So, Internets, this is a long time coming. You’ve been waiting nine long months with mouth-watering anticipation haven’t you? Well, I’ve been given credentials to the site and without further ado, in the first Mr. Monday Tuesday post, my side of the birth story, woven into JuJu’s post “I'm Only Here Because of Your Constant Nagging” from 28.November.2006. Cheers!
Red = JuJu’s Original Story
Blue = Mr. JuJu’s Rest of the Story
I'm guessing that you might like to hear all about the baby. The little teeny tiny person who has come to live in our home and upset the balance of male to female ratio. I can feel it, you know. I feel it with every fart, burp or otherwise testosterone (estrogen has just about as much to do with farting and burping and shitting) fueled sound uttered in my home. Even my girl giggles and glances in Daddy's (or Mommy's) direction when she lets loose a stinker or two. Oh Lord help me (who has never farted in her life, by the way) ([cough, choke] BULLSHIT).
Here's how it went down:
November 15th, 2006
8:30 ish am: Prenatal check-up. I complain about still being pregnant and fat and swollen and basically whine about life in general. Doctor tells me that maybe he can "get things moving" or some such crazy talk and then he gets in there and hurts me. Something about stripping something or other...membranes...I don't know. Gross talk.
I have a nice morning at home, getting the boy on the bus and hanging out with the girl. In between giggles and tickles with the girl, I worry about the weekend’s home football game and everything there is still to do before Friday night. JuJu calls on her way home, says the doc did some stripping something or other (gross talk) and it might happen in the next 48 hours.
11:30 am: Slight contractions. Dismiss as some random cramping caused by the "procedure".
Ready to walk out the door to go to work.
Me: “Are you sure you want me to go to work?”
Her: “Yeah, it’s nothing.”
Me: “You’re sure? I could work from here if you’re not feeling well.”
Her: “I’m sure. Go.”
1:00 pm: Still more cramping, but not alarmed. Decide to wait it out and post something here. Occasionally IM-ing Mr. JuJu with talk of "Ouch, this kinda hurts" and, "Maybe you should come home, but maybe not...We'll see."
Going about the business of my business, but call my mother to put her on alert. “Well, we’re on our way,” she says. “Not high alert, Mom,” I say, “it’ll still be another week. This baby doesn’t want to come out.”
2:30 pm: Pain is increasing some, but nothing too bad. Decide to start taking pain seriously. Hop in the shower to see if pain subsides. Pain does not subside, and gets measurably worse. I have a few contractions in a ten minute shower. Uh oh.
JuJu hops on IM and says things are speeding up, but don’t worry yet. “You don’t need to rush home,” she writes. “I’ll let you know, but I think it could be tonight.” OK, I conclude, and I start straightening my desk and making preparations for not being in for a few days. I confer with my colleagues, everyone’s all smiles, with a nice relaxed attitude. “Everyone know what they’re doing for the next few days while I’m likely out?” I ask. “But we all know I’ll be here until next Tuesday when they induce JuJu.”
3:30 pm: Pain is bad. Pain is worse than any other labor pain I have felt. Start getting dressed and packed and IM-ing husband to get home. Like NOW.
3:31 pm: Panic. Serious panic. Relaxed attitude now GONE. I run screaming, “the baby’s coming, the baby’s coming!” “Go, get the hell outta here”” my assistant yells. “We’re fine!” Running out of the building with jacket half on I pass another colleague. “I’m going to be a Daddy again!” I yell. Unbeknownst, I’m cutting it awfully close to not being there when I become a Daddy again.
3:35 pm: Driving with my knees. Juggling paperwork. Calling my parents. “Did Mom talk to you Dad?” I ask. “Yes, I’m wrapping up and heading home now. See you soon,” he says.
3:42 pm: Red light.
3:43 pm: Call the house… no answer. Call JuJu’s cell… no answer. Oh shit.
3:44 pm: Call the house… no answer. Call JuJu’s cell… no answer. Oh shit. Oh shit. So many damn red lights.
3:45 pm: Fucking Ay this hurts. BabyJuJu is waking from her nap and she is not happy. I try to talk to her between contractions and realize that I just might be feeling the urge to push.
Another fucking red light?
3:46 pm: Panic
Call the house… no answer. Call JuJu’s cell… no answer. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Ready to piss pants. So many damn mother fucking piece of shit red lights. Get outta the way cop, I gotta get home.
3:47 pm: Drag baby from crib and attempt to answer the phone when Mr. JuJu calls. Tell him that I cannot possibly SPEAK and hang up. He is on his way home.
Call the house… Answer! Finally! What, you can’t speak. You’re holding the baby in? You needed me home 15 minutes ago? You just told me to come home 17 minutes ago. I piss my pants.
3:48 pm: Holy fucking hell, I’m not going to make it. We’re not going to make it to the hospital. Damn you, JuJu, why didn’t you tell me to come home two hours ago. Very big serious panic. It’s snowy and wet and I’m driving like a maniac FUCK RED LIGHT. I can’t breathe.
3:49 pm: Should I get an ambulance? Maybe I can get a police escort. I always wanted a police escort. That would be cool. Holy shit, JuJu’s having the baby right now. What the hell are we going to do with the girl?
3:50 pm: Mr. JuJu calls again to ask if I need an ambulance. I seriously consider it, but worry about what the toddler will do while I am strapped into an ambulance. Decide against it and sit down to have another contraction and hope to God that this baby does not come out in my kitchen.
3:55 pm: Pull it together long enough to cuss JuJu under my breath for not calling sooner. Think about how I can deliver this baby on my own. And I didn’t even stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night!
4:00 pm: I throw my bags into the van between contractions (which are basically on top of each other right now. I am moaning and making awful noises with each one and BabyJuJu is visibly concerned and about to lose her shit too).
ARE YOU SERIOUS WITH THE FUCKING RED LIGHTS IN THIS TOWN? THIRTY-SIX (36) TRAFFIC LIGHTS FROM WORK TO HOME AND I HIT 91.67 PERCENT (33). [ASIDE]: OK, maybe it was more like 18, but it sure as hell felt like 33.
4:05 pm: Throw BabyJuJu into the carseat, strap her in, start the van and lay down in the backseat. Commence with the panic.
Pull into our development. Almost home. No more red lights.
4:06 pm: Mr. JuJu pulls in, notices the van is started and looks for me. I yell at him to just GET IN AND GO.
Hmmmn. That’s strange. Van’s running, but I don’t see anyone in it. I wonder if JuJu is – very loud pounding on window – then I hear a roar… “GET IN AND GO!!!” OK, “time to git er done,” I think.
4:07 pm: Fucking red light
More fucking red lights. Boy the girl seems happy in her car seat. She has no idea what is – HOLY SHIT, what look was that on my wife’s face? She’s not sitting in the back bench seat, mostly on her hands doing some weird squat/prop. We’re having this baby in the van. We just bought the van. I wonder if the cleaning will be under warranty?
4:09 pm: Another fucking red light
I’m used to it at this point and just assume this is par for the course.
4:10 pm: Yes. Another fucking red light
Spot an ambulance. Wonder if he’s going my way. Should I flag him down and follow him like a good running back follows a pulling guard through the open holes in the defense? Another grimace in the back. She’s having a contraction. “I’ll time them,” I think, playing doctor.
4:11 pm: Pain, searing awful pain
Another? Already? Oh Jesus. That was only a minute. The baby must be turtle-heading back there. Should I pull over and get ready to catch? The most unbelievable rush of panic/adrenaline/euphoria comes over me. We’re not going to make it. Why did I try going this way to the hospital. You fucking idiot. It’s the end of the day and you drive THROUGH downtown?
4:12 pm: More looking in mirror. More worrying. Wife is making strange noises. Fearing she won’t be able to hold baby in much longer. Maybe seconds.
4:13 pm: Red light
4:16 pm: Should have called 911 for that police escort. THAT would have been fun. Note to self, next time, call 911.
4:17 pm: “Honey, we’re almost there,” I say, not believing it myself. Did I sound convincing? Am I enough under control right now? I need to be Batman right now, but I think the best I can muster is Robin. What a let down.
4:18 pm: Pull into ER. Mr. Juju runs in to yell at someone to come get me. I tell the woman I need to push, like right NOW. She tells me that I am mistaken.
Did I just lay rubber with that stop? OK, here we go. Where’s a wheelchair? “Hey, somebody, my wife’s having a baby!” That didn’t even sound like Robin, I think my voice just cracked. Am I 13 again? Grab wheelchair. Woman follows hurriedly. Open the automatic sliding door on my new van with the fancy remote. This is my first new car, I’m afraid to say, a minivan. How do you put the brake on these wheelchairs? Woman who could be a nurse or something brakes the wheelchair. Help wife out to chair. Turn back to van.
4:19 pm: I kill her.
Pulling the girl out, turn around and wife’s gone with woman or nurse or whatever. Valet tells me he’ll take care of my pretty new van, takes entirely too long to give me the claim ticket. Christ, didn’t he see me pull up and scream? Think he could have been more prepared at this moment. Take girl inside in my arms, forget bag with wife’s clothes, girl’s shoes, camera, etc.
4:20 pm: Dead nurse runs (literally) RAN me up to Labor and Delivery...they don't want any babies born on their watch and in their ER.
Non-dead nurse hurriedly walks the girl and I to the elevator, doors open, she pushes two and says, “Labor and Delivery is to your left when you get off.” What? She’s not taking me there? I have to find it on my own?
4:21 pm: Elevator ride takes entirely too long for one floor up. Doors open. Turn left. Oh, there it is. I remember. We just did this 19 months ago. Stroll through crowded waiting room into Labor and Delivery. See doctors and nurses running en masse into a room. “That must be my wife’s,” I think.
4:22 pm: Half undressed and in a bed, begging to be allowed to push
Glad it was my wife’s room, since she’s half undressed and half on the bed, pleading with a rather good-looking doctor to push. Still holding my daughter. “Is it weird for her to be in here?” I ask. “Happens more than you think,” a nurse says.
4:25 pm: My doctor walks in, he just happened to be coming in to snip some little guy's penis.
“That was good luck,” I chuckle. “For us, not for the little guy,” I deadpan. At this point, I’m more Batman now, since I made it to the damn hospital, despite the best efforts of the Greater Akron urban planners. My daughter is being good, a nice resident asks if she’ll let her hold her. My girl goes to the doc and sits in the rocker with her. Oh yeah, my wife’s having a bab – whoa! There’s my wife, wide open, for everyone here to see.
4:26 pm: “Yes, you can push,” good-looking doctor says to my wife. Wait. She can push? You’re not ready? The headlights haven’t been pulled from the ceiling yet. Is everything sterile? We haven’t filled out any paperwork yet. Guess that’ll have to wait. Should she be breathing? I don’t think she’s breathing.
4:27 pm: Kiss wife’s forehead. “Breathe,” I say. Followed by, “I love you.”
4:28 pm: Everyone is laughing and trying to talk to me, as if I could answer. Things get blurry right around here. I recall Miss Beautiful Doctor Lady telling me that I didn't have any time for an epidural. I didn't care. I just wanted it to be over. I also remember my daughter crying because a nurse took her to go sit in a chair while my husband came to stand beside me.
Our daughter is doing well over there with nice resident in rocking chair. How cute.
4:33 pm: Finally allowed to push (twice, I think)
OK, honey, here comes one, ready, push. PRIMAL SCREAM. Holy shit. She didn’t do that last time. Oh yeah, the drugs. Not so much this time. Our daughter is not well right now. After the scream she looked up and let’s just say she had too good a view of the proceedings.
4:34 pm: MORE PRIMAL SCREAMING HAND SQUEEZING BREATHING PUSHING ALMOST THERE YOU’RE DOING GREAT HOLY SHIT MY WIFE JUST SAID FUCK IN FRONT OF ALL THESE DOCTORS AND NURSES
4:35 pm: Andrew Wyatt was born.
4:35 pm: Andrew Wyatt was born.
4:36 pm: Lots of kissing and crying. So happy.
4:37 pm: Handed scissors. Time to cut the cord. Easy Batman, not so fast, wait till we’re ready. Cut cord.
4:40 pm: Reclaim daughter from resident in rocker. Beam. Proud Papa. Where’d the good-looking doctor go?
4:40:05 pm: Kiss wife. Tell her I love her more than anything. Our son is beautiful.
4:41 pm: More beaming. Check out Andrew’s fingers and toes.
4:42 pm: Everyone leaves room. Just like that. We’re alone, with a nurse, filling out paperwork.
4:43 pm: Do I really need to fill out this one, we’re already past that?
4:44 pm: Fill out the form.
4:45 pm: Wife sits up. She looks great. Makeup not even smudged. She did her makeup after getting out of the shower two hours ago with contractions? She’s my hero and she’s fucking nuts.
4:50 pm: Leave wife alone with Andrew to make calls. Walk back through even more crowded waiting room. A few look at the girl and me and I think they think she just popped out this big with these clothes on. Feel sorry for them for their waiting for oh, about a second.
4:55 pm: Call Mom at home. “Andrew’s here,” I say. “Holy shit!” she says. I hear Dad open the door. “You’re father just got home, tell him,” Mom says. “Andrew’s here, he’s great,” I say. “Holy shit, we just talked an hour ago!” he says. “I know, a lot happened in an hour,” I say.
5:00 pm: Call my mother-in-law. “Andrew’s here,” I say. “Holy shit!” she says, “when did this happen?” Tell her and father-in-law the story.
5:05 pm: Take a long, deep breath.
5:06 pm: Take girl back into delivery room. Beam. Make sure girl doesn’t walk around in bare feet on the icky floor.
5:10 pm: Go out to van to get camera, clothes, etc.
5:20-8:00 pm: Lots of beaming.
8:10 pm: Time to go home. I still haven’t held Drew.
8:15 pm: Nurse sneaks me into nursery. Hold Drew. BEAM. LOVE. JOY.
8:40 pm: In car on the way to get Little JuJu at friend’s house.
8:41 pm: Daughter snoring in car seat.
9:03 pm: Pickup son at friend’s. Head for home.
9:15 pm: Home.