Kaitlyn's Birth

e arrived at the hospital sometime around 7AM. We were already dilated to 3cm and the contractions were showing up on the fetal monitor about two minutes apart. Suddenly all the fear and anxiety and nauseous misery of the last nine months boiled down to one question Jen kept asking over and over: “what happened to ten minutes!!? How could we be at two, they were never at ten!” It didn’t really matter, two minute contractions meant we earned our ticket into a delivery room--and there would be no gun range for me today. They admitted us almost immediately. The sequence of events that followed nearly made up for the nine months of pure hell that got us here.

Once again, I refer to the haters, who painted lovely images of 28 hour labor and hospitals too busy to administer epidurals, just the things a first time mother wants to be thinking about on her way to the hospital. Our story couldn’t be more different. By 11AM we were watching episodes of Friends in our private birthing suite, we had seen the doctor, and my wife had her drugs. Just over five hours and three pushes later our little diva (as the nurse came to call her) was born.

I don’t want to oversimplify the process. There were a few challenging moments during those five hours. For example, every forty-five minutes or so the anesthesiologist popped his head in to see if we needed to be “topped off”. He reminded me of Leslie Nielsen in the movie “Airplane”, popping his head into the cockpit repeatedly to say “I just want to tell you both good luck. We're all counting on you.” I appreciated his diligence right up to the point where I could see the baby’s head, and since he wasn’t about to top me off I had no further use for the guy so I politely bid him adieu.

Let’s talk for a minute about heads. A few times during the pregnancy I had people ask me if I was going to videotape the birth. I’ve never understood these people. I mean, really?

REALLY?

Let’s for a moment just set aside how many ways of wrong I could list here and focus on this: In our five years together Jen and I have collected probably about ten hours of home video footage. We have family visits to Texas, the wedding, the honeymoon, 80^th birthday parties--and I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve watched any of it. So practically speaking, when we do get around to sitting down and deciding what memory of our lives together should we relive in 5.1 surround sound, where on the list do you think childbirth would be?

I’m not alone here. If there was one thing I took away from our childbirth 101 classes it was this: daddy’s head stays right next to mommy’s head. It seemed like very prudent advice to me, advice I fully intended to follow religiously. Yet as the big moment approached our nurse kept saying “I can see your baby’s head! Dad, take a look, do you want to see your baby’s head?” The first time she asked me I think I turned around to look for my dad. He was nowhere to be found. Damn deadbeat dads, never there when you really need them. Next I eloquently blurted out the prolific phrase “uhhhhh”. What I was hearing was:

“DADDY’S HEAD STAYS NEXT TO MOMMY’S HEAD! DADDY’S HEAD STAYS NEXT TO MOMMY’S HEAD!”

But all I got out was “uhhhhh”.

The peer pressure was killing me, it was time to bring in reinforcements. I knew from tireless conversations during the pregnancy that Jen and I were of one mind on this one. Under no circumstances was daddy’s head to deviate from the general region of mommy’s head. If there was anybody in that room that could explain this in no uncertain terms it was my wife, the woman who not eight hours prior took the Lord’s name in vein for the first time since I’ve known her. I looked at Jen to pound this one home, firmly grasping her hand in a way that said "I'm here to support you my wife, my love."

She responded, rather nonchalantly, “You can look if you want to”.

WHAT!? You traitorous bitch. Don't touch me. Before not looking made me sensitive; now not looking made me a pussy, sorry for the pun. Now I had to look.

The nurse said it was my baby’s head and I nodded that I could see it…but I couldn’t see it. To this day I don’t really know what I saw. About five minutes later I did see my baby girl jettison head first out of the general region where my wife was laying, so it stands to reason I was probably staring at her head in that brief moment of betrayal.

In the end it didn’t really matter, as soon as that slimy little creature appeared I forgot about the lovers, I forgot about the haters, I even forgot about the camera I had in my back pocket for the post-partum photos. I was mesmerized as I instantly fell in love with my little girl. The doctor snapped me out of it when he said “if you have a camera now is a good time for a picture”. That was about the only thing the doctor did, by the way. He swooped in as Kaitlyn’s head was literally poking out (even I could see it at that point), sat on his little rolling stool for about ten minutes, made a complete mess of our beautiful birthing suite, and then, after telling me to take a picture, disappeared like a phantom.

So that’s the story of Kaitlyn’s birth, which I suppose is the long way to answering the question, are we getting any sleep? The short answer is, it depends, on whether you are a lover or a hater.

For the Lovers:

I know you’re truly curious and maybe a little concerned. Your tone is one of sincerity so with sincerity I tell you that Kaitlyn routinely sleeps from 10PM until 5AM when I get up for work. After I get dressed I wake her up if she isn’t already awake. I change her diaper and then feed her while we watch an episode of Star Trek on TV Land. Don’t be surprised if I reveal in a few months that her first words were “beam me up”.

For the Haters:

Your tone is vindictive and laced with sarcasm. You ask the question squeezed out between chuckles. You do a disservice to pregnancy and to parenthood and it is with great disgust that I tell you we’ll move back to California when we’re damned well good and ready.

Are You Getting Any Sleep?

It used to annoy me to no end when, somewhere around my third year of college, people started asking me “are you going to graduate soon?” Then, after my fourth year came and went and my fifth year was well under way, the question morphed into more of a judgment: “shouldn’t you be graduating soon?” And of course, who can forget those dearest of friends and family that spouted off in my sixth year, “you haven’t graduated yet? Are you working on a doctorate?” The advantage to spending six years in college is that when you finally do graduate, you’ve had plenty of time to prepare for the party. Most of you reading this can appreciate that since you were there, sipping celebratory martinis. I thought by graduating and inviting the dear friends and family to a celebratory extravaganza I evaded the era of annoying questions. Then, three years ago, I moved to Texas. Now the question du jour is “when are you moving back to California?” I guess the annoyance will continue; only the questions will change.

Now that we’re parents of an infant—our little princess is already three months—there’s another question gaining popularity with our dearest friends and family. It’s the title of this blog entry and we now get it almost without fail. Like the graduation question, it can be asked in different ways, but now it’s the tone that changes, not the words. Let me explain.

Pregnancy opened my eyes to the fact that, when it comes to children, there are two types of people in this world: lovers and haters. You can have a child, not have a child, act like a child, it doesn’t matter: you can’t tell a lover or a hater simply by whether or not a person is a parent.

The Lovers

Lovers are the people that find out you’re expecting and get utterly and fantastically excited. As a soon-to-be first time parent, you’re still in shock, asking yourself questions like “how could this happen” even though you know very damn well how this happened. She tricked you. You’re thinking about diapers and college funds, the vacations you haven’t taken, the luxury car you didn’t get to buy, and these people—the lovers—they’re doing cartwheels in the street. They’re telling you how wonderful it’s going to be, how great parenthood is, what a blessing children are, and how enriched your life is about to become. They’re pumping your hand, congratulating you on finally joining their parental glee club. They view parenthood as a welcome and rewarding challenge and some of them get a little giddy just talking about it. I love these people.

The Haters

Haters are the people that find out you’re expecting and they smile—nay—they smirk. They say “congratulations”, but it’s more like a runner-up congratulating the winner. You’re going to be a first time parent; it’s finally starting to settle in. You’ve been to places like Babies ‘R’ Us and seen things that cost loads of money and you don’t even know what they do. You’re starting to get a little nervous and these people—the haters—they’re saying things like “you just wait ‘til that thing gets here, then you’ll see what expensive really is”. They’re telling you how you’ll never sleep again, you’ll soon be showing up to work smelling like dirty diapers, and having children is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. They’re laughing at you, happy that their misery is gaining new blood in the ranks. I hate these people.

So the following account of Kaitlyn’s birth is for the lovers. It is in spite of the haters and perhaps even to spite them, because my house still has new house smell.

The days leading up to March 16^th, Kaitlyn’s official due date, were exciting to say the least. Almost every date in the second half of March was taken in the delivery date pool. The pot was over $100. Everyone was on high alert. Jen had been having contractions for several weeks, but nothing consistent and nothing within the ten minute range our doctor kept telling us to watch for. For the last four weeks of the pregnancy, I went with Jen for her weekly checkup. Every week we ended the appointment with the same speech: “anything consistently within ten minutes, we want to hear from you”.

The 16^th was Palm Sunday. Our neighbors across the street were also pregnant and scheduled for a C-section with the same doctor as Jen’s the day after Easter. We joked about how we’d probably end up in the hospital together since conventional wisdom for a first time mom had us pegged for a post due-date delivery. Joe—the other husband—and I had plans to go to the shooting range Saturday, the day before Kaitlyn’s official due date. I suppose it’s worth nothing that the last time I made plans to hit the range I ended up with three stitches in my face six days before my wedding. Jen was a little nervous about letting me go. I, on the other hand, had just spent the better part of the last nine months with a nauseous pregnant lady. Friday night I loaded my guns, put my shooting bag by the front door, and set my alarm. I guess you could say I was a little excited for the opportunity to squeeze a few off.

Somewhere in the 6AM hour on Saturday morning I became groggily aware that preggers was pacing the house. Earlier in the pregnancy we had to make an early morning run to the hospital because she was having very consistent and very strong contractions. Back then there were no uncertain terms about her pain level or the urgency of the situation. On Saturday, March 15^th at 6AM, I wasn’t hearing too many terms at all, probably because I was still mostly asleep. I remember asking if she wanted to go to the hospital. I don’t think she ever really answered until somewhere around 6:30 when she screamed “GODDAMN!!”. Those were the terms I was looking for. I said, “I’ll get dressed”.

A Brief Introduction

Since the inception of The Road Scholars in 2000, I have written about life "on the road" in the United States, Canada, and Europe. Whether by plane, train, or automobile, my missives tell the story of road trips, but the real story in each one is about the journey, not the destination. That's why I thought it was fitting to start a Road Scholar blog about parenthood.

I said parenthood, not parenting: by no means is it a how-to guide and by no means am I any kind of expert. "Parenting" is a progressive verb, that's what my wife and I are undertaking. "Parenthood" is a noun describing a state of being, that's the journey I'll write about, a journey that began on Sunday, July 8th, 2007 when my wife announced to me she was pregnant. On March 15th, 2008, daddy's little speed bump was born. This is the ongoing story.