"Labor"

One does not truly appreciate the value of good advice until one has chosen to completely ignore it....

This observation, which by-the-way I believe I authored and demonstrates a great depth of insight and wisdom, found its way circling my beleaguered brain consistently between 10:30 PM and 1:00 AM on Friday, May 29/Saturday, May 30 of this year. I couldn't get it out of my head as I sat there in a hospital room in the Women's Center of the Defiance Regional Medical Center. And by sitting I mean standing by my wife's bed, holding her hand, giving her ice chips, looking at the clock, giving encouraging smiles and not yelling at the medical staff as she endured an ancient custom referred to as "labor." Of course, the thought was not quite spelled out as scholarly and quotable as it is above. In my head it frantically circled my brain like five-year old on an Easter basket sugar rush. Of course it was well hidden behind the calm and collected countenance that I offered in support to my screaming wife, my deceptively giddy mother-in-law (grandmother-to-be) and suspiciously nonchalant medical staff.

So what was the advice?

Before we get to that, let's go back to how it all began....





.....on second thought, let's not go back that far....





We'll just start at the beginning of the end....


First I must say that my respect and amazement for my wife is unparalleled to anything or anyone else that has or ever will garner my admiration and/or adoration. This includes celebrities, historical figures, natural and supernatural phenomena, and lego scupltures. She endured a nine-month pregnancy with grace and ease. I always heard horror stories from friends and colleagues about mood changes, strange demands, fits of crying and unusual appetites. But I can't really say that my wife did any of those. Well....actually.....I can think of two instances. The first being the point in the pregnancy where she discovered that she couldn't fit into her regular clothes and the second being about two weeks before delivery when he feet started swelling at the end of the day.

She worked right up until she gave birth. She quite literally came home from work and went into this "labor" everyone keeps calling it (I am working on a different name for it as I don't believe the term "labor" quite illustrates nor defines exactly what this process entails for both the person going through it nor the persons observing alongside and trying to help). If you read the previous post you know that I was looking forward to one last peaceful weekend. I even thought it was possible to have two. You see, when we became pregnant we were suddenly besieged by sage advice. For nine months we received "expert" opinions on everything from the baby equipment we should purchase to how we predict the gender of the child.

It's not that I don't appreciate the willingness to help but....well....let me give two examples:

"You're carrying in the front, it's definitely going to be a boy."
"You're carrying in the front, it's definitely going to be a girl."

However, in retrospect, my most favorite slice of advice from the "expert" pie is....

"The first child is ALWAYS late."

You see, I was looking forward to one last peaceful weekend....maybe two. Our due date was May 30th so I was pretty sure I would have one last peaceful weekend....maybe two.



These pictures were taken on May 30th, 2009. So much for the experts and so much for the first one always being late. Bailey showed up right on the day she was supposed to. In fact, she was almost early.



On May 29th my wife came home from work and went into "labor." And now that I am one of the "experts" I shall offer this advice to any first-time expecting parents that may be reading: the first one will do whatever the hell he or she wants. And while I can't "expertly" speak to any follow-up children I would speculate that they, as well, will do whatever the hell they want.

Bailey started seriously wanting out at about 5:00 PM on May 29th. As my wife breathed through another contraction she told me that I might want to go to the ATM to pull out some cash because the hospital cafeteria doesn't take Check Cards. We also agreed that I should get some dinner to eat because I might not get a chance later in the evening. So it now occurs to me that my preparation for the birth of my child closely resembles my preparation for going out drinking with the guys: pull out some cash and pad the stomach.

So sixty dollars at the Huntington ATM and a Quarter Pounder later we are less than 5 minutes apart. Of course, we were about 5 minutes apart at 5:00 PM as well but the hospital said not to come in until we had regular contractions for an hour. They were regular and getting closer together. We called them and said it was go time.

There are probably a few cute, little ancedotes during this nice part of the "labor" but this is how I remember the timeline (all times are approximations as I forgot to take out the stopwatch):

• 6:40 PM - Left for the hospital
• 7:00 PM - Checked in to the hopital
• until 10:00 PM - Fun labor
• 10:00 PM - Un-fun labor
• 12:15 AM - The most terrifying audio/visual experience of my life
• 1:29 AM - Bailey is pulled into the world as I watch from behind a courtesy blanket

So what was the advice that I completely ignored? Probably the only reason you are still reading is to find out what words of wisdom spawned this incredibly long if ever so slightly witty post. It was simply this:

"Whatever you do, don't look. It's not worth it."

Well, I looked and I may never be the same again. I have half a notion that the six weeks "waiting" time is more for the fathers that looked then for the mothers. It's not a beautiful thing. It was not beautiful watching her scream in pain, it was not beautiful watching the results of the screaming in pain, it was not beautiful when we discovered that Bailey was stuck. It was definitely not beautiful when we had to wait for over an hour as the surgical staff was called in for the c-section. In fact, if I can conjure up an image for those that haven't experienced this try imagining a volcano that is ready to explode but something won't let it. Imagine how angry the volcano must be as it keeps making all the quakes, blowing all the smoke and steam out but is not allowed to erupt. The villages have been emptied, the virgin has been sacrificed to not make the eruption as bad. Everyone is ready but ..... no eruption. Imagine how angry the volcano is and keeping it all in but still going through the pains of eruption. Imagine how frustrated the volcano's husband must be at having the standby and watch the volcano in such agony while no one appears to be doing anything to help the volcano erupt. In fact, it appears that the volcano won't get to erupt, the.....vulcanologists......have to scoop the lava out. It's not a great metaphor but it's pretty close to the truth. It was amazingly hot, she was red and steaming and I thought my face might burn off.

Well, I was told not to look. But I did....and I'll never forget. As terrible as it all was, I will never forget the fact that I saw my girl the exact moment she took her first breath, the exact moment she opened her eyes to the world. I was there and I wouldn't trade that moment for anything.

It wasn't beautiful....

.....but it was the best thing I've ever seen.