leave it on a cliffhanger friends, that was the first time I heard my wife scream bloody murder from the pain.
The morning after my wife had the one-in-the-morning contraction:
"Did you want me to call the baby line?'
"No. It's probably just (Insert: gas, cramp, false hope)..."
"Are you sure? I can call in to work"
"No. We shouldn't waste the time off. I'll be fine."
"Ok. Will you (Insert: Call, text, email, all of the above) please?"
"Of course."
"Can we have a less cliche' saying than 'I think it's happening' when it actually happens?"
"Ha Ha."
After having *just* had Easter dinner and the terse conversation regarding late-to-the-party babies (AND how much like everything I was right about- from the sex of the baby, to the nesting instinct being a myth, to...obviously...our daughter WOULD be born EXACTLY one week late), this gave me the initial feeling of a false alarm. And hey if there was ONE take-away I remember from our tour of Regions Hospital to show peeps I was listening, it was to CALL THE BABY LINE before coming to the hospital. (Naturally, this made perfect sense. It would put you in touch with a helpful nurse that may calm your nerves and help ascertain if it's truly a false alarm versus a "git in here now". With a phone call. Brilliant. And the best tool for procrastinators.)
So we went to work that morning like usual. Everything status quo. Nothing to see here, just move along, folks...(My wife's lunch time small talk was funny. "How's it going, R?"/"Oh fine. I think I'm having pre-labor contractions (rubs belly while microwave "DINGS".)/"I didn't think you'd share that much."
Then the Monday was over. I got home from work. It was pissing rain. I ran out to get our Winter coats from the dry cleaner so we could store them for the Summer. And I made a joke to the cashier that I hope to never see them again until next week. (HAR!!! ) Then I sort of stood there before leaving. Standing there, holding my wife's winter coats. And stared at the maternity coat thinking it might be the last go. The first coat- i.e. her normal winter coat- lasted until almost December when she needed to upsize to the roomier one.
It was just...you know. Anyway, back to home.
Home to putting on my bathrobe. To some wine. To some forcing the dog out to potty in the rain. To a little more wine. To taking off my pants. To...my phone buzzing off the chain.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mike? This is ______ from R's work. She's having really bad contractions and we're taking her home so you don't wonder why a few different cars pull up in front"
"O...k?"
"Yeah, she can't drive right now so we'll see you soon! Bye!!!"
She sounded so excited. And I was like...
Wait, what now?
NOW?!?!?
I watched the front window until I saw her car and another car pull up behind it. Unbeknownst to me (but again, makes perfect sense), my wife made contingencies with her fellow employees to catch a ride home should babytime arrive early. As her co-worker bustled up to hold the doors, I saw my wife slowwwwly extricate herself from the car. Full of smiles, her co-worker gives me a warm hug saying "I think someone's having a baby tonight!!!!"
And there's me. Still in my robe. Still...sans pants...a bit too little clothing for me to be interacting that closely with my wife's fellow employees. (Wife interjection: To be fair, he was called WELL in advance so he COULD have thrown some pants on! Husband Rebuttal: I hate pants. Sustained.)
As I looked over her shoulder I un-hugged and asked (I ASKED, lordy!) if she'd mind if I run out and give my wife a hand. At this point, my wife was doubled over hanging on the car door retching, which was clue number one something seemed really... off.
I get her as comfortable as I can on the couch while taking off her Crocs. As her co-workers leave and wish us luck. Her dad texted he's heading over and I interviewed my wife about her contraction time-frames, how many minutes apart, grabbing some paper to keep track, and then finally...FINALLY I rang up the BABYLINE to give the nurse a holler. (Dramatic swell of music as the pre-programmed number is pushed)
And we got...Jim (*Not the real name).
Jim...was probably a float? Maybe handling the phone on a busy night? Regardless, I so was wound up and upset that after the call I asked my wife how we got the B-Squad Junior Varsity phone attendant, but lest you get too upset at my commentary...hear me out:
My wife was attempting to answer the initial compulsory questions while in spasms of pain (It was easier for her to answer the nurse directly than my playing...telephone). Jim, after every answer, would then place my wife on a protracted hold. Phone is then handed to me while she retches and breathes and holds either my, or her dad's hand to squeeze while she cries. Dog is pacing concernedly and whimpering. More holds. More waiting. More waiting.
It goes from believing this is normal...this is part of the birth process and yes, calm down because we're now getting to the "final emergency questions ". Her take, by my wife:
I don't remember all of the first questions. But the emergency questions started off with Jim asking me: 'Now, can you see the umbilical cord at all?'/'I, uh, see what?!?!?'/'It would be a bluish-gray color'/'Jim, I would have LED with that!'/'Please hold' (Jim comes back) 'Last question, can you see the babies head at all?...'
Jim...Jim? JIMBO! I haven't seen my own v@gina in 3 months. No.'/'Ok. Gotta ask. Please hold...(Jim comes back) You should probably come in.' (I can attest to watching this conversation in person and it was MUCH less funny if you were there.)
Here, I was glad we were packed and ready. I bundle up wife while she kisses dad. I text friends to advise we wouldn't be home and to watch the house and pets...And away we go! Ready as I'll ever be, I guess...
Gosh! April 22. Wonder what celebrity birthday's there are today or famous historical events. I mean, it could be April 23rd after all the pushing and labor since babies are NEVER born as soon as you're admitted and it'll probably be a 4am Facebook announcement on April 23rd but whatever. (Pats wife's leg. See's all the different entrances) Ok, trying to remember where they wanted us to park if we're inmates. (Rushes wife to the security door and remembering push the intercom button to be let in versus knocking.) Sign in, show medical cards, send wife back to get gowned and answer preliminary quest- THIS IS ALL SO EXCITING AND WEIRD AND IT'S HAPPENING A WEEK EARLY GOD MY WIFE CAN YOU BELIEVE HER MOXIE SHE IS *SO* IMPATIENT WHEN SHE WANTS SOMETHING DONE RIGHT NOW AND..."
"Sir? You can come back now"
It was actually too quiet. In the 5 or so waiting rooms, my wife is the only patient. The lights are lowered to what I'm sure is a calming hue, with only ambient side lighting and the blips of portable equipment casting shadows. It's not calming at all. It eerily reminds me of being in a church after hours, and my wife is panting, breathing, moaning, crying, and it's all a little much. More over, my deep gut is feeling something is weird. Not, bad...or harmful. Just, this isn't how it was "supposed" to go. Big surprise to everyone reading thus far, I'm sure. Still...
A very kind nurse and the on-staff doctor came in with some more general labor questions while my wife writhed in bed. (She couldn't sit still. Every few minutes she'd get up to bend over to try and breathe through it, when I started to get scared that she'd tangle herself in her bedsheets and fall . But HEY! We're in a goddamn hospital. If you have an accident it should be here. If there's something wrong with the wife or kiddo, they'll mobilize. THIS IS PART OF THE BIRTH EXPERIENCE I'd think. THIS IS JUST SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T CONSIDER, DOOFUS!!!
"Ok...I need to do a cervical exam to check the baby's head placement so you're going to feel some pressure and some discomfort, okay? Just keep breathing and I can stop if you need me to but we have to find out where she is, okay?"
"Okay".
And to leave it on a cliffhanger friends, that was the first time I heard my wife scream bloody murder from the pain.
Friday, August 30, 2019
Prenatal Penultimatums
I wish we could tell you everything was aces and applesauce. I'm actually happy, and not in a humblebraggy kind of way, that things were as normal and lacking any real drama or fear. Sorry if that makes for a weak editorial. Boring, IMO, was pretty good. We'd been enjoying the growth and development process, the ultrasounds, the kicking and movement. (Her cell falling off her belly after a massive kick when we were in bed was hilarious.) Navigating well-meaning advice and navigating intimacy while there's an obstacle was all a lot of fun, actually. It was even worth the side-eye she was getting at the gym while doing her stretches and squats.
Seismically the mood and emotions shifted from joyful anticipation to something entirely not like us about a month or so into the third Tri, which took me more by surprise than I'm used to. The guest room y'see, our future nursery, was still the guest room. And my wife needed it done very soon. And while hoping to remain a patient and sensitive partner, the requests started getting my hackles up. A common example that we'd repeat every few days:
"Honey? We have GOT to get the bed out of there and the crib assembled. I just don't want it to be a week before the due date and it's still not done"
(Quietly) "I'm sorry, what's the Gee Dee hurry again?"
I mean...reeeeeally...
Her point of course, was valid. Far enough along in any pregnancy, and you;ll get to a certain point where anything goes. Kiddo gets impatient, something biological is amiss...suddenly you've got a preemie and not a lot of time to mobilize furniture while you're busy caring for an early bird. We had also been on this kick where we had been replacing/investing in new furniture, so we were lousy with box after box of disassembled (fookin' 'eavy) furniture on the porch, in the upstairs hallway. And I'm a procrastinator, so it's not like as soon as they showed up I had a toolbelt and willing mind. (And I'm such a "don't bother them" type that I wasn't about to ask friends for help.)
In between all of this, I found a new job, yay, so the change from one place to a new place, and training and commute and the culture and remembering new names and my old co-workers surprised me with a going away happy hour which went late and things got fuzzy and...and...it was all taking up a lot of headspace.
For my part- I mean, the kid can sleep in a drawer for the first 2 months, right? (my wife did, she'd joke). And while it is a joke, I had already gotten rid of a ton of stuff, organized closet space so that my wife and I were sharing one closet (it...it was a feat. Guess which one of us has more shit?) but the big thing was the goddamn guest bed.
See, my wife's preggo acid reflux was getting bad enough that she'd frequently need to get up in the middle of the night and wait until it subsided. I, me, was still drinking wine. And when I drink, I tend to snore, loudly. And also get reflux. And insomnia. Ergo, we sort of shared in the rotation of the guest bed refuge. And my thought was that the bed should be the bitter last thing to go.
"Pregnancy hormones...amirite? Nesting syndrome, RIGHT?!?!" And no. I guess I wasn't really willing to concede to that. Yes, it was and is a thing. It's a thing that's real. But here we were, not only at an impasse where I was trying to be sensitive and acquiesce to her requests...but now this one BIG ASK was staring at me...and moreover, this one felt like we needed an actually minute to wait to finish the Gee Dee nursery.
And for fuck's sake, the bickering...it just...it just didn't feel like us. That switch was too fast and unfair and unreasonable. And I was getting pissy in spite of myself and trying not to snark or condescend to my very pregnant S.O. ("You are going to be a GREAT dad!!!" Oh stuff it... "YOU ARE GOING TO BE GREAT PAREN-!" I SAID GO TO HELL!!! YARRRRR!!!! "YOU THINK THIS IS TESTING YOUR PATIENCE WAIT TILL YOUR BABY IS 3!!!")
Breathe. Take a step back. Take a couple of days to steam, eat vegetarian, go for long walks, and take a break from alcohol. After all, only one of us could use it as a crutch. Unfair.
I threw out my dad's old desk that still had unremovable pipe-ash and coffee rings and reminded me of him even though it was disintegrating. I took the bed apart, switched out the rugs, cleaned the hardwood floors, and made room for baby swag we got from her baby shower. I managed to get the TV room furnishings assembled after taking a few days for myself between gigs, and was graciously offered help by my wife's best friends to assemble the daunting Ikea couch and nursery furnishing.
Things were coming together, more or less. The big picture was I wanted to, and always have and still want to take a load off her worrying mind if I can. That's all. I wasn't going to let 3rd trimester emotions and a pending due date cause us to mute ourselves and stew.
Not us. The royal we. We're a Team.
The days start speeding up, yo. Like calendar dates ripping off in a movie, faster and faster, to show the passage of time.
3-4 weeks or so before the due date, my wife needed to put the kibosh on working out. The swelling in her feet and ankles became so much that it made her miserable. (We attempted neighborhood Spring jaunts as the weather improved, and I'd wince as I helped her into her shoes before we left as I heard her moan in pain. The one weekend we were in front of a shoe store I saw a big SALE sign and blurted "Maybe it's time to get some Crocs!?" So she went in and purchased herself some comfy foamy slides.*)
Her back pain was pretty steady- a heavy load pressing in her guts, and still the heartburn, nightsweats, and insomnia were starting to get to her badly. Most night's I'd hear her get up to change her sleeping clothes to a dry pair, then go to the hall closet to grab some Tums before hearing the cap slip, bottle shake, and "Crunch Crunch" of temporary relief before she'd either meander to the couch or slowly crawl back into bed.
As all this was happening, I noticed I was eating more and slowing down too. I was so busy being in caretaker mode and pre-cooking up meals to get us through the days and nights I didn't even stop to think her tummy would be impinged on- so she'd often times need to skip or peck at things before being done-done. Leaving me to feel it wasteful to let it go soooooo...I ate it. When we got our first professional maternity photo proofs back, it was all I could do to not get really angry at myself. Or cry. I looked like...a guy...who'd just sort of been eating his way through this beautiful, radiant woman's pregnancy. A perpetual "Are you done with that?" coupled with some binge-wine-drinking while watching Netflix. Healthy. Seriously, you won't see me in the proofs. I don't recognize myself.
Easter Sunday preceded week 39. including a trip to mom and dad's for dinner and a chance to visit with her brother and sister-in-law and their smiling drooly lovely five-month-old daughter. And me with my very very tired wife. While we were talking about the impending birth, my wife was hopeful that kiddo would make an early entrance before the May 2nd due date. My experience with friends- your mileage obviously will vary...doi...and one my BIL and SIL both sort of echo'ed was that 1st kids can, sometimes, take their own sweet ass time. This did not sit well with my wife.
More apologies. A fairly quiet drive, punctuated by more apologies from me. "It could happen early, but let's just hope for the due date. And let's just be ready in case she decides to cool her heels for another week?"
"Ugggggh. I just want her out."
I yet I wasn't sure if I was, and boy if that's not another sexy selfish moment from yours truly. There was a due date. And even though we were about as ready as we could ever be (I had packed the overnight hospital bag around the same time as we finished the nursery. Don't ask me why I felt THAT was super important...having snacks and clean undies. Hey, the hospital GIVES her undies. I have to fend for my SELF!) I just...I wanted the assurance that I had another week of just us.
And then I saw she'd been crying a little while we cruised up Central Ave towards home, and I felt like a jerk. ("You're going to be a greeeeeat dad..."...-rolls eyes and makes jerk-off hand gesture)
We set our alarms for work. I stayed up late watching some nonsense on the boob tube with a glass or two of wine while my wife hunkered down for the night. The next day at work, my boss would ask (by way of a reminder) when the baby was due. Funny enough, on THAT day, I had to say "May 2nd. But it could be any day now. I mean, even last night my wife said something felt shifty and different, but she's at work today, and so am I. So, when it actually gets around to happening...did you want me to call you? Text? Is there an attendance line? What?"
That was the afternoon of Monday, April 22nd. 12 hours earlier, in the wee...wee hours before our alarms went off...my wife says "Honey? I think it's happening..."
"Are you sure? Do you want me to call the Babyline?"
beat...
beat...
beat...
"Naw. It's gone. Go back to sleep."
"Ok."
* ("Could you *please* tell them that I got the Croc sandals and not the ugly gardening shoes?" )
Seismically the mood and emotions shifted from joyful anticipation to something entirely not like us about a month or so into the third Tri, which took me more by surprise than I'm used to. The guest room y'see, our future nursery, was still the guest room. And my wife needed it done very soon. And while hoping to remain a patient and sensitive partner, the requests started getting my hackles up. A common example that we'd repeat every few days:
"Honey? We have GOT to get the bed out of there and the crib assembled. I just don't want it to be a week before the due date and it's still not done"
(Quietly) "I'm sorry, what's the Gee Dee hurry again?"
I mean...reeeeeally...
Her point of course, was valid. Far enough along in any pregnancy, and you;ll get to a certain point where anything goes. Kiddo gets impatient, something biological is amiss...suddenly you've got a preemie and not a lot of time to mobilize furniture while you're busy caring for an early bird. We had also been on this kick where we had been replacing/investing in new furniture, so we were lousy with box after box of disassembled (fookin' 'eavy) furniture on the porch, in the upstairs hallway. And I'm a procrastinator, so it's not like as soon as they showed up I had a toolbelt and willing mind. (And I'm such a "don't bother them" type that I wasn't about to ask friends for help.)
In between all of this, I found a new job, yay, so the change from one place to a new place, and training and commute and the culture and remembering new names and my old co-workers surprised me with a going away happy hour which went late and things got fuzzy and...and...it was all taking up a lot of headspace.
For my part- I mean, the kid can sleep in a drawer for the first 2 months, right? (my wife did, she'd joke). And while it is a joke, I had already gotten rid of a ton of stuff, organized closet space so that my wife and I were sharing one closet (it...it was a feat. Guess which one of us has more shit?) but the big thing was the goddamn guest bed.
See, my wife's preggo acid reflux was getting bad enough that she'd frequently need to get up in the middle of the night and wait until it subsided. I, me, was still drinking wine. And when I drink, I tend to snore, loudly. And also get reflux. And insomnia. Ergo, we sort of shared in the rotation of the guest bed refuge. And my thought was that the bed should be the bitter last thing to go.
"Pregnancy hormones...amirite? Nesting syndrome, RIGHT?!?!" And no. I guess I wasn't really willing to concede to that. Yes, it was and is a thing. It's a thing that's real. But here we were, not only at an impasse where I was trying to be sensitive and acquiesce to her requests...but now this one BIG ASK was staring at me...and moreover, this one felt like we needed an actually minute to wait to finish the Gee Dee nursery.
And for fuck's sake, the bickering...it just...it just didn't feel like us. That switch was too fast and unfair and unreasonable. And I was getting pissy in spite of myself and trying not to snark or condescend to my very pregnant S.O. ("You are going to be a GREAT dad!!!" Oh stuff it... "YOU ARE GOING TO BE GREAT PAREN-!" I SAID GO TO HELL!!! YARRRRR!!!! "YOU THINK THIS IS TESTING YOUR PATIENCE WAIT TILL YOUR BABY IS 3!!!")
Breathe. Take a step back. Take a couple of days to steam, eat vegetarian, go for long walks, and take a break from alcohol. After all, only one of us could use it as a crutch. Unfair.
I threw out my dad's old desk that still had unremovable pipe-ash and coffee rings and reminded me of him even though it was disintegrating. I took the bed apart, switched out the rugs, cleaned the hardwood floors, and made room for baby swag we got from her baby shower. I managed to get the TV room furnishings assembled after taking a few days for myself between gigs, and was graciously offered help by my wife's best friends to assemble the daunting Ikea couch and nursery furnishing.
Things were coming together, more or less. The big picture was I wanted to, and always have and still want to take a load off her worrying mind if I can. That's all. I wasn't going to let 3rd trimester emotions and a pending due date cause us to mute ourselves and stew.
Not us. The royal we. We're a Team.
The days start speeding up, yo. Like calendar dates ripping off in a movie, faster and faster, to show the passage of time.
3-4 weeks or so before the due date, my wife needed to put the kibosh on working out. The swelling in her feet and ankles became so much that it made her miserable. (We attempted neighborhood Spring jaunts as the weather improved, and I'd wince as I helped her into her shoes before we left as I heard her moan in pain. The one weekend we were in front of a shoe store I saw a big SALE sign and blurted "Maybe it's time to get some Crocs!?" So she went in and purchased herself some comfy foamy slides.*)
Her back pain was pretty steady- a heavy load pressing in her guts, and still the heartburn, nightsweats, and insomnia were starting to get to her badly. Most night's I'd hear her get up to change her sleeping clothes to a dry pair, then go to the hall closet to grab some Tums before hearing the cap slip, bottle shake, and "Crunch Crunch" of temporary relief before she'd either meander to the couch or slowly crawl back into bed.
As all this was happening, I noticed I was eating more and slowing down too. I was so busy being in caretaker mode and pre-cooking up meals to get us through the days and nights I didn't even stop to think her tummy would be impinged on- so she'd often times need to skip or peck at things before being done-done. Leaving me to feel it wasteful to let it go soooooo...I ate it. When we got our first professional maternity photo proofs back, it was all I could do to not get really angry at myself. Or cry. I looked like...a guy...who'd just sort of been eating his way through this beautiful, radiant woman's pregnancy. A perpetual "Are you done with that?" coupled with some binge-wine-drinking while watching Netflix. Healthy. Seriously, you won't see me in the proofs. I don't recognize myself.
Easter Sunday preceded week 39. including a trip to mom and dad's for dinner and a chance to visit with her brother and sister-in-law and their smiling drooly lovely five-month-old daughter. And me with my very very tired wife. While we were talking about the impending birth, my wife was hopeful that kiddo would make an early entrance before the May 2nd due date. My experience with friends- your mileage obviously will vary...doi...and one my BIL and SIL both sort of echo'ed was that 1st kids can, sometimes, take their own sweet ass time. This did not sit well with my wife.
More apologies. A fairly quiet drive, punctuated by more apologies from me. "It could happen early, but let's just hope for the due date. And let's just be ready in case she decides to cool her heels for another week?"
"Ugggggh. I just want her out."
I yet I wasn't sure if I was, and boy if that's not another sexy selfish moment from yours truly. There was a due date. And even though we were about as ready as we could ever be (I had packed the overnight hospital bag around the same time as we finished the nursery. Don't ask me why I felt THAT was super important...having snacks and clean undies. Hey, the hospital GIVES her undies. I have to fend for my SELF!) I just...I wanted the assurance that I had another week of just us.
And then I saw she'd been crying a little while we cruised up Central Ave towards home, and I felt like a jerk. ("You're going to be a greeeeeat dad..."...-rolls eyes and makes jerk-off hand gesture)
We set our alarms for work. I stayed up late watching some nonsense on the boob tube with a glass or two of wine while my wife hunkered down for the night. The next day at work, my boss would ask (by way of a reminder) when the baby was due. Funny enough, on THAT day, I had to say "May 2nd. But it could be any day now. I mean, even last night my wife said something felt shifty and different, but she's at work today, and so am I. So, when it actually gets around to happening...did you want me to call you? Text? Is there an attendance line? What?"
That was the afternoon of Monday, April 22nd. 12 hours earlier, in the wee...wee hours before our alarms went off...my wife says "Honey? I think it's happening..."
"Are you sure? Do you want me to call the Babyline?"
beat...
beat...
beat...
"Naw. It's gone. Go back to sleep."
"Ok."
* ("Could you *please* tell them that I got the Croc sandals and not the ugly gardening shoes?" )
Wednesday, July 03, 2019
The waiting is the hardest part
"What's Nine Months? It's like...a baseball season?"
"The waaaaaiting is the hardest part" (- Tom Petty)
TL:DR? It was about as normal of a pregnancy as you can get.
For probably the first 7 months or so, everything is...pretty status quo. We had the morning sickness early on in Italy, which wasn't awesome but bearable. I know you hear you can occasionally pregnancy drink these days, but my wife quit drinking cold turkey. I wish I could tell you I tee-totaled with her, but I'm just not that strong of a person and yeah. Our status quo, if it's not too gushy to say, is that I love my wife very much. She works hard, has long days, gets in her head about things like we all do...so I try my best to be a loving and communicative partner. So with few exceptions, I was still running errands for us, meal-prepping on Sunday nights and making healthy lunches for work week, keeping our home tidy. I mean, there are a lot of conventions that people like to tell you to expect when you're expecting. Ok, fine.
Most people know you shouldn't smoke crack, or you hear the mother should "Take it easy" and "Eat for 2!" It's those last two I guess I imagined might be a thing, but it was actually the opposite.. *
My wife wanted to keep moving for as long as her body would allow, barring doctor's orders. She kept hitting the gym, kept at it on the elliptical, then as the months went on walking on the treadmill - supplementing everything with a weight circuit afterward. (Which, bless her heart, I know she doesn't care for. She told me that when her belly was really showing she'd get some weird looks that made her laugh.) I kept up by trying to get my own strength routine on back on track- working on strengthening my back and shoulders, and trying to keep as flexible as I could- Since I figured I'd be an old man heaving my kid around way into my AARP years.
As for the food bit? She had cravings, sure. We've never had cereal in the house, but before I knew it there were Oatmeal Cinnamon Squares and Reeses Peeb Cereal on the counter. (Here I had hoped she'd start to like cilantro and seafood, but no dice.) And she wasn't eating for two. She was just...eating normally. I mean, even by the end of the 2nd trimester you've got a big something taking up space next to your tummy. That, matched with pretty horrible heartburn meant keeping things light and simple were the rule of the day.
We took the classes and had hospital tours, which I kept as quiet as I could and listened as attentively as I could and took notes when I could. (I guess my listening aka "Not Making Stupid Jokes" face makes me look like I'm constipated or upset. But when the head nurse at Region's pulls out the big inflatable rubber pool to show you where you'd water birth if you chose to, and then makes sure to VERY SERIOUSLY remind you there are to be NO NUDE DAD'S...look, I'm a very, VERY childish man.)
So we learned a lot together. The number of days to anticipate being in the hospital if it's a natural birth vs. C-Section. How breastfeeding isn't always a natural occurrence and the kid's gotta learn how to do it by mom just sort of MASHING the kids face in there when the mouth opens up. When it's okay to be intimate again, and when it's going to actually be harmful to mom. (With a very, very real possibility of a repeat performance in the delivery room sooner rather than later if you aren't careful.)
And yeah. We worked. (I was still feeling pretty dim about my day job and not getting any nibbles when I cast my resume' into the void.) We partied. (*I* partied. My Christmas birthday was epic and grand. My wife looked fantastic on New Year's Even when we attended a fundraiser where she wore this rented dress for mamas-to-be that really, really accentuated the...hey look, she's really pretty and now she's glowing and throwing off some serious pheromones so most of the night she was getting checked out while I was the shiny sweaty guy who by that time of the holiday season had imbibed and ate so much I couldn't button my suit coats. Not proud, but that meant another month of drying up at least.) We shopped for nursery furniture, registered for baby goodies, visited mom and dad at the cemetery to tell them our news which hit us both very hard
We just sort of went with it all. Me and the sacred vessel. We had all the time in the world, or at least until May 2nd when she was due. And shit, it was our first kid. EVERY one knows first babies are always a few weeks late.
Right?
*Cat litter and Deli meat. I didn't know, along with non-pasteurized food being a no no, like brie cheese? The nitrites in deli meat are off limits. I learned about the cat litter shortly after our 1st attempt, and if you were unsure how much I love my wife- I kept doing it after the miscarriage and through/past her pregnancy.
"The waaaaaiting is the hardest part" (- Tom Petty)
 |
| "So. You got yer wife pregnant and have nine months to go.." |
TL:DR? It was about as normal of a pregnancy as you can get.
For probably the first 7 months or so, everything is...pretty status quo. We had the morning sickness early on in Italy, which wasn't awesome but bearable. I know you hear you can occasionally pregnancy drink these days, but my wife quit drinking cold turkey. I wish I could tell you I tee-totaled with her, but I'm just not that strong of a person and yeah. Our status quo, if it's not too gushy to say, is that I love my wife very much. She works hard, has long days, gets in her head about things like we all do...so I try my best to be a loving and communicative partner. So with few exceptions, I was still running errands for us, meal-prepping on Sunday nights and making healthy lunches for work week, keeping our home tidy. I mean, there are a lot of conventions that people like to tell you to expect when you're expecting. Ok, fine.
Most people know you shouldn't smoke crack, or you hear the mother should "Take it easy" and "Eat for 2!" It's those last two I guess I imagined might be a thing, but it was actually the opposite.. *
My wife wanted to keep moving for as long as her body would allow, barring doctor's orders. She kept hitting the gym, kept at it on the elliptical, then as the months went on walking on the treadmill - supplementing everything with a weight circuit afterward. (Which, bless her heart, I know she doesn't care for. She told me that when her belly was really showing she'd get some weird looks that made her laugh.) I kept up by trying to get my own strength routine on back on track- working on strengthening my back and shoulders, and trying to keep as flexible as I could- Since I figured I'd be an old man heaving my kid around way into my AARP years.
As for the food bit? She had cravings, sure. We've never had cereal in the house, but before I knew it there were Oatmeal Cinnamon Squares and Reeses Peeb Cereal on the counter. (Here I had hoped she'd start to like cilantro and seafood, but no dice.) And she wasn't eating for two. She was just...eating normally. I mean, even by the end of the 2nd trimester you've got a big something taking up space next to your tummy. That, matched with pretty horrible heartburn meant keeping things light and simple were the rule of the day.
We took the classes and had hospital tours, which I kept as quiet as I could and listened as attentively as I could and took notes when I could. (I guess my listening aka "Not Making Stupid Jokes" face makes me look like I'm constipated or upset. But when the head nurse at Region's pulls out the big inflatable rubber pool to show you where you'd water birth if you chose to, and then makes sure to VERY SERIOUSLY remind you there are to be NO NUDE DAD'S...look, I'm a very, VERY childish man.)
So we learned a lot together. The number of days to anticipate being in the hospital if it's a natural birth vs. C-Section. How breastfeeding isn't always a natural occurrence and the kid's gotta learn how to do it by mom just sort of MASHING the kids face in there when the mouth opens up. When it's okay to be intimate again, and when it's going to actually be harmful to mom. (With a very, very real possibility of a repeat performance in the delivery room sooner rather than later if you aren't careful.)
And yeah. We worked. (I was still feeling pretty dim about my day job and not getting any nibbles when I cast my resume' into the void.) We partied. (*I* partied. My Christmas birthday was epic and grand. My wife looked fantastic on New Year's Even when we attended a fundraiser where she wore this rented dress for mamas-to-be that really, really accentuated the...hey look, she's really pretty and now she's glowing and throwing off some serious pheromones so most of the night she was getting checked out while I was the shiny sweaty guy who by that time of the holiday season had imbibed and ate so much I couldn't button my suit coats. Not proud, but that meant another month of drying up at least.) We shopped for nursery furniture, registered for baby goodies, visited mom and dad at the cemetery to tell them our news which hit us both very hard
We just sort of went with it all. Me and the sacred vessel. We had all the time in the world, or at least until May 2nd when she was due. And shit, it was our first kid. EVERY one knows first babies are always a few weeks late.
Right?
*Cat litter and Deli meat. I didn't know, along with non-pasteurized food being a no no, like brie cheese? The nitrites in deli meat are off limits. I learned about the cat litter shortly after our 1st attempt, and if you were unsure how much I love my wife- I kept doing it after the miscarriage and through/past her pregnancy.
Tuesday, June 04, 2019
Law of Average
"The last one was kinda sad"
"Sorry"
"No. I just thought it was really sad."
"Ok. I wanted to get it out there. I just wanted to be honest.":
"I know."
"I got it... I'll tell people how I nearly missed the first ultrasound?"
"Oh God..."
I was re-routed, turned backwards, and watched as minute by minute passed all while my phone "binged" messages from my wife. "I'm here!". "Are you far?". "They're calling my name, I hope you're close!" Here, I was going to miss my first milestone. And here I was being directed farther and farther away from my wife. 4:15. 4:20. 4:30 (the appointed time.) Listen...
Normal. Average. Unremarkable. Words that for years meant sub-par for some, felt pretty good in terms of having a healthy mama and baby. And that was more than good enough for the both of us. So. Now we knew that we definitively had a kid on the way. The certainty was there.
"Sorry"
"No. I just thought it was really sad."
"Ok. I wanted to get it out there. I just wanted to be honest.":
"I know."
"I got it... I'll tell people how I nearly missed the first ultrasound?"
"Oh God..."
I was being my friendly neighborhood responsible self and driving 80 MPH on hwy 280 during the kind of fierce, sheeting October rainstorm that causes your wipers to be ineffective and SUPER glad your wife isn't in the car to listen to you swear and watch you swerve. I had left work early that day and dressed nicely for a change. (A snazzy business casual lewk N' dress shoes versus my normal daily hoodie + tennis shoe outfits..) AND? I had a big night planned-
I was going to finally "meet" my kid. Ultrasound-ically speaking.
The ultrasound earlier in the year had bad news, so it was with a lot of stress and trepidation that we stared at the appointment date on the calendar with caution. Of course, since she WORKED in Saint Paul my wife had to go a mere 5 minutes from her office to a clinic located near the Wabasha Street Caves whereas I had to drive home, let out the dog, then book it across another city to make it. I felt pretty confident I'd given myself enough time to be there for the whole ordeal...until I saw the bright red line of brake lights and the pop-up "Road Closed" sign MNDOT is so fond of surprising you with...and then I started sweating.
Ultrasounds never really impressed me,
TBH. Most of the time? Best you hope for is this weird Rorscach
test looking blobby image, or something that resembles a black and white
hoodless Skeletor. Friends and family used to share pictures over social media and I was like "Oh! Congrats on your distorted Ansel Adams print!'
NOW?
You can get super funky 3D images pf your growing pamp, and the machinery used to take it is more akin to the bridge of the USS Enterprise. I made the stupid joke that when they did ultrasounds in the 70's, (like on me), it usually meant the doctor would balance their ashtray on the mom's belly while they psychically drew a picture on a piece of papyrus next to the gurney of what they thought the baby looked like. (My fetal drawing was unusually accurate for 1974, in that it had me with a wild perm and crazed gaze.) It's fancy shit. is what I'm screaming. None of this mattered as I careened into the parking lot and managed to sprint up to the baby ward while wearing tasteful brown shoes, pitting out and panting as the check-in admin looked at me and asked if I was there with a mother. They were able to usher me back, and as I found my way to the viewing room and my wife (and her already happy/teary face, which I took to mean good news) I was super grateful they took another minute for a second showing...spritzing my wife's tummy with the belly jelly so I could see the floating blob that I'd eventually know to be my daughter. Better still? Our very kind nurse said 'she looks normal'.
NOW?
You can get super funky 3D images pf your growing pamp, and the machinery used to take it is more akin to the bridge of the USS Enterprise. I made the stupid joke that when they did ultrasounds in the 70's, (like on me), it usually meant the doctor would balance their ashtray on the mom's belly while they psychically drew a picture on a piece of papyrus next to the gurney of what they thought the baby looked like. (My fetal drawing was unusually accurate for 1974, in that it had me with a wild perm and crazed gaze.) It's fancy shit. is what I'm screaming. None of this mattered as I careened into the parking lot and managed to sprint up to the baby ward while wearing tasteful brown shoes, pitting out and panting as the check-in admin looked at me and asked if I was there with a mother. They were able to usher me back, and as I found my way to the viewing room and my wife (and her already happy/teary face, which I took to mean good news) I was super grateful they took another minute for a second showing...spritzing my wife's tummy with the belly jelly so I could see the floating blob that I'd eventually know to be my daughter. Better still? Our very kind nurse said 'she looks normal'.
Normal. Average. Unremarkable. Words that for years meant sub-par for some, felt pretty good in terms of having a healthy mama and baby. And that was more than good enough for the both of us. So. Now we knew that we definitively had a kid on the way. The certainty was there.
Now we just needed to kill 7 more months? Uggggghhh...I hate waiting.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMyCa35_mOg
Saturday, May 18, 2019
Infant Insanity (or, "My Default Setting is 'Worry'...")
Content Warning/Trigger Warning: Gonna touch on mental illness a bit and eating disorders. As such, this is a little bit longer.
Chapter 8: Children Learn What They Live (This was framed in a cross-stitch by our front door when I was a kid)
"Why the fuck do you want to have a kid? What's wrong with you?"
Pretty harsh, huh? Heyyyy! I liked the lists the last time and don't wanna waste your time...so here's a fun game called "Guess which of us has which issue?"
In our household we have:
-Depression
-ADHD
-Anxiety
-Body Dysmorphia
-History of eating disorders
-Panic attacks
-A dog with abandonment issues
-A cat with a tendency toward sociopathy*
I don't want to trivialize mental illness, and I'll stop you there and say that with the exception of the last two, it's pretty much all me. (If you haven't figured as much, we're a family that's pretty honest and open and uses humor to soften the issues as much as, gasp, deflect/avoid)
Like talking openly miscarriage, de-stigmatizing mental illness is important to us for the simple reason of not wanting to mess up our kid should they develop in the world with some of their own chemistry slightly off. Since both my wife and I have it, it's a safe bet she's going to have something come up during her development. I'm sort of the last generation in a family that found dignity and strength in suffering silently.
Which is hilarious because anyone reading this who knows me knows that I have the exact opposite problem- I am a LOUD open book that has a VERY permeable filter at best. I must have been a burden my folks.
For anyone who has or knows someone with mental illness , you already know there's still significant social stigma of having it perceived as a flaw or weakness. (I remember a guy in college saying that ADD was just an excuse for people to be lazy and disordered. I wanted to knock that motherfucker out on the spot. Oh, hey! Anger! Good one, tough guy!). On the flip side- the same person who said the quote about "What's wrong with you" and was about as insensitive as they come, also admitted that they have to take General Anxiety Meds for their panic attacks. We believe in our family that mental illness is very real, very individual, and complex thing that's still being studied and understood.
Never really having thought much about my ADHD my whole life (Mom used to say the doctors in the 70's used to think I was just a rotten hyperactive kid. Truth.) and not having my anxiety really manifest until my 40's meant I could shuffle most of my issues under the procrastination banner. I never bothered to seek help because I never had to, and didn't really have the time. Literally, money was the *only* thing I would worry about regularly.
I figured this stuff would disappear as I got older or got married, but holy hanna...the body image issues are still there. (How long have I been saying 30 lbs to go? How many times do I work out? How many times do I self-sabotage by eating until I'm stuffed and drinking more wine than is in a normal pour? Or fucking hate pictures I'm in because I think I look like a moose?) I've toned down a lot of the self-abusive language, but jeepers I still do a mental count of calories out of habit. I still can drink a bottle of wine without a second thought, then make-believe a visit to the gym the next day is going to fix it. Detox to Retox and all that.
It's cumulative. I foolishly thought aging would magically help me get my shit together. Except it doesn't. Turns out, it's not about slowing down it's about trying to run headlong into something without realizing you're actually on a treadmill. Somewhere along the line I met and worked with a therapist. (Because my poor...poor wife. One night we were talking out some shit and she said "Honey. I think maybe you need to talk to someone.")
Which lasted appppppproximately 12 visits (and a lot of money later) until they went on maternity leave. Speaking of wanting a magic pill, I was honestly hoping they'd say "Yup! Let's get you trying different doses of things and see what works!" Except that didn't happen. And after our last meeting I just sort of gave up on it, even though it gave me some takeaways:
1) Helping me identify "blind spots". They agreed, some of the shit I went through was egregious and awful, and in spite of bad things happening to everyone, my shit is real and unique and mine and don't devalue it so that you can avoid/ignore it.
2) Asking for help is hard, but you probably aren't as much of a burden on people as you think. If you are, they might tell you.
3) Since you experience fear of missing out, or that your friends don't like you/ignore you/think you're a piece of toxic shit to have around... or maybe you see other people having fun but not you, or just basically feel like you're some social pariah...have you ever thought that maybe *you* should try reaching out to them? Or that maybe they have their own shit they're dealing with, and you could check in to see how they're doing?
4) Give yourself a break. Stress is a killer, but if you're doing the right things like exercise- trying doing them without drinking. (I admitted to them I stress eat and stress drink and doing so in the evening is just a recipe for shitty sleep and heartburn. Also, if I'm drinking that much every night- it's never really out-out of my body. So take the breaks from drinking or stop entirely if you *know* you sleep better and you know you feel better when you do.)
5) Try meditation to be present. Worrying is anticipating a problem that doesn't exist, like wearing a snowmobile suit in July to be ready for Winter.
The last one he told me made me want to tell him to fuck right off. (That, and not giving me drugs. And to be honest, I was treating these sessions like stand up comedy, and I had him laughing so much he'd fall out of his chair.**) And that was keep the door to forgiveness open to those who have tread against you.
Nah, fam. If acknowledgement or apologies are deserved, I'm not going to turn around and say everything is peachy. Hence, that little insensitive sentence that friend uttered? "Why the fuck do you want a baby?"
I don't spend time with that person any more. And I'm fine with it.
As for our kid- both my wife and I said we don't want them to get our issues or even grow up thinking they are anything less than a loved, beautiful person. So we decided to make sure if she's going through her own shit that we'd try and be sensitive enough to pick up on it and give her all the support she needs.
I'll say this, though- The number of people telling us we'll be great parents or that I'm going to be a great dad is a lot of pressure, and I have no idea what they hell they see that makes them think that. Someone actually said that to me on New Years Eve when I was already a sheet to the wind, trying to suck in my gut while simultaneously bursting the buttons off of my last suit that fits, while barbecue sauce dripped down my front from hovering over the buffet table.
Yeah, pal. Imma be a guh-reat parent. Self-doubt and self-awareness/consciousness is nothing right now. Wait'll there's a baby in the mix, and you can ratchet all that up to "Crippling" self-doubt.
*I read all of these to my wife for content and clarity and permission. That last bullet made her laugh, and utter the line "I think that just makes him a cat".
** Yeah, I know. You can shop around for a shrink you have rapport with to find one that works. I was just...he was fine. With the exception of those bullets I mentioned? I just felt like I was spinning my wheels. Also, I wanted drugs.
Thursday, May 16, 2019
Anticipation of resentment
Chapter 7: "You trade one kind of fun for another, man..."
In my head, I can hear parents tell me that "No no! You totally make it work!" and...that's fine. Except when you talk to the new parents who have that exhausted, radiating resentment. And that's the side I worried I was going to fall on.
I have a skin-care routine, for pities sake. And have you HEARD about how new parents sometimes go *days* without showering? I *like* showering, yo. If I'm going days without showering I'd better be in a post-apocalyptic world. (Which apparently the GOP, GA, MO, and AL are trying to hurl us toward, HEY!!!!) I still hadn't lost that last 30-40 lbs that would put me on the list of hot-husbands that other people covet but secretly have a shit ton of hang-ups (more on that on another post) Kids also meant no threesome with one of my wife's open-minded unicorn girlfriends- so HERE'S TO DASHED DREAMS!!!
Look- to me, it felt like I was going to be subverting and doing a 180 degree flip on things that felt so fundamentally "me". Things that I have been cultivating and changing about myself my entire life. Things that I was (often times) slow to catch up with the rest of society due to my hardcore need to be weird, silly, and non-conforming. I loved being a great husband. Now I was going to forced to be like everyone else.
Normal.
No dropping things at the drop of a hat and running away- I literally need to give this kid all of my focus, attention, and sresponsibility even if the world is falling around me because it's literally the only way I will be able to keep them alive. So yeah. It's fucking selfish. The sense of self-preservation just put me right back on the state of high-alert I was living in back when my mom's health turned for the worst. The amount of time and energy we put into taking care of her all those years just came rushing back into my life with 9 months worth of foreshadowing to imagine what you were going to lose by becoming a parent.
And that responsibility made me feel so goddamn isolated and alone.
So I'll leave it to the wise words of Randall up there, who I have partied and performed with. Who is an acquaintance who I've bullshitted about working out and theater and sex and food and martial arts. We ran into him at the State Fair around the time my wife and I started trying for a baby as he was working the AEA station over by the DFL building (always a fun game to watch MAGA hat wearing chodes try and argue the councilperson or representative du jour) Anyway, Randall just had a bambina of his own which my wife and I congratulated him on. It seemed weird seeing him dad up, so I asked him (wink wink) if he still parties.
"Oh yeah, man. It's cool. You just trade one kind of fun for another!"
My wife and I have used that as a mantra quite a bit over the last few months. My only other worry? Is how my "other" hang ups were going to royally fuck up our kid.
Another reason I really didn't think I was going to have kids, as exemplified by the following things which would never happen again should we have a child:
-Fun
-Sex
-Traveling exotically (erotically?)
-Seeing movie premieres opening night
-Date nights/Spending time with just my wife.
-Exercise
-Sex
-Karate
-Performing
-Seeing friends
-Sex
-Sleep
-Spontaneity
-Cooking things other than mac & cheese
-Partying, drinking, carousing, and general rabble-rousing
In my head, I can hear parents tell me that "No no! You totally make it work!" and...that's fine. Except when you talk to the new parents who have that exhausted, radiating resentment. And that's the side I worried I was going to fall on.
I have a skin-care routine, for pities sake. And have you HEARD about how new parents sometimes go *days* without showering? I *like* showering, yo. If I'm going days without showering I'd better be in a post-apocalyptic world. (Which apparently the GOP, GA, MO, and AL are trying to hurl us toward, HEY!!!!) I still hadn't lost that last 30-40 lbs that would put me on the list of hot-husbands that other people covet but secretly have a shit ton of hang-ups (more on that on another post) Kids also meant no threesome with one of my wife's open-minded unicorn girlfriends- so HERE'S TO DASHED DREAMS!!!
Look- to me, it felt like I was going to be subverting and doing a 180 degree flip on things that felt so fundamentally "me". Things that I have been cultivating and changing about myself my entire life. Things that I was (often times) slow to catch up with the rest of society due to my hardcore need to be weird, silly, and non-conforming. I loved being a great husband. Now I was going to forced to be like everyone else.
Normal.
No dropping things at the drop of a hat and running away- I literally need to give this kid all of my focus, attention, and sresponsibility even if the world is falling around me because it's literally the only way I will be able to keep them alive. So yeah. It's fucking selfish. The sense of self-preservation just put me right back on the state of high-alert I was living in back when my mom's health turned for the worst. The amount of time and energy we put into taking care of her all those years just came rushing back into my life with 9 months worth of foreshadowing to imagine what you were going to lose by becoming a parent.
And that responsibility made me feel so goddamn isolated and alone.
So I'll leave it to the wise words of Randall up there, who I have partied and performed with. Who is an acquaintance who I've bullshitted about working out and theater and sex and food and martial arts. We ran into him at the State Fair around the time my wife and I started trying for a baby as he was working the AEA station over by the DFL building (always a fun game to watch MAGA hat wearing chodes try and argue the councilperson or representative du jour) Anyway, Randall just had a bambina of his own which my wife and I congratulated him on. It seemed weird seeing him dad up, so I asked him (wink wink) if he still parties.
"Oh yeah, man. It's cool. You just trade one kind of fun for another!"
My wife and I have used that as a mantra quite a bit over the last few months. My only other worry? Is how my "other" hang ups were going to royally fuck up our kid.
Monday, May 06, 2019
What's in a name?
So I think I've exhausted most of the funny stuff regarding her conception up until this point so for the last few chapters here we'll talk about some of the stuff that was running through my mind as I learned what it was like to be involved in a pregnancy.
Everything was new for both of us, so I had some questions that were probably weird sounding but not anything you'd normally ask your pregnant friends- for example, what does this mean for the royal "we"? Will we still be intimate? (Again, I *know* know that you can- but I'm a big guy and already treating my wife like a sacred and delicate vessel) There was still a lot of stuff I wouldn't truly understand until I was experiencing it.
And hey, do you remember that unwavering certainty that we were going to have a girl before we had a miscarriage earlier in the year?
This time? We were super positive that we were going to have a boy. And his name would be...
Chapter 6 "They thing you need to know about boys that you aren't prepared for is the smell...*"
Here are some early conversations my wife and I had about naming our son:
"If we call him that, (so and so) is going to think we're naming him after him"
"So and so's kid already has that name".
"Seriously? (laughing) Why *that* name?"
"What the hell is a 'regnal' name?" (Hey. I wanted a cool name, but we already knew a bunch of Henry's and Robert's and even Adam's. We were stuck)
Coming up with a baby girl name was almost as easy as breathing. Coming up with boy name was proving to be a challenge. It got to the point where we started making jokes about ridiculous non-names as a name. "Chalupa Con Queso P-----"? "Hewlett Packard"? "Tater Tot Hot Dish". Seriously, we probably had a list of 50 names that made us giggle and by the time we thought it'd be hilarious to write these down to show him when he was old enough, we had already forgotten the better one's. Acura Quidditch was probably on the list. (And if you wanted to know where *I* was landing with the name- I told my wife that he should be a straight up junior. "HONEEEEEEEEY... don't you think it'd be Cah-UTE if we had matching Twins jersey's and mine said "Papa" and his said "Junior"?!?! HONEEEEEEY?!??!?!" This was actually the closest we came to a real conversation about it.)
So this time around, we were super cautious about how we revealed this to people and when. We made our initial appointments with her Ob/Gyn and made sure to get past the 6 week mark before telling her parents. We ordered chromosome testing which would help determine the sex earlier rather than later- and along those lines we both agreed that we didn't want to have anything be a surprise. (We already had the well-meaning friends who asked us, weirdly, if and when we learned the sex that we should be okay with whatever sex our child identifies with. And look, no shit. But cart/horse and all that, I was like "Can we just get past the being born and healthy part first?")
Along those lines, we were sort of keen to avoid getting a lot of unsolicited advice. We're happy to ask for help and like I said- I was still thinking we had parenting classes and books and shit we needed to read...In short, we never presumed to know it all. But you hear stories of how some parents have super-definitive child rearing methods that in spite of their well-meaning and probable success (for them), can seem overbearing, overwhelming, and occasionally obnoxious. (My wife told me stories about a mama group on the Book of Faces where "fights" would break out like between that one relative who wears the MAGA hat to Thanksgiving and likes to make racist comments on your super-liberal social media posts. She eventually joined a group of mutual friends in the theater and has been really happy having a sounding board, FYI.)
A funny thing that might run contrary to my last comment: I *did* have a friend that very recently had their own kid, and he reached out to offer a $.05 worth of valuable advice: Namely securing child care as soon as possible (Waiting lists are stupid real, and they don't always line up when mommy's maternity leave is up.), and to remember to bring an extension cord to the hospital. Go figure. That was probably the best advice we received.
And to double back...those first few months after she learned she was pregnant was still early enough that things like how frisky we were going to get wasn't an issue, but what did happen was that suddenly I found my finances thrown into sharp relief- which, after getting the day care advice from my friend, is most apparent when you see how expensive day care actually is. We learned about parents that just opted to quit their day job to be a stay at home parent due to the fact that child care is basically the same as their annual salary. (It's a fucking con, is what it is. There's a built-in day care at my current office job and I checked out the prices for full-time care and it was $450 a week. Yeah.) And even part-time care with gramma helping? Is almost 2/3rds of my salary. Suddenly I started wondering if I could get or have time for a second job.
I was a little scared.
As we careened toward the end of the year and my 44th birthday- I eventually told my bosses at the temp gig who were (unexpectedly) excited and brought up due dates and necessary time off when it happened. And it was on a beautiful late-Fall afternoon that my wife called me at work and I once again scampered off to a conference room with a little trepidation to take the call- this time with the chromosome test results. Look, everyone wants perfect kids while they're growing them, but there's still a gazillion things that could happen before the actual delivery. It would be peace of mind at the very least to know what we could expect in about 7 months, and in all honesty if any of that was going to affect how we would need to parent. And we both didn't really care, because we knew we would love him no matter what.
Except for the part when my wife said "It's a girl."
"Are you sure?"
"It's a chromosome test, babe. Pretty sure."
So, I mean, at least we had a name picked out?
*Today's chapter header was brought to you by a friend of mine from high school I met for breakfast at Perkins. My 25th high school reunion took place the weekend we returned from Italy, but I knew I probably would be too wiped out to go. (Jet lagged and jet hung over, I had decided then and there on the 9 hour flight after multiple delays to have some wine so I could unwind and relax on the way home. Turns out, I didn't sleep at all and "some" wine turned into 4 stadium pours. At least I watched "Infinity War" 3 x's...I guess?)
Anyway, he had skipped it too- and we picked that particular Perkins due to it's vicinity to the reunion and hoping to maybe spot some hungover classmates. I still had that woozy, off-center sour feeling from only having had 6 hours of decent sleep. As such, and for as much as my wife and I decided on waiting to tell people until after we were sure a baby was happening- I let it slip that we were pregnant and that we were, again, positive it was going to be a boy. My friend only offered the above sage advice, as he has 2 sons and they're both in sports and at the age when you start getting funky. "Seriously. I had to buy extra-strength Glade plug-ins for their rooms. You open the door to go down their and it knocks you over. Boys smell."
Everything was new for both of us, so I had some questions that were probably weird sounding but not anything you'd normally ask your pregnant friends- for example, what does this mean for the royal "we"? Will we still be intimate? (Again, I *know* know that you can- but I'm a big guy and already treating my wife like a sacred and delicate vessel) There was still a lot of stuff I wouldn't truly understand until I was experiencing it.
And hey, do you remember that unwavering certainty that we were going to have a girl before we had a miscarriage earlier in the year?
This time? We were super positive that we were going to have a boy. And his name would be...
Chapter 6 "They thing you need to know about boys that you aren't prepared for is the smell...*"
Here are some early conversations my wife and I had about naming our son:
"If we call him that, (so and so) is going to think we're naming him after him"
"So and so's kid already has that name".
"Seriously? (laughing) Why *that* name?"
"What the hell is a 'regnal' name?" (Hey. I wanted a cool name, but we already knew a bunch of Henry's and Robert's and even Adam's. We were stuck)
Coming up with a baby girl name was almost as easy as breathing. Coming up with boy name was proving to be a challenge. It got to the point where we started making jokes about ridiculous non-names as a name. "Chalupa Con Queso P-----"? "Hewlett Packard"? "Tater Tot Hot Dish". Seriously, we probably had a list of 50 names that made us giggle and by the time we thought it'd be hilarious to write these down to show him when he was old enough, we had already forgotten the better one's. Acura Quidditch was probably on the list. (And if you wanted to know where *I* was landing with the name- I told my wife that he should be a straight up junior. "HONEEEEEEEEY... don't you think it'd be Cah-UTE if we had matching Twins jersey's and mine said "Papa" and his said "Junior"?!?! HONEEEEEEY?!??!?!" This was actually the closest we came to a real conversation about it.)
So this time around, we were super cautious about how we revealed this to people and when. We made our initial appointments with her Ob/Gyn and made sure to get past the 6 week mark before telling her parents. We ordered chromosome testing which would help determine the sex earlier rather than later- and along those lines we both agreed that we didn't want to have anything be a surprise. (We already had the well-meaning friends who asked us, weirdly, if and when we learned the sex that we should be okay with whatever sex our child identifies with. And look, no shit. But cart/horse and all that, I was like "Can we just get past the being born and healthy part first?")
Along those lines, we were sort of keen to avoid getting a lot of unsolicited advice. We're happy to ask for help and like I said- I was still thinking we had parenting classes and books and shit we needed to read...In short, we never presumed to know it all. But you hear stories of how some parents have super-definitive child rearing methods that in spite of their well-meaning and probable success (for them), can seem overbearing, overwhelming, and occasionally obnoxious. (My wife told me stories about a mama group on the Book of Faces where "fights" would break out like between that one relative who wears the MAGA hat to Thanksgiving and likes to make racist comments on your super-liberal social media posts. She eventually joined a group of mutual friends in the theater and has been really happy having a sounding board, FYI.)
A funny thing that might run contrary to my last comment: I *did* have a friend that very recently had their own kid, and he reached out to offer a $.05 worth of valuable advice: Namely securing child care as soon as possible (Waiting lists are stupid real, and they don't always line up when mommy's maternity leave is up.), and to remember to bring an extension cord to the hospital. Go figure. That was probably the best advice we received.
And to double back...those first few months after she learned she was pregnant was still early enough that things like how frisky we were going to get wasn't an issue, but what did happen was that suddenly I found my finances thrown into sharp relief- which, after getting the day care advice from my friend, is most apparent when you see how expensive day care actually is. We learned about parents that just opted to quit their day job to be a stay at home parent due to the fact that child care is basically the same as their annual salary. (It's a fucking con, is what it is. There's a built-in day care at my current office job and I checked out the prices for full-time care and it was $450 a week. Yeah.) And even part-time care with gramma helping? Is almost 2/3rds of my salary. Suddenly I started wondering if I could get or have time for a second job.
I was a little scared.
As we careened toward the end of the year and my 44th birthday- I eventually told my bosses at the temp gig who were (unexpectedly) excited and brought up due dates and necessary time off when it happened. And it was on a beautiful late-Fall afternoon that my wife called me at work and I once again scampered off to a conference room with a little trepidation to take the call- this time with the chromosome test results. Look, everyone wants perfect kids while they're growing them, but there's still a gazillion things that could happen before the actual delivery. It would be peace of mind at the very least to know what we could expect in about 7 months, and in all honesty if any of that was going to affect how we would need to parent. And we both didn't really care, because we knew we would love him no matter what.
Except for the part when my wife said "It's a girl."
"Are you sure?"
"It's a chromosome test, babe. Pretty sure."
So, I mean, at least we had a name picked out?
*Today's chapter header was brought to you by a friend of mine from high school I met for breakfast at Perkins. My 25th high school reunion took place the weekend we returned from Italy, but I knew I probably would be too wiped out to go. (Jet lagged and jet hung over, I had decided then and there on the 9 hour flight after multiple delays to have some wine so I could unwind and relax on the way home. Turns out, I didn't sleep at all and "some" wine turned into 4 stadium pours. At least I watched "Infinity War" 3 x's...I guess?)
Anyway, he had skipped it too- and we picked that particular Perkins due to it's vicinity to the reunion and hoping to maybe spot some hungover classmates. I still had that woozy, off-center sour feeling from only having had 6 hours of decent sleep. As such, and for as much as my wife and I decided on waiting to tell people until after we were sure a baby was happening- I let it slip that we were pregnant and that we were, again, positive it was going to be a boy. My friend only offered the above sage advice, as he has 2 sons and they're both in sports and at the age when you start getting funky. "Seriously. I had to buy extra-strength Glade plug-ins for their rooms. You open the door to go down their and it knocks you over. Boys smell."
Sunday, May 05, 2019
Viva Italia! Vivo Bambino!
I would love nothing more to have a story I could tell our daughter one day about *where* she was tastefully conceived. "We-ah made-ah the sweet-ah love-ah in-ah Venice-ah, and-ah ya mama had her belleh blessed by the Pope-ah when at-ah the Vatican-o..beepa boppa boopa..."
As it stands, my version of "How I Met Your Mother" is definitely not a story I can tell her until she's at least...well, I think I'll just let my wife tell her the sanitized version.
Anyway, I love travel. I love traveling overseas. And gods, I was stupid excited to spend a week treading the streets of Rome/Florence/Venice for just the historicity of it all. I thought that if a week in Paris had my head spinning with joy a few years ago, this was going to blow my mind: Collosseums, Huge Statues of Naked Dudes, Canals...
And then my wife promptly proceeded to throw up all over it.
Chapter 5
"Drinking for 2?"
I think having a healthy and calm mind is important when you're trying to make a baby. Time was passing and we were starting to return mentally to the baseline of normalcy, and resume our efforts earnestly in trying to make a tiny human. The trip to Italy was quickly coming up (right after Labor Day, 2018), and while we were doing that last minute travel fretting of getting house and pet-sitters in order, reviewing itineraries, checking passports...2 weeks before we left...we...oh heck...I'd love it if you guys heard my wife tell it: (Transcribed with permission)
So on August 26th my best friend was in town from Milwaukee. We decided on lunch and a shopping trip to Marshall's, and as we were perusing discounted fitness-wear I said "I JUST need to say this out loud to someone: I'm three days late and my boobs hurt".
So, my best friend being my best friend said what you need your best friend to say in these instances when you're in the far away suburbs of Blaine, and she said "OK. Let's go next door to Wal-Mart, go to their pharmacy section, and get you a pregnancy test." (My wife, knowing what they're about to do adds) "We need to make sure to find a check-out lane with the most awkward teenage cashier there is". To which her BFF said:
"OK. Then let's make sure we do it RIGHT in the Wal-Mart bathroom to complete this high-class circle"
So it was on this fateful day, that I peed on a pregnancy stick in the Wal-Mart Bathroom- while at the same time in the stall next to me some mom was wiping the butt of her screaming child. I don't know why that seemed funny to me at the time, but you can write that down too.
Anyway, the test was a "Positive", but the *control* line never showed up. So I told my BFF who then said we were going head over to Brick's Restaurant and have a big glass of wine and then pee on the other stick.
And this turned out to be the last glass of wine I would have for 9 months..."
And that, my dearest daughter, is the story of you.
She came home with the test(s), which for some weird reason (surprise) I put in my nightstand and asked if she'd take another one the next day. (Which meant three plastic pee strips in my nightstand and don't judge me) Having gone through that last bout of hope and heartache earlier in the year left me a over-cautious and not wanting to take chances. (Also, is this it? Are we ready?) At that point, part of my own re-balancing was getting back to the "just the two of us" mentality...plus plus...we were going to a country that is famous for wine, and you don't just up and get pregnant right before international travel! It wasn't lost on either of us that our first attempt at child-growing coincided with her dry South Padre Spring Break vacation earlier that year.
Hence the joke "drinking for two". Yay, we're pregnant, AND on an overseas adventure!
To conclude this chapter, I want to mention that Costco travel is fantastic. Part of our hotel package was a full continental breakfast. We anticipated this would mean coffee, juice, and a couple of pastries to tide us over until lunch, but our concierge brought us back into a room where we were greeted by what can only be described as "First Hogwart's Meal in the Sorcerer's Stone" sized breakfast buffet. Me, being a Hippo McBoom-Boom was in Heeeeavan- We had fruit, eggs, thick bacon, sausages... they even had amazing smelling vegetarian food (CHANA MASALA FOR BREAKFAST? DON'T MIND IF I DO!) toast, chocolates...it's like your mind says "Yes, you're on vacation and screw your diet because you are going to be horsefooting all over Saint Peter's relics in 2 hours and seeing the Sistine Chapel with your own eyes so it's time to fuel up, mo-fo..."
Oh crap...
Most mornings my wife would wake up a shade of palish green. She would generally start her morning sucking down Preggie Pops* and just praying to hold down a bowl of dry corn flakes. This is in addition to the shift into pregnancy that demands you dial back the caffeine intake- so she was nauseous, *and* had some low-grade headaches.
In the subsequent re-tellings of our trip, my wife will tell you she liked France much better than Italy. If you have a social media subscription and look through our pictures from Italy and see my wife? You're looking at a beautiful woman who is fighting morning sickness on the daily, followed by ravenous hunger by about 11am. In short, it was still a dream trip. Albeit one where a developing human had a marked effect on our individual enjoyment.
**Preggie Pops are a thing. They're these citrusy, sour hard candies that my wife told me about after we learned she was pregnant. She tried picking some up at Target before we left- but couldn't find them. But I hunted them down. And thankfully, they helped get her through some of the worst mornings of our trip. Just not the shitty risotto at that one place. Ugh.
As it stands, my version of "How I Met Your Mother" is definitely not a story I can tell her until she's at least...well, I think I'll just let my wife tell her the sanitized version.
Anyway, I love travel. I love traveling overseas. And gods, I was stupid excited to spend a week treading the streets of Rome/Florence/Venice for just the historicity of it all. I thought that if a week in Paris had my head spinning with joy a few years ago, this was going to blow my mind: Collosseums, Huge Statues of Naked Dudes, Canals...
And then my wife promptly proceeded to throw up all over it.
Chapter 5
"Drinking for 2?"
I think having a healthy and calm mind is important when you're trying to make a baby. Time was passing and we were starting to return mentally to the baseline of normalcy, and resume our efforts earnestly in trying to make a tiny human. The trip to Italy was quickly coming up (right after Labor Day, 2018), and while we were doing that last minute travel fretting of getting house and pet-sitters in order, reviewing itineraries, checking passports...2 weeks before we left...we...oh heck...I'd love it if you guys heard my wife tell it: (Transcribed with permission)
So on August 26th my best friend was in town from Milwaukee. We decided on lunch and a shopping trip to Marshall's, and as we were perusing discounted fitness-wear I said "I JUST need to say this out loud to someone: I'm three days late and my boobs hurt".
So, my best friend being my best friend said what you need your best friend to say in these instances when you're in the far away suburbs of Blaine, and she said "OK. Let's go next door to Wal-Mart, go to their pharmacy section, and get you a pregnancy test." (My wife, knowing what they're about to do adds) "We need to make sure to find a check-out lane with the most awkward teenage cashier there is". To which her BFF said:
"OK. Then let's make sure we do it RIGHT in the Wal-Mart bathroom to complete this high-class circle"
So it was on this fateful day, that I peed on a pregnancy stick in the Wal-Mart Bathroom- while at the same time in the stall next to me some mom was wiping the butt of her screaming child. I don't know why that seemed funny to me at the time, but you can write that down too.
Anyway, the test was a "Positive", but the *control* line never showed up. So I told my BFF who then said we were going head over to Brick's Restaurant and have a big glass of wine and then pee on the other stick.
And this turned out to be the last glass of wine I would have for 9 months..."
And that, my dearest daughter, is the story of you.
She came home with the test(s), which for some weird reason (surprise) I put in my nightstand and asked if she'd take another one the next day. (Which meant three plastic pee strips in my nightstand and don't judge me) Having gone through that last bout of hope and heartache earlier in the year left me a over-cautious and not wanting to take chances. (Also, is this it? Are we ready?) At that point, part of my own re-balancing was getting back to the "just the two of us" mentality...plus plus...we were going to a country that is famous for wine, and you don't just up and get pregnant right before international travel! It wasn't lost on either of us that our first attempt at child-growing coincided with her dry South Padre Spring Break vacation earlier that year.
Hence the joke "drinking for two". Yay, we're pregnant, AND on an overseas adventure!
To conclude this chapter, I want to mention that Costco travel is fantastic. Part of our hotel package was a full continental breakfast. We anticipated this would mean coffee, juice, and a couple of pastries to tide us over until lunch, but our concierge brought us back into a room where we were greeted by what can only be described as "First Hogwart's Meal in the Sorcerer's Stone" sized breakfast buffet. Me, being a Hippo McBoom-Boom was in Heeeeavan- We had fruit, eggs, thick bacon, sausages... they even had amazing smelling vegetarian food (CHANA MASALA FOR BREAKFAST? DON'T MIND IF I DO!) toast, chocolates...it's like your mind says "Yes, you're on vacation and screw your diet because you are going to be horsefooting all over Saint Peter's relics in 2 hours and seeing the Sistine Chapel with your own eyes so it's time to fuel up, mo-fo..."
Oh crap...
Most mornings my wife would wake up a shade of palish green. She would generally start her morning sucking down Preggie Pops* and just praying to hold down a bowl of dry corn flakes. This is in addition to the shift into pregnancy that demands you dial back the caffeine intake- so she was nauseous, *and* had some low-grade headaches.
In the subsequent re-tellings of our trip, my wife will tell you she liked France much better than Italy. If you have a social media subscription and look through our pictures from Italy and see my wife? You're looking at a beautiful woman who is fighting morning sickness on the daily, followed by ravenous hunger by about 11am. In short, it was still a dream trip. Albeit one where a developing human had a marked effect on our individual enjoyment.
**Preggie Pops are a thing. They're these citrusy, sour hard candies that my wife told me about after we learned she was pregnant. She tried picking some up at Target before we left- but couldn't find them. But I hunted them down. And thankfully, they helped get her through some of the worst mornings of our trip. Just not the shitty risotto at that one place. Ugh.
Friday, May 03, 2019
In which we talk about the missing carriage.
(Content warning/Trigger Warning. I'm gonna talk about miscarrying. I've read that the world is still demystifying it, and even having had the extraordinary misfortune to have been present when family has lost children very late during a pregnancy I don't feel like I'm overtly qualified to throw any new commentary on the matter- but something I learned was that there are a lot of different levels of what it means to miscarry. Here's what happened to us.)
Chapter 4..."Honey? I Think We're Pregnant!!!"
On February 10th, 2018 my wife woke me up to say she was pregnant.
On March 26th, I got a phone call while I was at work that said that it wasn't going to happen.
Dates become very important during a pregnancy. I learned that it wasn't just the developmental milestones (You've probably seen new parents do the whole "gauging their pregnancy based on what kind of produce the kid is" pictures) but after you pee on the stick and the initial euphoria (Or terror? I seem to remember a cautious fugue state setting in. I asked if my wife was sure, as she was crying holding a piece of plastic that had only recently had engaged in water sports.) after all of that you start to consider things first on the 9 month timeline- but there are many other important dates to consider as well.
Developmentally, you get the initial exam/meeting with an Ob/Gyn to tell them you're pregnant where they have you pee on your hand again (Just go with it. Feigning disgust as my wife waved the pregnancy exam was something we did for a giggle.) and then see if you like them enough to be the one prodding your spouses nethers during subsequent visits. Each of the follow up appointments (6 weeks and onward) and ultra sound visits are going to give you a fetal heartbeat, and generally how your kid is looking until it gets down to the 36 weeks and the visits become more frequent until you're finally admitted for delivery. Basically, I learned that you don't get a hello and handshake at month one, then one terrible black and white ultrasound where your kid looks like an awful blend of Skeletor and a Rorschach test to post on social media and give to your family before you finally meet them in the screaming crying flesh 9 months later.
But the big thing is that 1st infant heartbeat. It's usually after that appointment when you are able to more or less safely say to friends and family that yes: a bambino/bambina is on their way.
Impatient and more than a little excited, naturally we told mom and dad more or less right away. Her brother and sister in law followed suit somewhere around my wife's birthday. (Having been trying for their own kids for many, many years meant steeling ourselves to tell them. To paint a picture, I was holding my crying wife before her birthday brunch outside of the restaurant telling her that we just had to take the band-aid off and tell them. Little did we know they had an announcement to make of their own shortly after, and hey... We've been loving up my niece now for the last five months as I type this. Things were just that crazy.)
We even had a hilarious Spring Break trip to South Padre Island where my wife lightly kvetched that she wasn't able to drink the entire time. That's one...I mean, that's not relevant to this story, but we'll tell you about it sometime because the trip was a hilarious cautionary tale. TL:DR, I'm old and people need to cover up their naked buns.
In spite of mentally committing to being dry for the duration of her pregnancy, I got tipsy at a party and before I knew it we were telling our entire friend group of our upcoming pampie party, along with a lot of "WOO!!!" and hugs and telling people that I have the BEST support group and the most AMAZING group of friends to raise our kid around... I mean, I'm a superstitious fella by nature, and even though we were a little premature in announcing it, this was my friend framily- many of whom had kids of their own and we love them and wanted to share. Ok?
Ironically, it was at the follow-up visit when we chatted with the weird, heavily-accented German Ob.Gyn that we had previously met at our 1st appointment (Who *I* thought was hilarious and my wife didn't really care for much.) who also acted like... she... had... never met us? Not like we're perfect, hilarious, and memorable....not even a big deal, but then she started asking the same questions as our initial visit like we had just found out we were pregnant and we're like "Noooooooo, we were here a few weeks ago" and she's like "Huh, and what are you here for again?" My wife was squeezing my hand as if to say this is the most absent-minded doc around, but we finally told her:
"We're here to hear her heartbeat".
Oh yeah. We were positive it was a girl. The name we picked out almost effortlessly, and figured if we were wrong about the sex, we'd burn that bridge when we came to it. New parents are weird. And after reading the last few of these chapters- you might've gotten the impression I didn't want kids and was fist-pumping any time my wife menstruated, but at this point mentally? I was committed to seeing it happen. We were going to have a girl. She was prrrrrobably going to be born on my late mother's birthday in an ironic twist of fate. She was going to smash the patriarchy and take names. My wife- who wasn't even showing yet- was already doing that mom-tummy caress. And as soon as Doctor German-Funny Lady started acting perplexed, my Spider-Sense started going off the chain the same way you just know a phone call is going to let you know some bad news.
The wand ultra-sound didn't show anything. So they scheduled a follow up with my wife with an actual "ultra-sound ultra-sound" at another clinic. My job being my job, meant I couldn't take the time off to be with my wife for that one, but she assured me she'd call as soon as it was over. And like I said- mentally, I was already preparing myself for not great news but decided to keep that to myself in the hope that I'm wrong. And the shitty impotent feeling as I stood in a meeting room taking a phone call from my wife made me wish I was home right then and there.
I held my wife all night long that night. After we finally went to sleep and after she told me she needed me here to help her through this, I called work and said I wouldn't be in the rest of the week- almost guaranteeing I'd be out of the job. In order to make sure my wife had a clean slate to attempt having a kid, we had to go in for something I had never heard of called a D & C procedure.
So-
If you have a faint memory of your biology classes from high school, you know that once insemination occurs it's a matter of attachment to the uterine lining and then magical mitosis starts the process of all those microscopic cells dividing and sub-dividing before becoming an infant. A presumption is that miscarriage means being farther along/closer to full term and something goes terribly wrong. In our case, the cells just...stopped changing. And their hanging out and not doing anything is bad for you. And they have to be removed before you resume follow up attempts. And to give a lot of credit where it's due, I just want to point out that the incredibly kind and sensitive manner with which the Ob/Gyn who performed the procedure that explained it to us- who (I may add) even asked if we wanted to have a "service" for the cells... made her our Ob/Gyn for (SPOILER ALERT!) my wife's pregnancy later .
So it was on a really beautiful and sunny day, March 28th, that my wife was placed in a Bear warming gown which she comically said made her look like Grimace, then placed under general sedation as I held her hand and joked with the doctor's about their colorful footwear, and was then led out into the waiting room for what I anticipated was going to be a insufferably long and anxiety-riddled affair as my wife had surgery for her miscarriage...only to have the doctor come out before I could even put my ear buds in to tell me the procedure was wholly unremarkable and fine, and led me back to a recovery room while my wife came out from general anesthesia.
I helped her get dressed as she started rousing, realizing that I found myself moving sort of mechanically and dispassionately the whole time- taking in details like the overhead ceiling light having a tropical picture superimposed on it to help people as the woke up. I found myself dressing my wife, the object of my affection, the one who I love and whose body I adore, in the most clinical but gentle way I can.
Before you leave, they give you a prescription and some instructions. You need to wait several weeks before making any attempt at procreation, and to wait until after you've had a full menstrual cycle so that you know your body is ready to try again. Any attempt at intercourse within 3 weeks is not-advised, and you should wear a condom. (A condom. A CONDOM? It's weird, right? Just hearing them say you need to wrap it up. Suddenly I'm 14 and back in health class.)
This all meant more time constraints. And doing the math, after a year of trying it'd be another 2-3 months before biologically she was prepared to become a sacred vessel. No more Mommy/Granddaughter matching birthday. Tick tock. Would I be fifty before I had a kid?
Mentally, the hurdles were more challenging than even the surgical procedure. For what felt like many months, my wife struggled to even get up and go to work and in spite of having a crappy job*, I found myself being the one to get her up and going in. The self-blame she experienced was exhausting for her, and there were many nights where I would just hold her while she cried before she went to sleep. Surprise...I didn't have the same issue, but still felt awful not only because my wife was suffering but because in the big picture- what had happened didn't feel like it was even real. Like...was she ever even "really" pregnant? Like the pee stick lied, and our baby didn't even make it out of the gate, much less have a chance to be "proven" (to crib a line from the "Great British Baking Show".)
In her grief, and having admitted these feelings to her- my wise wife reminded me that it was "real to her". I was 43 years old, and still getting schooled on sensitivity.
There was one night shortly after the D & C where we tucked into a magnum of wine, and fueled by tears and emotion we tore the TV room apart and slurred on about making changes and fresh starts. What ended up happening was waking up with a Costco membership, and a vacation to Rome for our 3 year anniversary. We figured if we don't have a kid, then we'd spend our money on a little culture and travel.
Also, in spite of doctor's orders and emotionally not feeling like we were ready yet- we disregarded the post-surgery instructions and risked intimacy sooner rather than later.
*I did have a meeting with my boss after I came back to work, btw. They forgave any and all missed work. At that point, and feeling how I did, I was skeptical and almost angry that I wasn't fired for having missed so many days. Moreover, having struggled with my role there, I was even angrier that they showed that much sensitivity toward what I was going through. Like I said, things were really weird.
Chapter 4..."Honey? I Think We're Pregnant!!!"
On February 10th, 2018 my wife woke me up to say she was pregnant.
On March 26th, I got a phone call while I was at work that said that it wasn't going to happen.
Dates become very important during a pregnancy. I learned that it wasn't just the developmental milestones (You've probably seen new parents do the whole "gauging their pregnancy based on what kind of produce the kid is" pictures) but after you pee on the stick and the initial euphoria (Or terror? I seem to remember a cautious fugue state setting in. I asked if my wife was sure, as she was crying holding a piece of plastic that had only recently had engaged in water sports.) after all of that you start to consider things first on the 9 month timeline- but there are many other important dates to consider as well.
Developmentally, you get the initial exam/meeting with an Ob/Gyn to tell them you're pregnant where they have you pee on your hand again (Just go with it. Feigning disgust as my wife waved the pregnancy exam was something we did for a giggle.) and then see if you like them enough to be the one prodding your spouses nethers during subsequent visits. Each of the follow up appointments (6 weeks and onward) and ultra sound visits are going to give you a fetal heartbeat, and generally how your kid is looking until it gets down to the 36 weeks and the visits become more frequent until you're finally admitted for delivery. Basically, I learned that you don't get a hello and handshake at month one, then one terrible black and white ultrasound where your kid looks like an awful blend of Skeletor and a Rorschach test to post on social media and give to your family before you finally meet them in the screaming crying flesh 9 months later.
But the big thing is that 1st infant heartbeat. It's usually after that appointment when you are able to more or less safely say to friends and family that yes: a bambino/bambina is on their way.
Impatient and more than a little excited, naturally we told mom and dad more or less right away. Her brother and sister in law followed suit somewhere around my wife's birthday. (Having been trying for their own kids for many, many years meant steeling ourselves to tell them. To paint a picture, I was holding my crying wife before her birthday brunch outside of the restaurant telling her that we just had to take the band-aid off and tell them. Little did we know they had an announcement to make of their own shortly after, and hey... We've been loving up my niece now for the last five months as I type this. Things were just that crazy.)
We even had a hilarious Spring Break trip to South Padre Island where my wife lightly kvetched that she wasn't able to drink the entire time. That's one...I mean, that's not relevant to this story, but we'll tell you about it sometime because the trip was a hilarious cautionary tale. TL:DR, I'm old and people need to cover up their naked buns.
In spite of mentally committing to being dry for the duration of her pregnancy, I got tipsy at a party and before I knew it we were telling our entire friend group of our upcoming pampie party, along with a lot of "WOO!!!" and hugs and telling people that I have the BEST support group and the most AMAZING group of friends to raise our kid around... I mean, I'm a superstitious fella by nature, and even though we were a little premature in announcing it, this was my friend framily- many of whom had kids of their own and we love them and wanted to share. Ok?
Ironically, it was at the follow-up visit when we chatted with the weird, heavily-accented German Ob.Gyn that we had previously met at our 1st appointment (Who *I* thought was hilarious and my wife didn't really care for much.) who also acted like... she... had... never met us? Not like we're perfect, hilarious, and memorable....not even a big deal, but then she started asking the same questions as our initial visit like we had just found out we were pregnant and we're like "Noooooooo, we were here a few weeks ago" and she's like "Huh, and what are you here for again?" My wife was squeezing my hand as if to say this is the most absent-minded doc around, but we finally told her:
"We're here to hear her heartbeat".
Oh yeah. We were positive it was a girl. The name we picked out almost effortlessly, and figured if we were wrong about the sex, we'd burn that bridge when we came to it. New parents are weird. And after reading the last few of these chapters- you might've gotten the impression I didn't want kids and was fist-pumping any time my wife menstruated, but at this point mentally? I was committed to seeing it happen. We were going to have a girl. She was prrrrrobably going to be born on my late mother's birthday in an ironic twist of fate. She was going to smash the patriarchy and take names. My wife- who wasn't even showing yet- was already doing that mom-tummy caress. And as soon as Doctor German-Funny Lady started acting perplexed, my Spider-Sense started going off the chain the same way you just know a phone call is going to let you know some bad news.
The wand ultra-sound didn't show anything. So they scheduled a follow up with my wife with an actual "ultra-sound ultra-sound" at another clinic. My job being my job, meant I couldn't take the time off to be with my wife for that one, but she assured me she'd call as soon as it was over. And like I said- mentally, I was already preparing myself for not great news but decided to keep that to myself in the hope that I'm wrong. And the shitty impotent feeling as I stood in a meeting room taking a phone call from my wife made me wish I was home right then and there.
I held my wife all night long that night. After we finally went to sleep and after she told me she needed me here to help her through this, I called work and said I wouldn't be in the rest of the week- almost guaranteeing I'd be out of the job. In order to make sure my wife had a clean slate to attempt having a kid, we had to go in for something I had never heard of called a D & C procedure.
So-
If you have a faint memory of your biology classes from high school, you know that once insemination occurs it's a matter of attachment to the uterine lining and then magical mitosis starts the process of all those microscopic cells dividing and sub-dividing before becoming an infant. A presumption is that miscarriage means being farther along/closer to full term and something goes terribly wrong. In our case, the cells just...stopped changing. And their hanging out and not doing anything is bad for you. And they have to be removed before you resume follow up attempts. And to give a lot of credit where it's due, I just want to point out that the incredibly kind and sensitive manner with which the Ob/Gyn who performed the procedure that explained it to us- who (I may add) even asked if we wanted to have a "service" for the cells... made her our Ob/Gyn for (SPOILER ALERT!) my wife's pregnancy later .
So it was on a really beautiful and sunny day, March 28th, that my wife was placed in a Bear warming gown which she comically said made her look like Grimace, then placed under general sedation as I held her hand and joked with the doctor's about their colorful footwear, and was then led out into the waiting room for what I anticipated was going to be a insufferably long and anxiety-riddled affair as my wife had surgery for her miscarriage...only to have the doctor come out before I could even put my ear buds in to tell me the procedure was wholly unremarkable and fine, and led me back to a recovery room while my wife came out from general anesthesia.
I helped her get dressed as she started rousing, realizing that I found myself moving sort of mechanically and dispassionately the whole time- taking in details like the overhead ceiling light having a tropical picture superimposed on it to help people as the woke up. I found myself dressing my wife, the object of my affection, the one who I love and whose body I adore, in the most clinical but gentle way I can.
Before you leave, they give you a prescription and some instructions. You need to wait several weeks before making any attempt at procreation, and to wait until after you've had a full menstrual cycle so that you know your body is ready to try again. Any attempt at intercourse within 3 weeks is not-advised, and you should wear a condom. (A condom. A CONDOM? It's weird, right? Just hearing them say you need to wrap it up. Suddenly I'm 14 and back in health class.)
This all meant more time constraints. And doing the math, after a year of trying it'd be another 2-3 months before biologically she was prepared to become a sacred vessel. No more Mommy/Granddaughter matching birthday. Tick tock. Would I be fifty before I had a kid?
Mentally, the hurdles were more challenging than even the surgical procedure. For what felt like many months, my wife struggled to even get up and go to work and in spite of having a crappy job*, I found myself being the one to get her up and going in. The self-blame she experienced was exhausting for her, and there were many nights where I would just hold her while she cried before she went to sleep. Surprise...I didn't have the same issue, but still felt awful not only because my wife was suffering but because in the big picture- what had happened didn't feel like it was even real. Like...was she ever even "really" pregnant? Like the pee stick lied, and our baby didn't even make it out of the gate, much less have a chance to be "proven" (to crib a line from the "Great British Baking Show".)
In her grief, and having admitted these feelings to her- my wise wife reminded me that it was "real to her". I was 43 years old, and still getting schooled on sensitivity.
There was one night shortly after the D & C where we tucked into a magnum of wine, and fueled by tears and emotion we tore the TV room apart and slurred on about making changes and fresh starts. What ended up happening was waking up with a Costco membership, and a vacation to Rome for our 3 year anniversary. We figured if we don't have a kid, then we'd spend our money on a little culture and travel.
Also, in spite of doctor's orders and emotionally not feeling like we were ready yet- we disregarded the post-surgery instructions and risked intimacy sooner rather than later.
*I did have a meeting with my boss after I came back to work, btw. They forgave any and all missed work. At that point, and feeling how I did, I was skeptical and almost angry that I wasn't fired for having missed so many days. Moreover, having struggled with my role there, I was even angrier that they showed that much sensitivity toward what I was going through. Like I said, things were really weird.
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