The long awaited Daddy blog
Sunday, March 8th, 2009.
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It was all worth it when the clock turned 2:35 pm.
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THE AWAKENING
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There is a small whisper in my ear. “Hey!” I am thinking, “Where am I?” The low voice continues, “I have been having contractions for the last hour or so.” The light in my brain goes on. I get it. The baby is coming.
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It’s around one o’clock in the morning, or so I think. I can’t tell what time it is, (partly because of all the blessings the good Lord has given me, I lost my quality eye sight when Dwight Gooden was winning rookie of the year, but at least I can see, just not very well) because I can’t see the alarm clock that is literally a foot from my face. I roll over. “Huh?” This isn’t the first time I have been awakened by my wife Christina in pain, but this was different. Her tone was more defined.
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“The contractions are about three and half minutes apart and last about 30 seconds,” she said. “I think this is it. Hold on…there is one coming.” She breathes slowly through the contraction, imagining puffy pink clouds and silver gloves full of endorphins. Hypnobirthing. It is clearly working. A few slow breaths and she was fine. It is unusual, an odd sight for me, and likely all men. I witness pain for a couple minutes, not terrible pain at this point, but as far as I can see pain, then totally normal, then pain. Thank God for our silent savior, Kate Zimmerman. She is our neighbor and a fellow Elizabethtown College alum who suggested the mind over matter technique as a natural way to deal with the discomfort of labor. Following the brief contraction interlude, Christina gets up.
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“I am going to take a shower and see if they go away.” The Zen of natural birthing, Janet Hall, would certainly be proud. Our Wednesday night initiations have paid off. We are completely relaxed. I turn on the television to ESPN, but couldn’t tell you what I was actually watching, SportsCenter I suppose. My mind wasn’t on the TV…but of course why not give ESPN some ratings while my mind wanders?
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When should we go to the hospital?
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I haven’t really packed a bag yet, should I get going?
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I am tired.
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Is she listening to that terrible Beyonce song on her Iphone in the shower. I hate that song.
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I think this is legit. We are having this baby.
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I roll out of my king sized mammoth bed, which is no less than three feet off the ground, and onto a pile of decor pillows that I toss next to where I sleep every night. I stumble over a cable cord that is wrapped around our room, ghetto style, secured by masking tape to the bottom of the wall, another task not quite completed.
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Baby Cadence doesn't quite fill out her crib yet.
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Our last nine months have been wrapped in nesting. The Nursery is pink, with crown molding, baseboard, and wainscoting in the lower half. We added new blinds, (sans cords of course) bamboo flooring, a white crib that Shaq could sleep in, changing table (off craigslist) and the most valuable item in the nursery, a Diaper Genie. No purchase was discussed more than this one. From co-workers to family, to other parents, I was told the Diaper Genie is a must. At our ESPN baby shower, we got two diaper genies from the Sobels, Mccollums, and Sidney Wong. I wanted to keep them both for two reasons.
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1) Based on all the suggestions I just got the modern wheat pennie. The Honus Wagner of baby items. Lets stash one away and in 30 years we can sell it on Free-bay, (the 2039 version of Ebay). I can retire finally at age 63 from the earnings of the once dominant Diaper Genie. Cause in 2039, they just don’t make them like they used to.
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2) If I can’t sell Christina on point one, lets keep one downstairs to use.
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I lost the argument and we exchanged one Diaper Genie for something organic at Babies R Us. Oh Yeah, back to nesting, we also added a chandelier in her room, a ceiling fan and new wood flooring in our bedroom, a flat screen TV over my fireplace, and multiple other purchases that threaten to put us in the poor house. But hey, we have a nice NEST!
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I am off track…Christina comes out of the bathroom. “I am still having contractions.” I told her I was going downstairs to get the phone numbers for our doula, Carrie, and our midwife’s office. All I could think of was the stork is in the air…finally.
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I get the numbers off the inside of our kitchen cabinets and go back up the stairs to find my wife dealing with a contraction. I softly rub her head, and scramble in the darkness to find my color coated index cards with my hypnobirthing notes. I grab them off my nightstand and promptly knock down some nonsense behind my bed. Awesome, what did I drop? Who cares, more important things to worry about at the moment. I suggest the first few techniques. Breath slowly. Concentrate on relaxing your shoulders. We wait it out for another few minutes. Time is ticking. I can’t get the ticking noise of the iconic TV program 60 minutes out of my head. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
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Chill.
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I turn on my Iphone.
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I put in the wrong password.
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Calm down.
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Ok got it.
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I dial the number. Who do you want to answer the phone in the middle of the night? Not Hillary Clinton. Not Barack Obama. I vote for Carrie the Doula! She is surprisingly pleasant, “Hello,” almost like she was gifted with a 6th sense, somehow knowing that my wife would be in labor. “Carrie, Hi sorry to wake you, but Christina is having a lot of pains. I wanted to give you a heads up so you knew this is probably happening,” I said. “Ok, well did she take a shower yet?” I answer yes. “Call me back in an hour at 2:30 am and let me know how she is doing. Definitely call the midwife office.” I quickly hang up, and dial the next number. I tell them the same thing, and the answering service tells me a midwife will call me right back at the house. It’s Paula, one of the midwives at the practice we attend. Let’s just say we are not throwing a party after hearing that name. Paula is cordial on the phone and says that if the labor continues at the current pace, to come in to the hospital, and to enter through the ER at St. Mary’s Hospital in Waterbury.
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That hour goes by pretty fast. I am scrambling to gather all the stuff in the car. It is difficult to imagine the amount of stuff I am throwing in the back of my car. It’s a list worthy of the Griswolds:
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Diaper bag.
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Baby clothes.
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My clothes.
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Christina’s clothes.
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Fake candles.
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Cell phone chargers.
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Docking station for Iphone.
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Pillows.
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I have trekked upstairs and back down probably a half dozen times. “I think have most everything in the car,” I softly told Christina. “Did you check the list on the fridge?” Darn. I knew I forgot something. Hummus and crackers, didn’t remember that and nearly walked out of the house multiple times without it. You gotta eat when in labor…I listen.
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Ok, I got everything on the list, the car is jammed full. Baby car seat is in the car. I filled up the cat food so high we could have had a seven day labor and they would have been fed like royalty. Time to go.
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After another contraction, Christina says call Carrie back. I suggest to Carrie to come over to our house and help us make the decision of when to leave for the hospital. Carrie obliges and says she is getting ready and will be out the door momentarily. That decision lasts about 10 minutes because by now Christina is ready to go to the hospital. Christina comes downstairs. This is daylight savings time, so the clocks have “sprung” ahead. What time is it? who knows…I think 3:00…but actually 4:00.
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One more contraction. Christina is a star, dealing with the pain admirably. I used to think Mel Gibson was tough in Braveheart.
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We are off to have a baby.
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THE DRIVE 4:00 AM
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The moon was almost full as we drove to the hospital early March 8th.
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As we pull out of the garage, we are totally relaxed. It is a calm, serene atmosphere in my car. Despite the fact I can’t barely see out of my back window due to the gifts for nurses, bags, and food along with the currently empty car seat. CD slot number one has been owned by Christina for the last month. A disc of comfort music to soothe the next 35 minutes in the car.
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Nobody is on the road.
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It is a perfect night, perfect time to head to the hospital, perfect day to have a baby.
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As we are driving up the rural back roads, I look up in astonishment. “Look at the moon,” I remarked. Only days earlier a co-worker, Greg Jewell was prodding me about the upcoming arrival of Baby No-name. (I was sworn to secrecy only to blow it two weeks before she was born to my dad on a phone call. My wife, not happy.) Greg says to me, “When is the next full moon?” I told him I didn’t know…his response, I bet it is soon, and a full moon means your baby will come. It is magnificent, a sight to remember. Even in her odd state, Christina agrees, the sky is something to behold and remember. The image won’t be forgotten…not soon, not ever.
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I have mentally prepared for this moment. My focus is on Christina. She is doing surprisingly well. Remember the old cartoon Chilly Willy? She sounded much like that, “I have contraction coming…” she said, then promptly breathes with ease, along with a ha-hee-hachoo. She is tackling the early stages of birth like brushing her teeth.
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By this time we are driving by Dunkin Donuts. Looks good, too bad we don’t have time for me to swing through and grab an XL Big Daddy Coffee with cream and sugar. Oh yeah, and a boston creme donut, but my wife wouldn’t care to have more fat added to my already thick neck. Lets just say the last nine months haven’t been kind to my body either, albeit an optional diet on my behalf.
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Following that last contraction, we are near route 8, time for some phone calls. Christina calls her dad. Tristy, her stepmother answered. Christina begins to tell her that we are heading for the hospital, then time for me to jump in. “ah hello? yeah Christina is slighly incoherent at the moment, as I drive through a contruction serpentine worthy of the A-team.” The phone call drops. Fun. Tristy calls back and by this time she can talk. All the while I am driving a solid 45 miles per hour, maybe upwards of 50, enjoying the calm demeanor of my wife and the car.
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I choose to not call my parents and family, thinking that waking them up isn’t the best call of action. Knowing my loving mother, she would first:
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A) say hello about 8-t0 times, then realize that I said hello back 8-10 times.
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B) wake up my dad who is snoring loudly
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C) start packing and tell my Dad it is time to go
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D) start a prayer circle of friends that she has known since 1970, waking them up at 4:00 am to join in, and then calling me back to introduce me to all of them including the New World Pasta CEO.
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I chose to let my Dad sleep. I am sure he loves me more for it.
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My daughter just let out a toot worthy of the Nutty Professor…continuing on.
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**MORE TO COME…UP NEXT…WE ARRIVE IN THE ER…AND I KNOCK ON THE DOORS ASKING TO BE LET IN, A NURSE LOOKS AT ME LIKE I AM CENTAUR. LOOK IT UP. SHE POINTS AT THE NEXT DOOR TO ENTER.** I HAVE 7 BAGS OF CRAP, AND WIFE WHO IS LEANING ON ME…NO DOULA YET.** SHE BEAT ME AND IS ALREADY INSIDE…
**MORE TO COME**