Saturday, August 9th started out like any other Saturday for someone who is married to a very pregnant (and really ready to not be very pregnant) woman with whom he has a precocious, two and a half year old toddler.
I woke up to the sound of Atticus stomping down the hall and the crash of a basket full of jagged little plastic toys (the type that never seem so sharp as when they are stepped on/tripped over with bare feet.) Oh, and did I mention he was “singing”? At the top of his little lungs? Yeah, because that was also happening on the other side of my closed bedroom door.
I looked into the living room as I stepped into the hallway and saw my poor wife slumped into a defeated pile on the chair, her eyes closed and head down. She raised up slightly and mumbled something to the effect of, “I’ve been up since 5:30 … I’m so sick of having contractions that turn out to be a false alarm. I’m sick of getting everything ready and getting excited to meet my baby and then nothing. I’m seriously bummed.” I told her to go lie down and I would take Atticus to a park or something. She asked if I would take him to see the bus at the Kickoff to Kindergarten event at the Children’s Museum. He was totally excited that he was going to actually get on a REAL school bus (he’s been semi-obsessed with buses, lately, and will point out any vehicle larger than a pickup truck and smaller than a tractor-trailer, “YOOK, DAHDEE! YOOK! SKOOO-BUSS!”)
On the way to CMWS, he chattered away about the bus and pointed out every school bus, city bus, hospital transport and passenger van along the way, declaring each one a “skoo-buss!!” When we got there, it had started to sprinkle a little bit but there were still several kids waiting their turn to inspect the inside and see what this bus was all about. We walked over to queue up for our turn. We had been standing there for maybe 60 seconds when Atticus started to edge away saying with increasing volume, “No Dahdee! I dond yike dis! No! NO-NO BUSS! NOOO BUUUUUUUSSSSSSSS!!” I calmed him down by saying that we would wait and get on the bus when he was ready. He decided that he wanted to go play in the museum. I don’t know if it was because of the rain or Kickoff to Kindergarten or what, but it was packed tight with frantically playing kids, crying kids, babies, crying babies, parents, grandparents and guardians. Apparently, it wasn’t unusually crowded for a Saturday, because the staff all seemed cool and collected. Whatever the case, we played and played and played until I decided that we should go home and eat some lunch, an unpopular decision as he was not done playing! After many tears, I was able to cajole Atticus into going to the car with the promise of seeing Mommy. Christine works at CMWS so there was some confusion as to why we were going to the car rather than her office but, fortunately, since I am much taller and stronger than a two year old, we made our way to the parking lot. The buses had long since left so of course his bravery returned as we walked to the car, “Wear buss, Dahdee? Want buss!” More tears when I told him that the bus had left and he had missed his chance this time. Though his eyes were still full of tears, he began to calm down when I told him that maybe we could do it next time.
When we got home, Christine was awake. She was unable to sleep plus she wasn’t sure when we were coming home and wanted to feed Atticus lunch and put him down for a nap. Lunch was eaten and stories were read and a disgruntled Atticus eventually went down for his nap. He often has initial trouble at nap time – sitting up almost immediately after I tuck him in and saying, “Cant seep!” or “Aye not seepy!” Taking a note out of my sister’s book, I usually tell him that he doesn’t have to sleep but I want him to lie down and have some ‘quiet time.’ He usually complies but when he does fuss, it is rarely for more than a minute or two. But I digress …
After getting Atticus down, Christine stumbled into the living room to tell me that she was also going to try again to take a nap, as she was still exhausted. The next few hours were unremarkable in that Atticus slept, Christine slept and I worked on photos. Little did we know that these would be some of the last hours we would spend as a family of three. The silence was broken a little after 5:00 pm when Christine’s phone rang and a few minutes later, she slowly wandered into the living room. At the edge of the hallway, she stopped suddenly and with a sharp intake of breath, she put her hand up on the wall and winced. I asked if everything was alright and she said that she was having contractions … again. We talked for a bit while Atticus napped; Christine didn’t want to get herself psyched up for nothing but was even more concerned that we would be caught off guard if it was not just another false alarm. We decided to call my sister and let her know that it could be a false alarm but she should come on over to watch Atticus just in case.
I tried to call Bree but it went to her voicemail and just as I was about to hit redial, she texted me, “Can’t talk right now … what’s up?” I texted back, “Christine’s in labor.” Bree called me almost immediately but Christine instructed me to just have Bree call her phone because we were timing the contractions on my phone. After a brief conversation, my sister said she was on her way to our house. Christine said that my sister was with my Mom and my niece and they had just bought tickets for a movie (Doh! Non-matinee prices too!) but they drove separately so my sister was coming over while Charley and my Mom finished watching the movie. Christine decided to take a shower but left the door open so she could call out each time a contraction began (we had been timing them for the last half hour or so.) Bree texted me no more than 5 minutes after she and Christine had gotten off of the phone and said that they were all coming over (once Bree told them what was going on, there was no way that Mom or Charley was going to be able sit through a movie.) Christine was getting in the shower so I called down the hall to let her know that everybody was coming and she called back, “Don’t let anybody see me nude.” I began to make some asinine inquiry about including medical staff in the body-ban, “Wha…” I was narrowly able to choke back the words. It was not the time to test out comedy material.
Christine’s contractions had been coming about every 3 minutes since we started timing them. By the time everybody got to our house, they were regular and more intense. There was a brief discussion about whether or not it was too early to go to the hospital. Christine lamented that it would be easier if her water broke because then there would be no question as to when to go but my Mom said, “No, you need to go NOW!” So we kissed Atticus, thanked my family and left for the hospital.
We got to the hospital and were lucky enough to snag a parking space that was fairly close to the entrance which was still approximately 10 miles from where we needed to be. I can only imagine what was going through the minds of the people who saw us; me, with my enormous camera bag, Christine’s purse and a giant blue exercise ball doing the handicapped shuffle down the hospital hallways and Christine doing her pregnant lady waddle but still pulling a rolling suitcase and stopping every few minutes to breathe through contractions.
I asked my bull-headed wife if she wanted me to go get a wheelchair for her but she just closed her eyes, clutched the wall, breathed in through her nose, exhaled like she was blowing out birthday candles and slowly shook her head back and forth. I repeated my request as we paused in front of several empty wheelchairs made available for just such occasions but was met with pretty much the same response. I think she took a perverse pleasure from people seeing her not give in to riding in a wheelchair (plus I guess all the studies recommend walking around anyway.)
On our trek from the parking lot, Christine reminded me of when we came to the hospital when she was in labor with Atticus and when we had gotten to the check-in desk, the nurse had looked at Christine and said, “How can I help you?” Now, I’m sure that this is just the standard greeting that they are supposed to give to everyone but it seemed silly in light of the fact that it was the Women’s Health reception desk and Christine was obviously in labor. This time, as we made it to the elevators, one happened to open just when we came within sight of it. We asked the man who waiting for it if he could hold the door for us, as we both hobbled over. The man was going to the 3rd floor which was, incidentally, where we needed to go also. When the elevator dinged at the 3rd floor, the gentleman patiently held the door for us as we waddled off to reception. We set our stuff down but the nurses just stared at us blankly. Deja vu. Christine told them her name; the blank stare continued. The nurse stammered before Christine made the connection. “Oh! We’re supposed to be on the 4th floor!” Doh. We waddled back over to go up to the correct floor. As we stepped inside the elevator, one of the nurses at the desk said to another nurse, “Oh! She’s having her baby right now!”
Once we were in the correct place, things moved much more efficiently; the triage nurse came and took Christine’s measurements then led us to a little room with a curtain. The nurse told Christine to change into a hospital gown and she would come back to check her cervix. The nurse closed the curtain and left for what seemed like forever but since Christine only had 2 contractions, couldn’t have been much more than 5 or 6 minutes. When the nurse came back, she told us that she was just going to check Christine’s progression so that we could be sent to a labor room or, depending on how dilated she was, get things expedited and send us to delivery. “Oh, Sweetie! You’re about 8 centimeters! We better get things moving!” she exclaimed after checking. The nurse went to get paperwork or something and I stood up so Christine could hold on to me as she had another contraction. She started crying so I held her tighter thinking that she was scared that it was happening so fast. Turns out, I was the one that was scared about the velocity; she said she was crying because 8 centimeters meant that she was coming down the home stretch!
The nurse wheeled Christine up to the birthing suite with me trailing behind carrying all of our stuff except her purse, which was on the gurney with her; I was, quite literally, left holding everything except the bag. As we rolled into the suite, Christine asked who was on call and the delivery room nurse said that it was Dr. Speaks. Christine said, “Oh yay!!” and shook her fists like Wallace from Wallace & Gromit. “I was hoping that it would be her! No offense to the other doctors …” The next few minutes passed with a blur of nurses bustling around, hooking up monitors and getting medical-looking things out of drawers. Christine’s contractions were coming faster and more intense, but Dr. Speaks was still on her way to our suite. Christine said that she needed to push but the nurses holding her hands told her that the doctor was right outside and she had to breathe through the contractions instead of pushing. When Atticus was born it all happened quickly but it was more relaxed; this was different. I felt like I was in the way (well, more in the way than usual) and everything seemed more stressful because it was all happening too fast.
Finally, Dr. Speaks rushed in, greeting Christine as she got her stuff ready. Christine said she couldn’t help it, she had to push. Dr. Speaks, who had briefly turned around to attempt to put on her smock, had only managed to get one glove on and was holding the other in her hand; with the smock draped over her arm, she matter-of-factly said, “Okay, the baby’s coming!” (or it may have said by one of the nurses, I was busy watching the head that was beginning to crown!) At this point, things began to happen more quickly but it all felt like a tape player whose batteries were running down.
Looking back on it now, I don’t think they even had time to raise up the leg things because one of the nurses was holding up her right leg and I was holding her left.
Dr. Speaks told her that when the next contraction came, rather than breathing out, she needed to push as hard as she could. Christine made a sound that kind of made my blood run cold, somewhere between a bellow and a wail that was so filled with pain that I instantly felt both helpless and frozen. I looked down and I saw my poor child’s little listless head fully protruding and fully blue.
As trite as it sounds, everything was moving in muffled slow motion but my baby wasn’t moving at all. Dr. Speaks did something with her fingers and the umbilical cord snapped over the baby’s right shoulder like a fat, gray rubber band. Christine called out, “Pictures, Dan, pictures!!” I propped her foot against my left shoulder and began firing my camera back and forth, from the doctor to Christine’s face and back again. The nurse scolded her a little bit, “Don’t worry about that now! You’ve got to push!” The next contraction came and Christine, again, pushed with all of her formidable might and the baby shot out like a bullet (it was actually more like a greasy little sausage but that sounds too gross.) Christine cried with relief, “Is it a boy or a girl?” The smock on Dr. Speaks’s arm was covering the lower half of my baby (who was still unresponsive) so she stretched her arm out to see the gender. I was looking also; I was fine either way as long as the baby was healthy but I was secretly hoping for a girl. Once everything was in plain view, for a split second I wasn’t sure. I saw that I had a daughter but it was like it took my brain a fraction of a second to register the fact that I was now the father of a little girl. “IT’S A GIRL!” I shouted and I fired my camera wildly because my eyes were so full of tears, I couldn’t really see what I was doing.
With Atticus, they had let me cut the cord and had taken a moment to let Christine hold him as soon as he popped out but with Georgia (we had picked out names several months earlier) they snipped the cord and whisked her immediately to the warming table. Just as it occurred to me that she hadn’t made any sound, she gave a great sob; everybody cheered!
I hurried over and began snapping photos; one of the nurses cleaning her held her upright so I could take her first portrait. Still crying, she gurgled like Mer-Man from the old Masters of the Universe cartoons so the nurse laid her back down and they set about suctioning out her mouth and cleaning her up. The whole ordeal from the time we were rolled into the birthing suite until Georgia was born was only 13 minutes and barely 2 and a half hours had passed since Christine’s first contractions.
As I snapped away while they cleaned Georgia, I overheard Dr. Speaks tell Christine, “If you decide to have another baby …” but Christine interrupted, “Oh, there definitely won’t be another baby.” “But if you do …” Dr. Speaks started again. “Oh, I would rent a van and just camp out in the hospital parking lot,” Christine interjected, which elicited chuckles from everyone within earshot. Georgia’s body gained a more healthy color over the course of her wipedown, starting with her face and torso before the color gradually returned to her little limbs.
As they snapped the last band around her arm (she had one on each limb,) they swaddled her in a blanket and the nurse handed her over to me. She occasionally opened her swollen eyes but mostly she just relaxed in my arms. “Hey Georgia, hey sweet girl,” I softly cooed while I swayed back and forth. We named her Georgia after Christine’s amazing father; we had briefly discussed using ‘George’ as a middle name for Atticus. I’m glad we decided on ‘Matthew’ (after my cousin) because I love the name ‘Georgia’ and having more than one kid with the name ‘George’ only works if you are a former boxer.
After Christine was stitched up and everything, she demanded, “Bring me my baby!” I felt a little guilty since she had not yet had a chance to hold her on the outside of her body so I handed Georgia over. I had been so focused on my new daughter, I hadn’t even noticed that everyone had left the room except my wife, my daughter and the nurse who had been there when we first got to the delivery suite. The room seemed much bigger now that there wasn’t a dozen people purposefully rushing around like worker ants. We made calls to people while the nurse charted things and did nurse-type stuff and we waited for Christine’s medicine to start doing its thing. Christine gazed at Georgia the way only a mother looking at her brand new daughter can. Eventually, everything was ready so the nurse put Christine into one of those extra-wide wheelchairs, I gathered up all of our many bags (I did deflate the exercise ball so that was one less thing to carry – ironically, it took longer to carry the blasted thing from the car to triage to the delivery suite than it did for Christine to have the actual baby) and we made our way through the winding hallways and corridors to the room where Christine would spend the next few days. Shortly after we got to the room, we discovered that Georgia would get to stay in the room with her! The RN told us that it was some new age type of thing where they do everything that they need to do to the baby right there in the room with the mother. It sounds pretty neat until you consider the size of the room (it seems like every time I am in a hospital room they get smaller and smaller.)
Christine and I took turns holding Georgia until Christine kicked me out around 11. My sister and Charley were staying with Atticus and had already put him to bed. Bree had said that they were fine if I wanted to stay with my girls but Christine really wanted me to be there when Atticus woke up. Bree was still up when I got home so we sat up and I gave her a truncated version of this very story. She went to bed a short while later and I followed not long after but not before I purchased ‘www.GeorgiaMaeve.com’. I went to bed, literally, twice the father I was the night before!
Lovely…took you long enough 😉 I would like you to add more commentary about how tough I am for having two (yes, two!) babies without an epidural or pain medicine. Love you.