WRITER’S NOTE: I meant to post this a month ago, but as usual, work and life conspired to keep me occupied with other things.
I know, it’s almost beyond cliché to say it, but kids really do grow up fast.
Like, unbelievably fast.
One day, you’re watching them crawl to you at daycare, and the next you’re arguing with them about the questionable quality of today’s music.1 I used to roll my eyes whenever I heard other parents say they couldn’t believe how fast their kids were, but now I get it.
Call Me, Call Me Any – Anytime
The expected date was around early October, which I was loving because my sister and I are October babies and one of Michelle’s best friends has an early October birthday. That Spring and Summer were long. The doctors referred to pregnancy as a process, and they weren’t kidding (obviously far more for Michelle than me, but it made for some fun and interesting experiences). In addition to being hit with just about every pregnancy symptom there is, she nearly became a vegetarian because almost any meat made her queasy. The only exception was day old McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets, and she developed an odd taste for anything with vinegar in it. Oddly enough, she insists that my own smell helped ease her morning sickness. And then there was the afternoon in her second or third trimester when I raced over to her job because she tripped over a kid at the daycare she worked at. Prompting a race to the ER, we confirmed that, except for screwing up her back, she and the baby were fine. As proof that someone or something was watching over her, there was an infamous morning going to work where she just missed a Metro train, which derailed shortly after leaving the station.
Once September hit, the shit got real. In a month, we’d be parents and every bit of wisdom from the “so you’re going to be a father” books I read went right out the window.
Then, there was a little bit of a panic in mid-September.
Michelle went through good and bad days during her last trimester. One afternoon, Michelle was feeling things a lot more than usual. And then, the first big contraction came. Between the look on her face and half-collapsing, it hit her hard. For a few minutes, we talked about whether or not we needed to run to the hospital, and then a REALLY BIG contraction hit, bringing her down to her hands and knees and screaming out loud in pain.
In the virtual blink of an eye, we were in the car and in route to the ER.
Of course, whenever an ER crew sees a pregnant woman waddle in, it’s red alert and all hands on deck for obvious reasons. I didn’t even need to explain anything – they dropped her in a wheelchair and hooked her up to all the monitors. However, as the contractions eased and the readings ticked across the screen, the doctor judged that this was just a false alarm, even if the Braxton Hicks contractions were pretty bad (and as a man, I’m more than willing to take any woman at her word regarding anything involving child birth). As an added bonus, her OB-GYN gave us a stern talking to on the phone because she told us more than once that we’d know when it was the main event (i.e., her water breaking)…and it didn’t this time. She also made it very clear that moment comes, we call her before anyone else or do anything, no matter what time of the day or night.
So, her condition easing and released from the hospital, we went home.
The next two weeks were a bit nervous, between going to bed every night wondering if we’d be parents the next day and Michelle’s on-and-off contractions. We got into the habit of repeatedly checking the “it’s labor day” bags to make sure they were ready and by the front door, and my car was fueled and in working order.
It’s Showtime
As we crossed into October, the anticipation was getting pretty high. Michelle was officially on maternity leave from work and I set up a rolling status with my then boss where any day might include the “I’m out the rest of the week” phone call.
It was a little after 3:00 AM, and Michelle woke up to go to the bathroom. I remember being vaguely aware of her moving and fell back to sleep. A short time later, Michelle yelled at me next to the bed.
“Scott, I think my water broke.”
Wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I stumbled into the bathroom and looked into the toilet, and lo and behold, the water was a weird mixed tint of yellow and green with a giant mucus plug floating in there. And I can tell you, nothing and nobody really prepares you for that. Especially while still groggy in the middle of the night.
As we got dressed and ready, I made sure THIS TIME to call the OB-GYN (who agreed it was time and okayed our going to the hospital) and then rang my parents to let them know about current events.
Now, at the time, we were the owners of two cats (one mine, the other Michelle’s) and a pommie who’s only settings were “OH MY FUCKING GOD I’M AWAKE!” and “sleep.”2 The pommie was prone to a little separation anxiety, so he never liked it whenever we left. And especially in the wee early hours of the morning, disrupting the nearly written in stone routine most pets rely on. Between making sure Michelle was mobile and ready to go, trying to grab everything, and making sure the house was okay, Bear (Michelle’s pommie) decided to zoom out the door while we were trying to leave. The result being me chasing his furry ass down, grabbing him, and throwing him back inside while Michelle was doubling over from labor pains.
The Long Day
This time, we arrived at the hospital, were admitted, and promptly set up shop in the maternity ward. The next hour or two included a constant stream of doctors and nurses coming in and out to help get Michelle comfy and hooked up to an IV and monitors. With Michelle alternating between trying to rest or relax and being checked on, the professionals determined that she wasn’t dilating properly, so they recommended and we acquiesced to them going the Pitocin route. We were apprehensive about it because Michelle wanted a traditional birth experience, and we watched Ricki Lake’s The Business of Being Born documentary, which paints a not-so-nice portrait of modern medicine and giving birth. Nevertheless, it was clear that we needed the help, so one spinal tap later, she was getting the good stuff.
About the time most people were arriving at their jobs, I was on the phone keeping everyone updated and letting my coworkers know that I was going to be out of the office for a while. Michelle spent all day on her phone in bed, while the medical staff made their rounds. As late afternoon/early evening arrived, the simple fact was Michelle wasn’t nearly close to where she needed to be with the inducing drug. I remember the OB-GYN (known between us as “Peppermint Patty”) bluntly telling us that it just wasn’t happening.3 On top of all this, between contractions and the baby rooting away inside her (i.e., pushing its head downward to get out), it was time to make a decision – C section or not to C section?
Given the circumstances and the growing risk to the baby and mother’s health, we made the call and they all took off to get the OR ready. The painkillers they gave Michelle were administered through the spinal tap, which was interesting to see done, and made her about as loopy as you can get.
In the meantime, the nurse getting her ready threw a set of scrubs at me and ordered me to get into them in the corner of the room while they got Michelle ready. In time, they wheeled Michelle out and kept me there until I was finally escorted downstairs to the OR. They made it VERY CLEAR that anything electronic stayed in the room (which they locked), though I was allowed to bring my phone as long as it 1) stayed in my pocket and 2) was set in airplane mode.
Giving Birth
I stood outside the OR for quite a while.
By now, it was around 9:30 PM, and the hallway was dark with just the nurse and me. While waiting there, I enjoyed her lecturing me a very one-sided conversation about the rules of engagement in the OR. First, she asked me multiple times if my phone was in airplane mode. Second, when I walked in, there’d be a stool sitting next to Michelle’s head. No matter what, my only job was to park my ass on it and go nowhere else. Third, there’d be a curtain across Michelle’s chest, and under no circumstances was I to look over, around, or go beyond it. And of course, ABSOLUTELY NO PICTURES OR VIDEOS. I understood why they needed all of these precautions, but the net result is feeling about as welcome as the drunk MAGA uncle sitting next to gay nephew/lesbian niece at Thanksgiving dinner.
Finally, we walked into the room. It was bigger than I imagined, with Michelle laid out on the table, arms apart, and hooked up to a whole new set of equipment.
The crowd of medical staff were huddled at the other end of the table as Peppermint Patty (who is also a surgeon) got ready to dive in. In fact, the only reason I knew they started working from seeing Michelle’s upper body bobbing back and forth on the table. Probably the most surreal part of the experience (for me) was Michelle being semi-awake through the whole thing, even if she was barely aware of what was going on.
Peppermint Patty would tell us later that when she opened up Michelle, Farrah’s eyes were looking right at her. The only concerning issue was the cord was wrapped around her neck, further justifying the C section.
I heard someone on the other side of the curtain say something along the lines of “okay, there she is” and watched them carry her over to the examination area to make sure all was well. Watching them like a hawk, the very first view of my daughter was one of her legs, which looked surprisingly pink to me. Given that Michelle is black, I thought Farrah would be darker at birth, but in truth, she looked almost as white as I am. And surprisingly, when they gave Farrah a slap to make sure she was breathing, she let out one little yelp and that was it. Around this time Michelle, still high as a kite, looked at me and muttered “have they started yet?”
Almost on cue, Peppermint Patty bellowed back “I’m already putting you back together.”
How Does that Air Taste?
As they put Michelle back together and closed her up, they brought Farrah over and planted her in my arms, just inches away from Michelle’s face. Seven pounds of newborn all wrapped up tight with a beanie on her head. Her eyes were so tiny that it was almost impossible to guess the color of her eyes. Farrah didn’t make any noise or show any expression, just sat in my arms repeatedly sticking her tongue out, probably for the sensory experience because of this new thing for her called “air.”
I forget how long we sat there, but soon came time to leave the OR and head intro recovery. That was the first time Michelle held her, even doing some skin-on-skin contact while the medical staff made sure everyone was good. Eventually, sometime in the very early morning hours, we returned to the maternity ward room and called it a night.
Hope You Enjoyed Your Stay…Not Get Out
The next two days were long, wonderful, and a little nerve wracking to say the least.
I spent that first night and following day there, trying to keep up with the constant stream of doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel checking up on newborn and mom, as well as fill out a never-ending pile of paperwork that represented the legal beginning of Farrah’s life. A couple of nursing specialists came in and out periodically, working with Michelle to fulfill her dream of breastfeeding Farrah, but without going into the very personal details, we eventually switched over to bottle feeding her.
The biggest challenge was working through Michelle’s getting comfortable and beginning her post-surgery recovery, while trying to get used to taking care of a newborn. All the books, articles, and even new daddy/parenting classes we took still didn’t quite prepare us for that new routine. To say nothing of the fact that as bad as lack of sleep was leading up to Michelle giving birth, both of us were bracing ourselves for kissing goodbye the idea of a full night’s rest for a long while.4
It took some testing and playing around, but we eventually got Michelle back on her feet and used to feeding and changing Farrah pretty much nonstop. I spent the night at home since I needed to clean up a few things and get the place ready for Farrah’s arrival. The crib and other assorted needs were already set up; I just wanted to make sure everything else was handy. In the meantime, I brought home one of the beanies Farrah wore and gave it to Bear to get him used to her scent. He spent the next hour sniffing it and tossing it around, not quite sure what it was or about the smell.
Finally, the big morning of bringing Farrah home arrived, which involved me getting cleaned up in a hurry and racing over to the hospital because the staff photographer showed up earlier than expected. After that, it was a whirlwind of packing up Michelle’s stuff and any and everything the hospital donated to us (mini feeding bottles, swaddling blankets, etc.). The hospital staff showed no qualms with making sure we knew it was time to go home and to evacuate the room ASAP.
As we wheeled Michelle out front with Farrah curled up in her arms, the reality finally hit – we were bringing a baby home and without the safety of a net (i.e., no handy dandy hospital staff). It was a strange mix of fear, excitement, and curiosity about what we were in for. At the time, I was driving a Nissan Xterra, so getting Michelle into the car was a full production in itself, and I must’ve checked and rechecked everything with the car seat at least 10 times over. We live only a few miles from the hospital, but that slow drive home was the longest one of my life, between focusing on the road, eyeing potential hazards from other drivers, and worrying about every bump, I thought we’d never get there.5
A Family Tradition Carries Down to the Next Generation
So, way back when, no one told my Dad about the risks that come with changing a newborn. As a result, he learned this lesson the hard way when I promptly pissed all over him.
The dog was wildly excited, bouncing around even if he wasn’t quite sure what the baby was or why it was there. My cat was curious and kept checking her out. However, Michelle’s cat, never a completely social cat, provided an expression that was a mix of utter nonchalance and “BITCH, YOU BRING ONE MORE DAMN THING INTO THIS FUCKING HOUSE…” Needless to say, unlike my cat’s affectionate nature and the dog’s spastic personality, Michelle’s cat never warmed up to Farrah. Ever.
Having gotten settled, Michelle was collapsed on the couch and Farrah was in need of a changing. I planted her on the couch and went to work. And no sooner was the diaper off and Farrah decided to poop her brains out. First, nailing me square in the chest, and as I pulled away, firing a second shot that flew across the living room. To this day we’re still impressed at her doing that at just a few days old.
Here and Now
Today, I tell anyone who asks that parenthood is worth trying while acknowledging that it isn’t for everyone. It’s challenging, exhausting, and frustrating, but beautifully rewarding. I don’t care how hard hearted or emotionally distant you are, nothing gets you like hearing your child laugh, cry, and call you “mom” or “dad” the first time. A child will put you to the test – epic temper tantrums and meltdowns, impromptu and panic-inducing games of hide and seek in department stores, and desperately trying to relax the first time you let them out of your sight at daycare or outside playing with friends.
Whether you’re the nurturing type and absolutely sure you want kids, or confident without a shadow of doubt that being a parent is the last thing you want to be, believe everything from everyone you know as parents. The good advice, the admittance of mistakes, and all the funny stories in between.
Believe me, every bit is a great experience.
1 First, my daughter was notorious for being so wildly excited when we picked her up at daycare that she’d frequently shove other kids aside or faceplant them into the carpet. Second, I’m a classic rock man, so my music choices date back from the late 60s to the early 90s, and my car radio rarely, if ever, leaves the classic rock station. I listen to some modern/contemporary music, but I love my oldies. The good news is Farrah has developed a great appreciation for some of my favorite bands and 80s music. The bad news is as she explores Spotify, she’s begun enjoying a few acts that are just…appallingly bad. Katseye is her latest interest and bane of my acoustical existence. She’s also developed a liking for Sabrina Carpenter, who’s a capable entertainer with a good sense of humor, but she has zero range with her voice and all of her songs sound exactly the same. On the other hand, she loves Ariana Grande, who arguably has amazing talent and range and she’s on-and-off about Chappell Roan (who I also credit with some genuine talent). Her flirtation with Taylor Swift was a little painful, but blissfully short-lived.
2 Sadly, all of the pets have since crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. A pre-school age Farrah discovered Michelle’s cat laying still on the kitchen floor after we arrived home from a grocery store run. My cat was having multiple strokes in his very old age and needed to be put down, and Michelle’s pommie passed away almost exactly on his 17th birthday. Of course, Farrah is constantly harassing us about getting another pet. To be perfectly honest, while I want a dog, I’m enjoying not having to take care of a pet for the moment. And I’m absolutely certain I never want a cat ever again.
3 Throughout her pregnancy, Michelle was tracked and treated by a team of OB-GYNs – one gave off a new age/hippie vibe, and the other she nicknamed “Peppermint Patty” because she vaguely resembled the Peanuts character and shared the mannerisms of a high school gym coach. Don’t get me wrong, they were great, but there’s something about a doctor walking in with a big ass water bottle and kicking up her leg like it was halftime in the locker room and ready to open up a can of “GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HEADS IN THE GAME” whoop-ass.
4 The routine we developed was me managing Farrah until sometime around 11:00 PM/Midnight, and then Michelle was “on call” so I could get some sleep and be somewhat ready for work the next day. It wasn’t until somewhere around the six month mark that I remember us waking up with sunlight coming in through the window and realizing that we all slept over six hours straight. Of course, panic ensued as we made sure Farrah was alive and well (she was), but it was about time we were able to get some regular sleep for once.
5 As a sentimental type, I was really irked about finally letting that old Xterra go a few years ago. As a tested and proven SUV, it earned the nickname “Tumbler” after all of its adventures. It was both my favorite of all the cars I ever owned and the longest I owned a car (over 13 years), but age was a big factor from various issues and repairs, along with their associated and escalating costs (this includes replacing all of the tires and battery twice, the brakes once, and several monitoring system sensors). Not to mention the softball-sized dent near the hood from a heavy branch landing on it after a bad storm, and a well-dented back fender from two rear-end impacts. On the other hand, when I negotiated the price for my current car, the dealer’s trade-in for that old Xterra was high enough to prompt me asking “Are you sure?” I’ve no doubt that the old Xterra was worth far more in terms of cannibalizing it for parts than reselling as a very well-used car.
