All dressed and ready for work, Jen asked me to stick around while she showered. She got ready, said she had 4 cramps in the shower but still didn’t know what they were. We both figured false labor or Braxton Hicks and when I was told, "I don’t know" to whether or not I should stay home, I went to work like any caring husband.

I spoke with Jen again at 8:00AM and she apologized for calling in sick but she only made it to the car and sitting there felt like she was going to explode again. I told her to relax, sit down, time the stupid pains and keep me posted if she needed anything. 30 minutes later she calls again saying the pains were worse, coming more often and she wasn’t sure what to do. I dismissed her with a simple, "Call the Doctor." And continued on my way. I still had to cut payroll checks for 3 weeks, finish up laying off an employee, and take care of a few loose ends just in case our child decided to come early even though Jen and I both know he wouldn’t be here until after Friday, March 1, his due date.

So in the middle of doing payroll online at 9:00 AM I get yet another call from Jen and this time she says, "Did you do it yet?" I hadn’t, my soon to be ex-exployee was still finishing up doing paperwork on a job he finished the Friday before. "Well, we have to go to the Hospital." Okay, so maybe I have to get this firing thing done and get a move on. I told her I’d take care of things and see her soon. Strangely enough, I’m still thinking false labor or if it is real, it’s going to be some 12 hours later that we’re greeted by a crying infant. So I continue with the payroll.

At 9:30 AM, with Dave looking with disdain at our just laid off employee who has been staring at the papers handed to him for over 15 minutes, the newly released individual decides he will get up and leave the premises giving me the opportunity to go home to my wife. Dave tells me to leave hurriedly and I have a little adrenaline flowing but still feel that this isn’t it so I’m unusually calmed by this and therefore not in any rush. The ride home was inconsequential and I probably drove closer to the speed limit than I normally do. It was a surreal drive home, like the clouds clearing after a storm, the thoughts of what could be happening were very relaxing and warm feeling so I wasn’t in a panic. I should have been.

I drove into the driveway at 9:50 AM and went inside, grabbed some things that needed to be packed into the car, put them in it, and then proceeded upstairs to see how Jen was faring. She was leaning against the TV, very well composed but grimacing so there was no doubt she was in pain. She straightened up a bit, showed me the timings she had been doing of her possible contractions and it hit me. These things are coming every 1 to 1 ½ minutes and lasting anywhere from 1 ½ to 2 ½ minutes. This is active labor if it’s labor. And what about all the stuff beforehand? And no broken water? It’s 1 ½ hours since she started timing and she’s been doing my laundry, packing my bag for the Hospital that I’d convinced her in previous days that I’d have plenty of time to get ready when she started going into labor. Well, lucky me, I have a wife who makes good use of those minute breaks in between contractions. Still, the panic wasn’t there, I think my panic switch is broken.

So I gather up all our stuff for the Hospital as well as a printer, all the items I need to make birth announcements. This includes, CD’s, digital camera, photo paper, specialty paper, and other miscellaneous office items like a paper cutter. Well while putting all this in the car, Jen’s getting a little more concerned and is somewhat bothered when I stop to fill a bowl with cat food and another with water just in case we’re gone for a while. Who knew, I wasn’t taking chances.

Now we start on our 12-14 minute ride to the Hospital. You see, we’d timed this every time we went to classes at the Hospital and 14 minutes was a pessimistic view. Not that it mattered if it was going to take 20 minutes this time, it’s just like watching the contraction monitor. Telling the woman in pain that your getting closer to a place of comfort, whether that’s coming down off a contraction or that you’re 2 minutes closer to the Hospital, is a good thing, a VERY GOOD thing.

Jen’s grabbing hold of the Holy Shit handle every minute or so with me saying, "Try those breathing things. Relax a little. I mean I know you can’t relax because it hurts, I’m not suggesting that you try to take a nap, but concentrate on the fact that this hurts, sucks, but will be over soon so try to grin and bear it. Do you want anything? Hotter? Colder? Want me to hold your hand? Want some music? Oh you want me to stop asking you questions? Okay, you’re the boss."

Next was the request that every careful expectant father doesn’t want to hear from his wife in labor as you as driving down a curvy road behind this car that must be driven by Miss Daisy because 35 in a 35 is acceptable even though 40 is more the norm but 32? Who the hell drives 32 in a 35? A consistent 32, not like 32 up to 37 and back down to 32. No, we’re talking 32 and then going down a hill, riding the brakes, slowing down to 31 before letting up to get back to that magical number. Oh, so the request, "Pass him!" Okay, so maybe it’s not a request, more like a demand. A demand that now put everyone at risk but would make you the caring, understanding figure you’re supposed to be. So what do you do? You reason it out, look at the double yellow line, look at your wife, babble to her about anything that comes to mind, buying some time and then say, "When we hit the straightaway, I’ll pass him." Okay, now the first moving violation on the way to the Hospital is over, the rest should be easy.

So with the big request handled, now comes the quintessential pregnant woman in labor statement. It came about 7 minutes away from the hospital, or so we thought, based on the 12-14 minute test runs. Jen whimpered, looked at me and said, "It hurts too much to cry." I smirked and then snickered. She was receptive so I was safe. This is definitely where I stood to lose an eye or be bitch slapped so hard I couldn’t see straight but fortunately for me, my wife was already moving on into the next comment, "I’m so sorry for ruining your day." Ruining my day? What do you mean? "I didn’t mean to take a sick day and waste it. I didn’t mean to have you leave the office, I ruined your day." I came back with the all to profound, "If we have a baby today, this would be the best ruined day of my life!"

So now the timer hits 12 minutes and we’re not at the Hospital, we’re sitting at a light, and Jen knows we have more than 2 minutes left. So again the concern of violating traffic codes comes up but we’re able to reason through it and say, we’re close enough, we don’t hear crying, so we’ll be fine. 17 minutes, and that’s after blowing through the final red light, or at least taking a right on red when the sign said not too. Can you believe it? We make 6 trips that were timed and 12-14 was the norm and here we are in the time of need, not during rush hour or anything, and we tack on another 3 minutes to my time. Time management was not my thing this day.

Grabbing the diaper bag that has paperwork in it, we saunter into the Hospital and ask the front desk where we’re supposed to register. The guy looks at Jen, then me, and asks Jen, "Do you want to just go straight downstairs?" Jen replies, "Well how long will it take? If it’s just a few minutes, I’m okay" Yeah, she was just fine. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Well, this discussion goes back and forth until the gentleman tells me to put her in a wheelchair and take her downstairs, we’ll call in the registration later.

Entering the Labor and Delivery wing we pass by the on call OB who say Jen and I twice before and she commented, "I’ll be seeing you guys later." The truth was she’d be seeing us now but none of us knew. So we get to the desk in Labor and Delivery and they tell us the room to go to. I drop off my bag, give my paperwork to the people and go get my cup with crushed ice. I’m prepared. But now the moment of truth. We’d discussed during the car ride that we weren’t going to call our parents unless this was for real. We still didn’t know but do we keep it from them that we’re in the Hospital? No, we decided to call. First Jen’s mother’s cell phone, no answer. Call Adam’s house, get both parents. Cut them short by saying, "We’re in labor and please call Rosemary and Dick. I gotta go." What they didn’t realize and neither did I was that I never said we were at the hospital.

The nurse tells us that she may do the internal but wanted to wait to hear from the Doctor. Then we discussed pain medication as the monitor started recording contractions and the nurse prepared things across the room. I did most of the talking as Jen was concentrating on breathing. "Nubain is okay but the epidural is a little scary and unless she really thinks she wants it, she feels that she’d rather not get it if possible." Then Jen pipes in, "If it gets worse than this, I definitely need something. I wouldn’t mine the Nubain now because this really hurts."

I realize we’ve covered the basic questions so, "I’m going to run up to the car, grab our bags and get the camera." The nurse turns to look at me, then the monitor which my eyes turn to as well and we see a contraction starting. Cool, this is where I come in and tell Jen to breath, let her know it’s coming and going and so on. So I watch the line come from far right as the entire image scrolls left and looks like a pulse monitoring machine from E.R. The flat line continues to escalate right up against the far right vertical line, and I’m waiting to see the peak and then tell Jen it’s fading and going away. So I wait, and wait, and wait, and this damn line keeps climbing. When it runs out of climbing space, the image stays stagnant and keeps moving left. So now I have a flat line close to the bottom of the monitor then a pretty straight, maybe 60 degree line going up to the top of this scale and then nothing, no peak, no anything, and the whole image moves left, and left, and left. So apparently the peak has happened or is going to happen, somewhere off the scale. And in class, they NEVER told me about this.

The nurse drops what’s she’s doing. "I’m going to do the internal. You’re going to feel a little press. . .You’re 9 centimeters, your water just broke, you’re going to have one more contraction you’ll blow through and then you’re going to start pushing."

Can I just say that this is where the adrenaline, endorphins, and everything else kicked in. Ice chips was my job. The OB came in, two more nurses, a specialty team, all in about 1 minute. And both Jen and I didn’t really care. The nurse is telling Jen to blow through the contraction that’s hitting and everyone is scrambling to get the stuff the need ready. The Doctor looks, says on the next contraction start pushing. Now needless to say, Jen’s comment of, "I have to push." already came and went back before the internal but that’s so normal that we all just dismissed it. So were the comments, "I feel like I have to poop or pee." Anyway, the Doctor slides away to get more things and Jen immediately says, "Okay, the contraction’s here, am I pushing?" "No, breathe through this one."

It was as if they just weren’t all that prepared for this furious process but at the same time, there was no loss of composure, professionalism, or expertise, just a little rushing. So another contraction comes and they say, "Breathe through this last one." I’m feeding ice chips and because they’ve had Jen turn to her left side, the nurse is now her breathing person and I find out the importance of showing her how to breathe without actually exhaling yourself. Blowing in her face was something I had been forewarned not to do but I didn’t realize what you were supposed to do. Now I was prepared, I could be the coach, so hand her over.

"Push! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Good, again. 1, 2, 3. . ." Now wait a sec, here I’m supposed to coach with the breathing. I’m supposed to feed the ice. My job’s been eliminated before it was even made available. And I was supportive. I went to every class. I went to learn to breast feed! I went to EVERY Doctor’s appointment. This isn’t fair.

"Okay, you’re doing great, get ready to push again. Hold her leg back and I’ll hold the other one. You’re doing great." All this, and I’m merely a human stirrup. I’m talking, she hears me. She says she only heard me but I’m like a manikin. I stand there, hold a leg, count, say she’s doing great and watch the doctor stretch her like she’s a water balloon and we’re getting ready to fill it up. This too was not part of the class, neither the stretching, nor the complete lack of control. The feeling that the most important thing in the world to you, who is carrying what you expect to be the next most important thing to you, is in complete and agonizing pain, and you can’t do a damn thing.

You watch in amazement, you’re excited, but you’re a pawn. I stared, a beamed with excitement, and I gritted my teeth in fear. Fear more because I was not in control and couldn’t be and that the chain of events to follow we’re so out of my hands that it was unnerving. Jen’s going through the normal throws of labor, like any woman would be, there’s nothing she can do but push to make it better, and it actually makes everything feel better. The nurses stand around and wait and the doctor is looking at the crowning head saying, keep pushing. I’m watching the head, Jen, the head, Jen. . . "Keep pushing honey, you’re doing great."

Then as if it would have been any other result, it ends as quickly as it began and a blue head pops out of my wife’s nether region and the Doctor start suctioning out the mouth. Even not knowing the sex of my child, I wasn’t waiting to hear, I was looking at my wife in amazement that she just said, "I don’t hear anything, is he okay?" I had heard a whimper so I told her that everything’s fine but just the thought that her first concern was with this new life mesmerized me. I’m thinking, "What about you? Aren’t you concerned about yourself?" Then, "It’s a boy."

A boy? We wanted a girl. At least I wanted a girl all along. At least until about 7 months in where it hit me that Football and Hockey were really guy things. And going deep sea fishing is more of a guy thing. And going to watch dance recitals and the opera might sound cute but were bound to suck as much as they do now. It was at that point that I started to realize I wanted both. Not either, both! So now I have a boy. A little replica of me. I wanted a replica of Jen. A tiny version of the person I cared so much about. The person I devoted so much of my time and life to and instead I have a little me. How am I supposed to change my ways to give him all the attention I divert away from myself to Jen when he’s like me? The wonders or parenthood being to sink in.

"What is his APGAR?" The nurse didn’t like my question, I could tell. She responded with a quick and curt, "Eight." I looked at her puzzled and said, "Aren’t there more numbers?" "Not yet." A wealth of information I tell you. I’ve got one job, to get the APGARs and the nurse is giving me lip. "I thought there were three numbers." "One at 1 minute, one at 5 minutes." Now it’s starting to make more sense again. I had thought there were two sets of 3. Who knows why, but I can deal with two individual numbers, as long as I get them.

"20 Inches, 6 Pounds, 3 Ounces, and the second numbers a 9." Sweet, he passed his first test. Jen turns to me and says, "My back doesn’t hurt." Amazing the things that go on in there. It’s supposed to be all about a baby but it’s not. It’s a moment that you really have no control over and you watch in amazement. Any our new baby boy is sitting under the McDonalds heating lamp like a fresh Quarter Pounder and I’m holding my wife’s hand while the OB clamps down this amazingly symmetrical umbilical cord to drain the blood for a cord blood donation. And then the Nurse jabs a needle in Jen’s leg and says, "Some petosin to keep up the contraction to make delivering the placenta easier." Who would’ve guessed? The only drugs she gets come after the delivery and they’re intended to continue the process.

"Should I go get him for you?"

"Yes, I want to see him."

Before picking him up, I stroke his face and look at him in the way every parent has looked at their child for the first time. My brain is very empty right now, nothing going on except for storing images of this life before me. I say to him, "Mason, you want to go see your mommy?" And I pick him up and it feels great.

As I carry him to Jen with one arm like a little football, the nurses comment that I’m a pro, I must do this a lot. Little do they know that my sister is about the only newborn I’ve ever carried. It just doesn’t feel awkward or wrong.

Jen holds him and I can see the same joy in her eyes that I have in mine, and life begins as a family. 9 Months of waiting after 3 years of planning and in 32 minutes in a hospital room, everything you’ve known becomes meaningless. All because of 6 pounds 3 Ounces of baby.