Hello and Welcome Home

Well here it is over a week later and I’m finally sitting down to write about my experience with the birth of my daughter. I’m here to say that there are no words to describe the experience. How could there be? After all Chris and I only donated two cells to the mix and nature did the rest. Imagine that, this beautiful little creature is the result of two cells.

It’s impossible to describe, because in those moments you’re in touch with emotions you didn’t even know you had. Here you’ve created a life. A living, breathing being who is dependent upon you for food, love, shelter, and an education of life. This little fragile being, so new to the concepts of light and breathing is looking at me with eyes glittering with wonder. Mostly, “I wonder what the hell that big thing is staring at me.”

Think about it. Babies spend nine months in their mother’s womb. It’s a nice little waterbed for most of the time. Muffled sounds, a nice orangish glow. What sort of awareness do they have of themselves? Of what they are, what they look like? Sure, upon birth they will actually recognize mom by smell, heartbeat. Babies know dad and siblings by voice. But they have no clue what we look like. For that matter, they have no clue what they look like! For all Cally knows, she and the cat are related.

Sorry. Back to the story at hand.

Chris went into labor about noonish on Monday, November 12th. At one point we went to the hospital, then came back. (Some nurses are really mean.) We labored at home until the contractions came on hard and close. We went back to the hospital and checked in around 11:30 p.m.

We sat up all night watching contractions, drinking juice and water. The contractions came consistently. It was a strange, but short night. I suppose hour-wise it was the same as any other night. But it blew by in the blink of an eye. Here we were in the final moments of the life we’ve always known.

These moments will be truly special because we sat there waiting for our world to explode into something new, exciting and beautiful. It was as if we sat at the edge of a cliff watching the most beautiful cloud in the distance slowly moving toward us. We chatted and wondered. Guessed at who this new little being would be. Boy or girl? Whose nose would it have? Will it be smart? Funny? A dancer? A singer? An artist? A poet? It was so much worse than waiting for any present. And many of this little gift’s mysteries will be answered slowly over time, like a finely written novel. A novel in which I am merely a supporting character. I wonder what my arc will be?

We stayed up all night long. Chris teased me because I refused to go to sleep. How could I? The woman I love was in the process of expelling a being from her body. I didn’t want to miss a moment!

Finally at 6:30 a.m. I went to get some breakfast, which consisted of a gooey bagel that appeared to have been baked based on instructions written in a language the baker didn’t understand. In theory, it was a bagel. It looked like a bagel. It smelled like a bagel. And yet, it tasted like white bread that was compacted into a ball. (Come on, you made bread balls as a kid. Quit pretending you didn’t.) I also had this diabetic shake thing and some coffee that tasted as though it had been sitting in the pot since World War II. Perhaps it was even digested a few times too. Ugh.

After nearly 24 hours of labor, nearly 12 in the hospital, we had the water broken. Never ask me about that process. An hour later, hard labor set in.

Now, I say it was hard labor as if what Chris had been experiencing all night long was a piece of cake. Earlier, it was something she could deal with. Not after the water was broken. These contractions came upon her in a sneak attack. They’d hit hard, stay for a long time, squeezing her uterus with a primal power that no human has control over. Then, after a miniscule break, the muscles would repeat their exercise.

Chris, remembering her Bradley training, went away mentally. She let her mind wander, her body relax and let nature do its job. Only one time did she doubt her commitment to the natural birth.

“I can’t do this,” she told me, with a sound of exhaustion, fear and pain that brought tears to my eyes.

“You already are! You have been all night!” I told her.

“Oh yeah, I have” was her only answer. And that was the last I heard of not being able to do it. This woman has a strength and resolve that few people possess, including myself. Her triumph of strength and commitment should be admired and applauded. She knew what she felt was best for her body, and the baby. She didn’t want to be numb through the birth of her child. And she wasn’t. She felt every blissful, excruciating moment. But born out of that pain was a child that was conceived out of love and will be raised to treat others with respect, love and mercy. I think, in her mind, the pain was a small trade off.

Okay. This is the portion where we had the baby. Suffice it to say that she was born and all sorts of biological stuff happened along the way and then we were happy! There she was. Cally.

We were happy. We are happy. Rumor has it that after the baby was born I was holding Cally and thanked my wife for marrying me. I don't remember if I did or not. But, if I didn't . . . I should have!

For the rest of my life, I will remember the moment that I saw my child take her first breath. The moment she entered into this world. I was present at the beginning of a life. A life that has yet to be lived. All the hopes, dreams and stories she has yet to live. All the new sensations, emotions and feelings she’ll encounter.

She has yet to walk or talk or discover the beauty of music, she has never seen snow or felt rain fall on her, she doesn’t know what it is to run barefoot across hot pavement to the swimming pool on a hot summer day. She has never tasted pizza or read Dr. Seuss. Nor has she ever seen a Picasso, Van Gough or Rodin. She doesn't know the Beatles, Beach Boys, Elvis Costello, Beethoven, Bach. She has no concept of yellow, blue. She doesn’t understand the sweetness of a new love or the pain of a lost love. She’s never cut herself and seen her own blood, the fluid that supports her life. She has yet to see a movie or read a book. She's never been to Disney World. There is so much that she doesn’t know, that I can’t wait for her to experience.

But she’s learning every day. Every minute. Each new experience, be it hunger or fatigue or wetness is being logged. Every moment offers her a new sensation. Wind. Where does it come from? Where did Mom come from? What am I?

She learns each moment. And in her long and joyous, but difficult, journey through life she learn things we never imagined were possible. In the end, she’ll know more than any of us. But, most of all she'll know she was loved.

I’m off now to sit at my desk after lunch wondering what my girls will be like in a year or five or ten. It boggles the mind!

Gertrude Grace O'Brien* was born on Tuesday, November 13th at 1:33 p.m. She's a looker, ain't she?

I'll post the story as soon as I get a chance. No words could ever describe the emotions surrounding the day, but I'll try. Truly, truly amazing.

Oh, and for all you Bradley Method fans out there . . . My wife delivered the baby without so much as an aspirin. She was, to say the least, amazing.

*Not her real name. What, do you think I'm nuts?

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Publishing issues.

I must apologize for the lack of updates lately. I could come up with a whole bevy of excuses. In fact, I will come up with a whole bevy of excuses. However, none of them can be believed.

I was abducted by aliens. My wife is pregnant. I’ve been working on solar sails for NASA. I’ve been learning how to fly. Levitating is hard work.

Truth is . . . I’m lazy. I’ve been busy at work, which, I’m not happy about. (Not happy about being busy or work, that is). Therefore, when I get home, I want to unwind and hang out. So, no labored thinking and writing for me. Instead, I play games with the flies that are still trapped in the house. They think they’ll survive the winter. I can hear them talking, trying to keep their hopes up. But I know better.

So, I’ll give quick updates and then I’ll get back to allowing my soul to slowly rot and decompose while I toil away at a job that will eventually turn me into a mass of jelly with no self-esteem or drive.

But, hey, that’s Corporate America! (A subsidiary of America & Sons, Inc.)

So, update:
Baby: Still inside mom. Names chosen. Still not sure if it will be able to fly upon birth. We’re working on it.

Mom: Ready for baby to come. Tired of having feet in her lungs.

Daughter: Excited about being a big sister. Obsessed with the phrase, “Silence in the Po!”

Gary: Treading very carefully, trying not to get killed by woman nearing labor. Wondering what the hell a Po is.

Quote of the Day: “It looked like a giant Ice Cream Cone.”

Oh yeah . . . I took off the Blog Back thing. It kept breaking down and wasn't much fun to fix.

I’m currently trying to write something for a work function. The words just ain’t a coming. I’m staring at the notes I have and I stare at the computer screen thinking, “Can’t these damn notes just jump on the screen?” That technology doesn’t exist yet.

But I’m working on it. You can bet your sweet bippee. What the hell is a bippee?

So, why haven’t I been adding anything to this wonderful free website I’ve set up for my amusement (and dissemination of my lunatic ramblings)? Well, I’ve been busy. Working my butt off for ‘da man.

Life at home is fantastic. Wife and daughter are fantastic. Better than fantastic.

Hell, next month I get to watch a child begin its journey towards knowledge. Tasting, seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling. All of that will be a new experience. Hell, the kid doesn’t even know what his feet look like. Life is an enormous discovery. Imagine if you suddenly discovered you could feel music. Every day in a baby’s life is like that.

Anyhow, I’ll go back to my proposal. The words still won’t come. Ugh.

I think I’ll go get more Biscotti and throw it at people as they walk by. Biscotti is dangerous. Right? What the hell is Biscotti anyway? It tastes like petrified cake. Which, if you think of it, explains why they expect you to dip it in coffee. To kill the mold.

Of course they are much like those cookies you give babies when they are teething. Maybe I’m teething, which would explain why I’m so cranky.

Don’t believe me? *$#* you then.

Monday nights are our Bradley classes. Bradley, by the way, is the concept of completely natural childbirth, where the parents are in charge and the doctor is there to assist. The further I get in the process, the more understanding I gain, I realize, "This really does make sense." Granted, it will be difficult for me to keep Chris' wishes in mind, instead of slamming a doctor against the wall demanding that he make her pain stop.

But, last night, I realized that I really think we can do this. Yes, it will hurt. But it stops. There is a purpose for the pain and understanding the messages your body is sending you can control the pain. I realized that Chris could do it. She can focus on this and really get this little one born safe and healthy. And, for the record, I will not be dumb enough to tell Chris that I understand what she’s feeling. If I’m that stupid then I deserve what I get in return.

So anyway, we were watching the infamous birth movies. Being a veteran of the Discovery Channel, I’ve seen plenty on television, including a C-Section. So, I wasn’t as phased by our classmates by what was going on. However, I did notice that because the mothers weren’t medicated unnecessarily they were completely lucid and able to ENJOY the birth. Amazing. When one of the mothers burst into tears of joy, exclaiming “My baby! Oh, my baby!” I almost lost it. How could I not? She was thrilled, not to be through with the pain, but with the little being she was the product of all her work over the last hours, and last nine months. Her joy was something that must be seen, but it may never be understood. Considering the bad reputation the pregnancy and birth entire process seems to garner from a wide majority of people (both men and women), I think humanity has managed to lose sight of the beautiful moments that are involved in the entire process.

It’s impossible to put into words. How do you describe the moment that you realize you and your partner have created life? LIFE. Not a plant from a seed, but a child that will grow. A child with an entire unwritten story ahead. A child who only asks that you treat it with respect and kindness, nothing more. How do you describe the moment when you first hear that heartbeat? The moment you realize that these random cells, equal parts you and the person you love, have found some sort of order in the chaos and created a beating heart. A HEART. What words could describe the ultrasound when you see your child. Fingers. Toes. A brain. A fully functional person, growing inside the body of a woman. The two working together on a process that has been virtually unchanged in millions of years to produce one perfect being with the mysterious ingredients that eventually form thoughts, ideas, and personality. To be there the moment that this life actually meets his or her parents face to face. Truly mind blowing in its grandeur. Forget Mark McGwire. My wife is growing a friggin human! Top that!

What will make it better for us, I now understand, is that we will be working together in the final stages of the process not to conquer the pain that nature uses to tell you that you should change positions or that your child’s progress to birth is coming to an end, but to understand it and work with it. Better yet, I know that my wife will not only be lucid during this time, but will be able to walk away from it on her own power.

Hard to understand, I know. It’s hard for me to understand. But suddenly, I do.

3-2-1 Penguins! Kids - Penguins Ship Lander

I've been sick for the last few days, hence no updating. Now I'm swampped with work, hence no update.

I have plenty to talk about, with the daugther learning to ride a bike and the fact that Elvis is barely a month away from revealing whether or not he's an alien. I'll get to it, I promise.

Of course, if you know anybody who's willing to pay me to write about silly stuff like this . . . let me know and I'll worship them as needed.

Meanwhile, play this groovy little game. You can't beat a game that involves parabolas and gravity fields.