So we finally welcomed the new unit into the world.
As you know, he was late. Not a day or two. Six days. SIX! The due date isn’t an exact science, I get that, but this kid was wearing on our last nerves. We were excitedly … then impatiently … awaiting his arrival. Fortunately, it happened to coincide with a night off of work for me.
The following is what transpired between my wife and I …
L: “I think he’s coming!”
Me: “Who’s coming?”
L: “Who? The f’n dog! Who do you think?”
L: “This kid, I think he’s coming!”
Me: (jumps out of bed)
L: “I gotta call the doctor.” (calls doctor)
Me: “What’d he say?”
L: “He said he wouldn’t waste any time.” (immediately takes a shower)
Me: (shaking my head, half asleep, mystified why she’s showering)
Me: (grabs car seat and wraps two mini bottles of champagne in tinfoil)
(puts items in car – never question my priorities or randomness)
L: (finishes showering) “Grab my shoes downstairs.”
Me: (frantic, muttering profanities under breath because I can’t find them)
Me: “Got ’em.”
L/Me: (head out door to car)
Me: (starts car, puts it in reverse, pushes gas pedal)
Me: “Oh sh— … what the hell was that?!”
Turns out it was a ramp N made the day before. No harm, no foul. Better than scraping the side of our three-month-old leased Pathfinder against the rock wall lining the driveway.
Me: (gets back in car, proceed to leave premises)
I have no idea what writing a screenplay entails, but this is how a movie should begin.
Here’s a timeline of the rest of the events leading up to our third son’s arrival.
1:25 a.m. – We make it out of the driveway after moving the ramp.
1:29 a.m. – Enter I-84 and immediately think that if a cop pulls me over for speeding, I will call 911 to tell them my wife’s in labor and to tell the officer just that, because that’s logical thinking.
1:45 a.m. – After several nonverbal internal debates in my head about whether or not to ignore red lights and stop signs, we make it to the hospital.
1:46 a.m. – I pull up to the entrance, run inside, tell the on-duty that my wife is in labor, at which point two security guards bring her out a wheelchair to wheel her up to Labor & Delivery.
1:50 a.m. – After the car is parked legally, I run inside to get my ID sticker and meet her upstairs, where she’s getting questioned about medical stuff while having even worse contractions.
1:55 a.m. – We arrive in our delivery room.
1:59 a.m. – The nurse requests help setting up, at which point eight nurses enter the room and begin prepping everything. At warp speed.
2:02 a.m. – They check her out, determine she’s 10 cm plus 1. Internally, I question their intelligence since 10 cm plus 1 is 11 cm.
2:04 a.m. – L asks for epidural. Is immediately shot down because the “baby is coming within the hour.” Basically it’ll take longer to administer and kick in than the time we had left as a family of four.
2:08 a.m. – She tells the nurses she’s got an urge to push. The doctor comes in and confirms we’re doing this au natural.
2:14 a.m. – L pushes three times, drops four F-bombs.
2:16 a.m. – L pushes three more time, drops three more F-bombs.
2:17 a.m. – Baby No. 3 is born.
I’m not gonna sit here (as I write this exactly 23 hours later) and tell you I did a great job. Truth is, the short turnaround time killed me, and I was getting lightheaded (which I didn’t the previous two times) while she was busy crushing this delivery (as she did the previous two times).
67 minutes. We knew it was go time and not even an hour-and-a-half later, we were parents to our third boy, who remains nameless.
More to come.