Stories

Holy crap! The baby is here?

porkchopexpress — Wed, 06 May 2009 23:43:39 -0700

What a last couple of days. I can't believe what a whirlwind. Man I thought I had an idea of what to expect, but it turned out to be nothing like what was anticipated.

So the saga begins last Tuesday. My wife (39 weeks) goes to see her OBGYN and we are both pretty pumped because the previous week she was 1cm dilated and we wanted to see where we were at today. Sadly she was in the same condition as last week. So because of this lack of change the doctor asked us to start thinking about when would want to induce if things don't progress in the coming week. Disappointed my wife called me at work to tell me the news. I did my father to be duties and told her that there God will deliver the baby when the time is right. At the time I had no idea of how right I was.

Each night after work we would take our dogs for long walks and then I would rub her feet when we went to bed. All in the hopes that the birth would come naturally without the need to be induced. Saturday comes and it is just like all the other days in the past week except my wife is really antsy and wants to go someplace. We spend the day with her sister shopping and everything is going swimmingly. Our last stop in the late afternoon was at every American's favorite store Costco. Didn't even really need anything she just wanted to go. In the parking lot she starts having to stop walking when a contraction hit. She had been getting contractions for a little while now but none of them really made her stop doing whatever she was doing. So this was new. But the contractions were pretty few and far between so I thought nothing of it and we continued our shopping.

When headed back to our place where I proceed to work on a mural I am painting in the nursery. (Didn't want to do wall paper and had to put all that money I spent on a fine arts education to work) She came in the room and started asking me if I had any ideas as to when the baby would come. No answer I had for her was sufficient. She would grunt from a contraction and waddle around the nursery talking in what I would describe as a stream of consciousness rather than having a point. A little while later we settled down for a dinner of take out and a DVD rental. About half way through I began noticing that my wife was grunting with a fair amount of regularity, and thusly started timing her grunts which were coming in at about every 5-7 minutes but they were pretty short and while very painful they were not agonizing. We call her doctor and she recommends that if the contractions keep getting closer together and grow in intensity we should go in. Time 9:30pm

Movie finishes up, her sister goes home, and we start getting ready for bed. My wife felt compelled to shower and I grabbed her things as a just in case so I am not scrambling around in the dark at 4 am looking for everything. She comes out of the shower and she now has to hold her belly with the contractions and they are hitting at 4 minutes apart like a Swiss watch. I make the command decision for us to go to the hospital. Time 11:00pm. We get there and are taken up to the baby area almost immediately. She changes into her hospital gown and the nurse examines here. Dilated 4cm. I guess we are on our way at this point. Time 11:30pm. Contractions start coming a little faster, hitting at about every 3-4 minutes. Things start to get a little scary because my wife starts to shake fairly violently when the contractions are hitting. They say it is normal and it is due to the hormones in her system. She really wants to have a natural childbirth and for about an hour and a half she tries to work through the contractions, but finally decides on the epidural. The anesthesiologist walks in and 5 minuted later there is a tube hanging out of my wife's spine. It is always fairly obvious when people are good at what they do but I digress. No sooner is he done than the entire hospital goes black. The part of the building we were in was in a U shape around a court yard. Out of the corner of my eye I could see this wave of darkness travel around the building and then though our room. The entire hospital had a blackout. Time is around 1:15am Thankfully a minute or so later the distinct sound of diesel engines could be heard and the room lights back up again. The hospital is building a new wing and I guess somebody did something they weren't supposed to and it knock out the power. With the epidural in my wife could actually get some rest, so I take take advantage of that too and try to sleep in a chair. I have apnea so I wake up fairly often so the next few hours seem a little surreal to me. Think Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas but with baby's, if that makes sense to anyone.

The next thing I am aware of is the incredibly loud speaker with the nurses voice on it. "Yes" says the nurse, "Um, I think my water just broke" responds my wife. This promptly gets my full attention and wakes me up. Nurse comes in and checks her out. Yep, water is broken and she is now at 10cm. Time 4:30am. The nurse calls the doctor and it is decided that we should wait for her to "labor down" (if I am using the term correctly) for about an hour. 30 minutes go by, thanks to the epidural my wife is talking and laughing while in labor, and the nurse comes back in to check on things. Low and behold there is a head crowning out of my wife. So everyone goes into get busy mode. The nurse has my wife push 2 times and she is ready for delivery. Doc comes in and we get down to business. Head comes out and the umbilical chord is wrapped around the neck of the baby. The doctor manages to hold onto the chord during the delivery and keep it from choking out my child. 3-4 good pushes and my baby girl (FYI-Chloe Grace) was in the world. Time 5:52am.

Soon as her feet popped out she gave out a resounding "hello" scream. I got to cut the chord. She weighed in a healthy 8lbs 1oz and a leggy 20 1/2" long. The nurse who took her foot prints grabbed my arm and put the baby's foot prints on my forearm like a tattoo which I though was pretty cool. All in all it was a pretty amazing delivery for a first time mom and my wife handled everything wonderfully. Wish I could say the same about myself. We are home now and I writing this entry at 1:15am because it is one of the few quiet moments I have had since Chloe came home. As a matter of fact I haven't heard any noises for a while so I better go and get some sleep before she wakes up. Mom and baby are doing well for the most part. The baby isn't eating like she should and that is compounding a jaundice problem. Plus she sleeps like the dead during the day and screams bloody murder at night. So with my apnea I have not physically slept since Monday. But those problems should eventually sort themselves out and my daughter is quite the cutey. Man am I going to be stressed in her teenage years.

T-minus four weeks and counting

porkchopexpress — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 11:08:34 -0700

Wow, I can not believe how fast the time has flown by since my wife and I first found out that we were expecting out first child. Now there is only about 4 weeks left (if she goes to full term) before the baby is here. 9 months, 9 months, gone in the blink of an eye. As someone who is a worrier I marked the stages of my wife's pregnancy with the different ways in which I worried. First three months was all about wheter or not the baby would miscarry. Then came all the tests that the docotrs want you to take for downs and such. Then came worries about the baby turning into the right position. As the pregnancy moved on I found myself worring over ever little twinge, pain, and random discharge. Now my wife and the baby are in the home stretch and I am paranoid about when the baby will come. Thankfully since we are at 36 weeks if the baby came now we are in the safe zone. But I dunno, I still worry.
I guess I am just looking for your stories about the last few weeks leading up to the birth of your children. So let me know how I shouldn't worry, or how I should be afraid, very afraid. ;)
Thanks,
porkchop

Take Your Job Seriously?

Steve — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 05:52:10 -0700

I take being a father and a role model for my girls very seriously. I know what an impact I will have on their lives and the responsibility that I have to provide stability, fun, and education while they grow into women. While I have a plan, I don't have all the answers and the more I talk with other guys about it, the more I can fill in the gaps.

First Day of School in 1974

savvygranddaddy — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 14:35:51 -0700

Our little boy had attended kindergarten the previous year, but the first day of school in a new home and a new city was very frightening for us.   Of course there would be mom tears when the school bus doors closed for the first time.

In order to prepare for this very important first day, we loaded the kids in the family truckster, a brown Dodge with a beige vinyl roof and drove to his new school. It was a daunting building that was brand new. It was bigger than the combined three buildings that we had left behind.

"Son, this is where you are going to go to school tomorrow morning," I said.   He looked up and said something like, "Wow, it's big." "Yes, it is son, but inside, you will go to your room, and have your own teacher and your own desk," I said, "That won't be too bad." Then we actually got out of the car, walked up to the front door and peaked inside. It still looked brand new and the floors were very shiny. He seemed okay with it. The school was only about a mile from our new house.

Morning rolled around, and his mother was crying before breakfast, during breakfast and all the way out to the bus stop. The kid was fine. He had insisted on dressing himself and had chosen a brown, red and white plaid shirt and brown and green plaid pants. He looked like a cross between a street person and a color blind drug dealer.  It was the seventies, you know.

He jumped onto the elementary school bus.  The bus pulled away. His mother was a basket case.

It was about 11:30 AM when she received a call that went something like this, "Is this Mrs. Jacobs?" "Yes, it is," she replied. "Do you have a son by the name of Nicky?" they asked. "Yes, I do," she said with a degree of hesitancy in her voice. "Is there something wrong?" she asked.   "Well, Mrs.Jacobs, your son is at our school. He has been here all morning, and we have no record of his having been enrolled here, "the voice on the other end proclaimed. "Can you come and get him?" "Sure," she said.

So, off she went to get the kid. He was at the wrong school. Later that evening, I asked him why he had gone to St. Bernadette's School. His reply was innocent enough, "I really wasn't paying attention when the bus stopped, Dad. I met a new friend, Heidi, and we just got off the bus and ran inside," he said. Then I asked him what made him realize that he was in the wrong place. "First of all," he said, "My name wasn't anywhere, but I figured you guys had messed up." "Then," he said, "I heard them speaking Catholic."

A Cross to Bear

savvygranddaddy — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 12:52:43 -0700

Our son was barely three years old and had just begun to master the English language with complete sentences when we began taking him to rehearsals for a local production of the off-Broadway musical, Godspell. Both his mom and I were involved; one on stage and the other directing the pit orchestra. This arrangement seemed to go okay until we realized that this three year old, human sponge was actually memorizing the entire play.

At first it seemed cute as he began parroting phrases from the play, "Pre pree pare ye the way of the Lawrd." He had become a Godspell junkie, a connoisseur of St. Matthew, a musical, Biblical scholar.

We completed the wildly successful run of the play, returned to normal life and the boy began his journey.

Our next door neighbor was a Methodist minister. Let it be known that, had I have been a man of the cloth, living beside a musician, with our cadre of artistic friends would have been somewhat challenging at best. Once "Godspell" had been introduced to our three year old, however, the neighborly relationship turned to just plain frightening.

The boy's obsession with "Godspell" started with two Popsicle sticks and some Elmer's glue. He began making crosses, lots and lots of crosses. We couldn't keep the freezer filled with enough popsicles. We were under pressure to eat popsicles by the dozen. It wasn't clear at first just what he was up to as his pile of crosses began to grow bigger and bigger.

Then, he vanished one day, and we began the frantic search to find him. In our search for the cross maker, we went to the minister's house first, and the reverend's wife looked quizzically at us and said, "Nicky just sold us a cross for a nickel."

This was not the first time the kid was hustling the neighborhood for money. In fact, he had gone door to door that spring trying to sell our used magazines for two cents apiece.

We caught up with him three houses and 25 cents later, but the cross building addiction didn't end there. It began to escalate as he discovered new building materials. The culmination of his efforts occurred one day when he crawled under the front porch, pulled out two, 12 foot long porch boards and tied them together with kite string. In fact, he was dragging that 12 foot long cross up the preacher's driveway as the parsonage car was pulling in that afternoon. I'm sure it made a life long impression on that unfortunate, holy man and his wife when they saw a two and a half foot high kid in shorts and a tee shirt dragging a 12 foot long cross up the concrete slabs.

The most memorable event, however, occurred late in August when the little guy was playing on the sun porch. The good reverend was just edging his way into the driveway as I was trimming the bushes under the windows of that porch with our newly acquired electric hedge clippers.

At the exact moment of Reverend Barker's arrival, the minister got out of his car just as the three year old began to yell in his deepest theatrical voice, "Crucify him! Crucify him!"

The good reverend and his wife moved away a few months later and life went on at Orlando Street. Amen.

toddler language

anthonyromanelli — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 07:52:44 -0700

Just curious---while your kid's language is developing, is there anything that he or she has said that mad you laugh? At the moment, the one thing my toddler said, was, "Daddy can we go pooling?" She wanted to go in the little blow up pool we have for her and her infant sister, so she just asked the obvious---she sees the noun, pool, and verbifies it---and make it 'pooling!'

cool and cute all at the same time...

Dinner for six

savvygranddaddy — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 21:31:39 -0700

We struck a deal on Tuesday to take the kid and her kids to dinner on Friday. It seemed like a reasonable decision at the time. Little did we know that the entire U.S. Olympic Team would be eating there? Anyway, the joint was packed, and our reservation in the kid friendly "don't you worry bout a thing room," had been moved to what could only be described as Heaven's Waiting Room. Let's just say that it was an older crowd.

Things started pretty mildly with the baby sleeping in her car seat and the two plus year old requesting a high chair, not because she has used one in the past six months, but because she just wanted to have one. The five year old then insisted on a booster chair that made him look like Billy Joel on a pumped up piano stool. His knees were just below his chin, and he had to bend over to eat from the table. The adults were spread evenly between the kids, and the show began.

Our waiter brought out some crayons and crackers with cheese spread, and the spread was, ah, spiced. The five year old lunged for a cracker and piled two inches of cheese on it. He then took a big bite and spit it half way across the table. "Poppa, my mout is on fire," he pleaded. Then, curiously, he began to lick water from my glass like his dog, Moosey. By then 42 cataract covered eyes looked over at him in bewilderment.

Their mom asked the waiter for a veggie tray, and he returned with a dish that had plenty of carrots, celery, broccoli, cauliflower, three baby corns and two black olives. The kids had gone to battle over baby corn the week-end before at their Uncle's house, and tonight were no different. "I want the baby cworn," the girl yelled. "No, I want it," Andre the Giant in the booster chair yelled back. Their mom tried to settle it by giving each of them one and a half pieces, but the little one would not stop yelling for more baby corn. Then they each grabbed an olive, stuck it on their fingers and began directing the band.

I noticed the manager working his way toward the Automatic Defibrillator attached to the wall near the exit as some of the more conservative octogenarians began to reach for their chests when Mighty Mouse began to attempt to bend his spoon in half.

Dinner was not easy to come by. With the veggies in shambles, the chocolate milk bubbled onto both the high chair and the white table cloth from aggressive straw blowing; the smallest member of the family began to fuss. We picked her up from her protective nest and passed her dutifully from person to person for the next 90 minutes as we waited for and then finally disposed of the meal.

About 48 minutes into the wait, the boy was moving. He had gotten out of the booster chair 14 times, began making airplane motions with both arms between the tables next to us, and then started to express his need to be free. "Poppa, let's go outside." "Let's go outside, Poppa," he said over and over again. We went outside, the food was served, and by the time we returned, there was ice forming on his baby shrimp. We did the bathroom thing two more times, and let them play under the tablecloth tent for at least 15 minutes.

Five French fries, two ice cream sundaes, a grilled cheese sandwich, three pads of butter and one green bean later, the kids declared that they had finished. The adults stared longingly at the draft beer tap, and dreamed of the kids' college graduations while the aging observers buried themselves in memories of their own magical kid dinners with utensils flying everywhere.

An Unforgettable Trip to the Restaurant Bathroom

savvygranddaddy — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 09:28:43 -0700

The normal transfer of kids from parents to grandparents became about a once a month, Saturday morning ritual that took place at a restaurant on their way home. It was equal distance between both houses and Pappy loved the man sized breakfasts that he could get there. Consequently, we were up at the crack of dawn, packed the still sleeping kids in the car and headed off toward The Lamplighter numerous times over about a six year period so that the kids could enjoy a fun, over-night stay with their much too generous grandparents while mom and dad sang and played in various musical performing groups in the area.

One particular sunny, Saturday morning, we drove toward the now infamous dining spot in our beige, 1970 Plymouth Satellite with the angels tucked ever so insecurely in the back seat. After about 45 minutes into the trip, they would be wide awake and would start their kid frolics. These actions included hitting, yelling, and sometimes even pretending to spit on each other. You know, the normal kid stuff.

Upon arrival at the drop off location, we headed to our oversized booth where Pappy Pete would order enough food for the entire week-end for all of us. Pancakes, French toast, home fries, orange juice, oat meal, bananas, muffins . . . You get the picture.

Again, true to form, usually seven minutes into the meal, the boy child would make his normal announcement, "I have to go to the bathroom." Now, at age 4 and 11 months, this was usually just a game that he played. It allowed him to leave his seat, explore the restaurant a little, check the pay phones for money and then examine the men's room which was approximately a ten minute walk away from the meal. It was located in the basement. Of course, it always meant that his dad had to go with him to protect him from all forms of danger and possible imprisonment.

So, off we went to the Men's Room. This time, however, was a very different experience, unlike any that we had ever had before. As I pulled him out of the gift shop, and encouraged him to give up the matches he had discovered in the cigarette machine, wrenched him away from the free mints at the cash register, and headed him downstairs, he began to tell me how much he had learned that week from his preschool classes on phonics. Seriously, when I was under five, my only knowledge of reading came from watching my dad take the newspaper into the bathroom, but here was my kid bragging about his reading capability.

We opened the bathroom only to find that nearly every available urinal, stall and sink was occupied by clientele. Many of them were there to enjoy their mid-breakfast cigarette, but most where just following nature to its natural conclusion. Nicky ran to the only open stall, and before I realized what was going on, he had slammed the booth door shut and was dropping his drawers.

About 30 seconds into this adventure, I could hear him talking. It was a very strange sound at first. Then I realized that he was sounding letters that he was reading from the bathroom stall. He was reading. It went something like this, "fa . . . faaaaaaaaaa, or orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. For; ah, For a; ga, gaa, od, ooood, Good; For a good, ta, taaaaaaa, i, i, ima, ima; For a good tima. For a good time . . . Ca, ca, ca, ca . . . ul, ul, ul, call. For a Good Time, Call 724-245- . . . ." Then he yelled out, "Hey Dad, can we call this number?"

At that point the six grown men in the Men's Room lost it. They began laughing, looking at me and pointing at the stall and hitting each other. Finally, I yelled out to him, "Nicky, you need to ask your mother."

Kids in the House!!

savvygranddaddy — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 08:32:58 -0700

They moved in last April. The plan was to start to build their new house in May with a completion date of September . . . at the latest. Now, we had just moved to a new house, a two story, three bedroom house. The idea behind this move was to ensure that the munchkins would never be more than two minutes away. This house was not exactly equipped to hold two complete households.

It had another interesting feature, wind. It was located on top of the highest point of this part of the earth. You've seen the brake test trucks driving down Route 30 with smoke pouring off the newly tested brakes? Well, I keep waiting for Ford to bring new cars to our driveway to run wind tunnel tests. You know, to see if the mirrors would fly off or if your groceries would be whipped from your arms and thrown into the snow fence a few feet away. In other words, it was already noisy.

They moved in with some stuff, too; toys, clothing, boots, a refrigerator, lawn mower, more toys, and food. Oh, and because he is in the Guard and she is a sales rep., we ended up with rooms and garage bays filled with sample boxes, back packs, and give away supplies.

Here's the picture. The young mother, father and six month old baby are in one room, the three year old is in the other bedroom and the grandparents are in the final room. Talk about a mind bend. All I could think about was those poor Russian families who lived in a one room apartment in Moscow with nine family members. It puts the whole vodka thing in prospective.

There was no den to hide in, no hidden room over the garage, no doors separating the first floor rooms. Once while watching HBO, alone, late at night, the three year old walked in just as a cowboy on Deadwood went into a rage. His nursery school teacher still marvels at his unique vocabulary as he describes the low down, dirty ^%^%$#$% who stole his %&$#$@ gold.

The little girl grew and grew and became more fun. The little boy went through the terrible threes, you know, mostly sweet and nice, but occasionally he becomes Damien for an hour or so.

So, what have I learned during this extended visit? (God love ‘em, cause they're still here.)

I've learned that the smell of one diaper can literally require a Hazmat team to put on their gear just to empty the garbage. I've never understood why bears ate diapers. Surely there had to be something more appealing in that mass of garbage.

I've learned that you can fit $340 in coins in one pair of adult size 9 ½ shoes.

I've learned that the amount of food that can be ground up in furniture, carpeting, and car upholstery is not equivalent to the size of the grinder. One 23 pound kid can crush more food than Gallagher during a watermelon smashing bit.

I've learned that whatever food is left anywhere, as soon as you eat it, a baby will cry somewhere in the house because YOU stole THEIR nourishment.

I've learned that necktie, seat cushions, and entire make-up kits will float in a toilet at high tide and that one roll of toilet paper can cover a 1200 square foot area.

The final thing I've learned is that for as loud, as crazy, as noisy, as dirty, and as bad as kids can be; they are still a lot better than adults.

My final thought? If your kids ask if they can move in with you until their house is built, say yes, but make sure there is at least one room that is covered in foam rubber and has a lock on the door because THEY will need a place to go to get away from YOU.

The day my son was born (from my blog)

Daddy_BEB — Wed, 07 May 2008 15:32:41 -0700

This is a post from my semi-irregular blog (http://bebfoo.livejournal.com)

Pauline and I now have a third member of the family, little baby Cosmo, born July 14th 2006 at 9:47pm MDT. He weighed in at 8lbs 2oz, was 20.5" long, and had a 14.5" head. Labor was induced two weeks early due to the Doctor's concern about Pauline's rise in blood pressure. This decision was made on Tuesday, and labor scheduled for induction starting at 7am that Friday. She was already 3cm dilated at that time, which the Doc hoped would make for an easier labor. We went home and got our items packed and ready to go (clothes, snacks, CDs for listening/relaxing, car seat, etc.)

After a rather sleepless night Thursday, we left for St Luke's hospital at 6:40am, and after waiting around for about 30 minutes we were taken to the Labor and Deliver room where Pauline was started on a IV drip of Pitocin (aka "pit") to start the labor. Within an hour or two, the contractions started. They were mild at first, and grew stronger thoughout the day. The Doc ordered a slow "ramp-up" dose of Pitocin to help ease Pauline's contractions (some docs will dose poor women with large amounts causing extremely intense and painful contractions with no time to adjust). After a few hours, the nurse told us we were being moved to another room since the one we were in was in the mostly unused wing of L&D. That was a minor annoyance, but the new room was larger and closer to the nurse's station. (The room we started in had some weird electrical problems that the nurses have attributed to a ghost that is said to frequent it and play tricks like pushing the nurse call buttons, etc. We didn't see any such ghost. :)

At around 9 hours into labor, the contractions were coming every 2-5 minutes, and getting stronger and more painful. Her cervix was still only around 4cm dilated, which the doc wasn't happy about, hoping she'd be more like 7-8 (final labor w/pushing and delivery can't begin until the cervix is dilated to 10cm). Pauline had opted a "wait and see" attitude regarding pain meds, but the hours of exhausting contractions, lack of solid sleep the night before, and her cold (caught the week before) was making her think about something to ease the pain. She requested Stadol to start, and it kicked in quickly and took the edge off, as well as allowed her to dose off between contractions. It also made her rather dopey and she said some amusing things like "this drug is like codeine and something that doesn't let me touch my tongue to the top of my mouth" and other such things which were amusing to me and the nurses. The stadol wore off about 1.5 hours later, and the contractions had gotten a bit stronger by then. Doc came in and checked and said things were still not moving quickly, and dilation was only 7cm or so, and that labor could last 2-6 hours more. This news prompted Pauline to request a epidural. A nurse anesthetist came in and did the epidural which took about 15 minutes. When they work, it takes only about 10-15 minutes more to numb the pain in the lower half of the body, but unfortunately this one didn't work and 20 minutes later Pauline was still in lots of pain during the contractions. All the while I was trying to help where I could: getting water and ice for Pauline, massaging her sore back, holding her hand, etc.

This was going on close to 14 hours of labor, and Pauline was exhausted. To make matters worse, little Cosmo was not moving down into her pelvis much (he was at "0 station" still), he was in the less ideal posterior (spine was rear-facing, head front-facing) position and his heart rate was dipping down to 85-90 during the contractions (normal fetal rates are 130-180), caused by distress of having his head rammed against the pelvis and cervix for 14 hours, poor little guy!) Doc said she'd try a few more contractions as well as manual/hand dilation (don't ask, but I can say it looked extremely painful) or she said they would have to do a C-section, but Cosmo was only at +1 station and Pauline was still only 7.5cm dilated. It seems his head was too big to fit out Pauline's pelvis, at least since he was posterior facing.

Two more contractions, Doc Caplinger said "OK, let's do it!" and within minutes there were a buzz of nurses and other staff running around in the room, getting Pauline ready for surgery. I made a quick call to my brother Jamie to have him alert everyone of the update, and a nurse yelled "get into this, NOW" and tossed me some scrubs, a mask, and booties to wear right as they rushed Pauline off to the OR (about 200' away). They told me to grab my camera and sit outside waiting while they prepped for the C-section. That was the longest 25 minutes of my life. I was worried about Pauline, and about Cosmo, and while I knew C-sections are very routine (1 in 4 births in the USA are via C-section), it was still nerve-wracking. I paced frantically, and tried to shoot photos through the outside OR windows into the scrub room. I watched as other nervous and/or happy looking fathers and family walked past down the hall. Finally, after what seemed like hours a nurse came out and sent me into the OR.

Inside were somewhere around 8-10 medical staff, including Doc Caplinger, Doc Lovelace (who Dr. Caplinger requested assist, as they often work together) and me . They told me to sit in a stool by Pauline's head. It is all a blur to me now, and all I recall is Doc Caplinger making the incision the moment I sat down, and within about 3-4 minutes (Cosmo's head was being pulled from Pauline (I snapped a photo the moment of birth, 9:47 MDT) They immediately began suctioning out his airway, and within another minute his whole body was out, he was starting to cry (as was I!) and they had him moved to the cleanup table and 3-4 nurses were cleaning him up (rubbing off the white waxy vernix) and doing his APGAR test (he scored a 8/10 at 1 minute and 9/10 at 5 minutes, so a healthy little baby!). They then weighed and measured him, swaddled him up and let me hold him for the first time. It's hard to explain the feelings I was going through, but as tears of joy streamed down my face I told Pauline "that's him, our baby!". He was crying and likely confused about the unfamiliar noise, lights and sensations outside the warm comfy womb. But he was healthy and beautiful, and that few moments ranks up as the greatest of my adult life. I have heard other fathers say the same, but had no idea until I experienced it myself. It may sound cliche or cheesy, but it was a magic moment. (HERE is a photo of me holding him in the OR, smiling ear-to-ear) While that was happening, Pauline's was being stitched up. A nurse then led me with Cosmo on my arms down the hall to a recovery room to wait for the NICU nurses to come inspect him. But since they were busy elsewhere, I had the fortune of just being able to hold Cosmo for around 20 minutes. I rocked him in my arms, kissed his forehead, and whispered to him how happy daddy was to have him out and healthy. Our first father-son quality time together, less than 30 minutes after he was born. A very moving experience for me! Eventually, the nurses came to check him out more, put antibiotic ointment in his eyes, etc. They gave him a clean bill of health, and let me hold him again until Pauline was wheeled down from the OR and finally got to hold her firstborn. Cosmo slept like the proverbial baby, and mom and dad, both exhausted (Pauline more-so!) rested and waited for transfer to the 8th floor maternity ward room where we were to spent the next 4 days (unknown to us at the time). Pauline's Mom, sisters Kristin & Katherine, and my brother Jamie all came in to meet little Cosmo, and we then moved upstairs to try and get some rest.