Little m Long a

I wasn’t quite finished with the mowing when I looked up and noticed my wife walking across the yard to me, arms waving to get my attention.  She was waddling really as she was, I believe the saying is “great with child.”  She had just returned from her weekly visit to the OB and I assumed was letting me know she was back home and wanted to know what I had planned for dinner.  She’s thoughtful like that.  Being that I had been mowing for the last three hours (hey, it’s a big lawn) I had surely given some thought to the matter of dinner and would have a hearty meal whipped up before the hum of the mower had died completely.

I knew immediately that she was not flagging me down for the purposes of discussing dinner preparations.  Something else was going on.  “Doc says the amniotic fluid level has decreased significantly since last weeks’ visit and that the uterine wall has a marked area of thinning.  He wants me back at the hospital for monitoring.”

“Monitoring?  What exactly did he say?  This does not sound like routine monitoring.”

“Well…He said the uterine wall is thin enough that it could spontaneously rupture and that the fluid level is low enough that the baby may be in danger so he just wanted to monitor for a few hours.  He said if everything was fine after a few hours of monitoring we could go back home and he would probably deliver the baby tomorrow.  Other than that the visit was great!”

We weren’t ready.  Is anyone ever?  Immediately we sprang to action calling family, my sister-in-law dropped everything to keep watch over Zoe and Zane and my wife and I made way for the hospital.  (Yes, I did shower first.)  They had been expecting us and in short order my wife was connected to all manner of monitoring devices and paraphernalia.  Not sure if it’s because my wife is a doctor at the hospital or if the people on the OB ward treat everyone this way but I felt like we were the only people there, that our situation was real and important to them.  They were caring and comforting and could not have been more pleasant.

To my great relief, everything the monitor was showing us reflected the way that my wife was feeling—just fine.  After about an hour, the doctor stopped by to discuss the situation.  His words were, “everything looks fine, baby is doing just fine and your vitals are all fine.  If you feel OK you can go home and we’ll schedule the C-section for in the morning.  Or…, since you’re here and I’m here and the OR team is here now we could go ahead and do this now.”  His eyes were saying, “Pick B! Pick B!!”

As my wife would say, “That’s a softball.”  Her little term for a no brainer, an easy one, get your head out of your ass this is as clear as day kind of question.  We picked B.  And so it was that around dinner time our little Zia came screaming into the world, pulled from the relative comfort of the womb that had kept her safe and warm these past months.  Screaming, I say because I vividly recall this scenario.

After the delivery, as is customary, Zia was taken down the hall to the nursery to be cleaned and swaddled evaluated and whatever it is that they do to newborn babies.  My wife was quite sore from the C-section and still quite loopy from the medications that had been given her during the delivery.   Not ten full minutes had passed when the phone rang in the OR suite (yes, we were still in the OR suite) and the nurse on the other end of the phone said, “Come get this screaming child!”
You know, she still screams louder than any of my kids.  I can’t believe it’s been four years.  Happy Birthday, Zia!  I love you, Curly Sue!

This entry is adapted from the entry I placed in Zoë’s baby book.  Today is her seventh birthday and I felt it was appropriate to post it.  Please bear with me as I tell the story of my daughter to….my daughter.

You arrived triumphantly into this world 7 years ago today at 3:54pm but your story actually begins much earlier.  I was working the night shift and was unwinding after a long shift when your mother arrived home having pulled an all nighter herself and announced, “Come upstairs.  Quickly.  I’m ovulating.”  What happened next….well, that’s a whole other story for some other time.  Let’s just suffice it to say that on that early morning of May in the year 2000 your story really began.

I remember the morning your mother announced your impending arrival.  She suggested we take a short vacation in January.  Hey, it’s cold in Middle America in the winter so I was all for it.  Then she suggested our resort stay as a hospital on the North East side of town.  I thought she had flipped.  Then, as my good buddy from Louisiana used to say–”the clouds parted to cast a true shadow.” 

The next several months were a blur of doctors visits, baby showers, miniature furniture purchases, purchases of baby powder and onesies.  I remember the first time your mother and I walked into Babies R Us.  There were things there we knew we needed.  (People had told us this.)  This was a place where we could get everything we would need to accommodate a new baby in the house.  (People had told us this also.)  We were not ready.  It was apparent to the seasoned shoppers scurrying through the aisles of the store that we were out of sorts.  More than once  we were asked if we needed help.  More than once we responded to those queries much like a doe caught in the mesmerizing glow of an oncoming Peterbuilt. After 40 minutes of shopping we left the store, empty handed and disheartened.  We were not ready.

As the days to your arrival grew fewer, our trips to the doctor grew more.  Ultrasounds became more frequent and more than once concerns were raised that you might be growing a bit too large.  These concerns were transformed into full blown paranoia by your mother who made no bones about the fact that she was none too excited about passing a small rhino through her nether regions.  An induction was in order.  Your mother and I sat with calendar in hand and selected a day.  Your birthday was now set and part of our grand plan.  It was out of your control, or so we thought.

The night before the induction we went to dinner (I have no idea where) and we saw a movie (I have no idea what).  Conversation was brief and superficial.  We both were quite nervous as to what the next morning held for us.  Uncertainty has a way of doing that to people.  Anticipation has a way of doing that to people.  For in less than 12 hours our lives were to be changed forever. 

The induction began early the morning of the 18th.  Your mother was a trooper as she was poked and prodded and connected to all manner of monitoring devices.  I tried to be as supportive as possible yet my attention quite often turned to the monitors.  I suppose it’s the curse of being a nurse and knowing just enough about what was going on to make me totally neurotic.  I had observed the dips or decels as they are referred to but attributed them to your mother being uncomfortable and moving around too much to get an accurate reading.  The morning came and went.

At the mid afternoon shift change the oncoming nurse noticed something concerning.  Seems your cord had made a bit of an appearance before you.  (This, according to the nurse and as evidenced by the flurry of activity that in mere moments followed her fortuitous finding was not a good thing.)  All of a sudden those decels took on a whole new meaning.  A whole new significance.  In what seemed an instant your mother was whisked away to the surgery suite.  After an eternity (3 minutes) I was allowed to join her.  Pale and stoic, she was giving one word answers to my questions.  I knew that she was OK but your mother is such a tremendously strong person, seeing her like this was a bit unnerving. 

An emergency C-section.  Who would have thought?  When the doctor pulled you out, you looked like a spool of thread.  Cord was wrapped around your neck, over your shoulder, around your waist and through your legs.  (You were very active in the womb!)  I couldn’t hold back the tears.  You were the most beautiful sight I had ever laid my eyes upon.  My darling baby girl.  The whole process from decision for emergency C-section to your delivery took 9 minutes.  A truly grand entrance.

Zoë, you are the joy of my life, the culmination of who I am and my greatest dream come true.  For as long as I can remember, all I have ever wanted in this life is to be a father, something I never had.  I can only hope and pray that as you grow and learn and experience life you will be able to look back and remember your Dad with love and with smiles.  I can’t promise you the world.  I can’t promise you that I’ll never let you down.  I can’t promise you that you will never be disappointed or hurt.  But this I can promise.

I will always love you and will always be here for you.  You are my heart, my joy, my soul–my little girl.

Happy 7th Birthday.  I love you, Zoë!

Dad

Dude.  2008 was a brutal year, the likes of which I am happy to say is behind me.  Come on 2009!

What?

It’s only just begun?

You have got to be kidding me!

For all intents and purposes January was scheduled to start with a bang.  The first (Jan 1) is our wedding anniversary.  I may have mentioned something about that in a previous post.  Anyway, we learned early on in our married life that unless Cracker Barrel is your idea of the perfect setting for a romantic anniversary dinner, you’re not going out to eat on New Years Day.  Nothing is open.   New Year’s Eve, by default, has become the night for celebrating our years of wedded bliss as well as ringing in the new year.   It’s our little way of multi tasking.

The restaurant was fantastic and the food delicious.  We lingered, maybe a bit too long for the New Year was greeted cordially during a pause in the conversation during our drive home.  Yeah, we ushered in the new year somewhere along Route 23 driving north.  But we would be home early enough and sober enough to give 2008 and our anniversary a more fitting welcome, or so I thought.

“The kids were great, not a bit of trouble.  We had a little tea party and everyone went to bed without a problem.  Oh, and there’s a little leak.”…as reported by my Mother-in-Law upon our arrival home.

Whoa!  What was that? A tea party?!

Sure enough, as I entered the kitchen I could see it.  There were half empty teacups and saucers scattered all over the counter……  Oh, and the constant ploinking sound of water dripping from the ceiling into a sauce pot in the middle of the kitchen floor.  Yep, that’s a leak.   Do you have any idea what a plumber costs at 1:00am on January 1?  To my great relief, neither do I.  My brother-in-law helped me to track the likely source of the leak to a drain pipe in the upstairs bathroom.  I disconnected the loose pipe and sure enough, the dripping ceased.  Eventually.  After a quick clean up, the actual repairs could be done later, I slipped quietly into bed where my wife lay……….soundly asleep.  At least she had turned on my side of the electric blanket.

The next afternoon, my sister-in-law generously offered to watch my kids (Yes, my wife went to work on our anniversary.  Did I mention we may be needing a plumber?  Those guys don’t work pro-bono.) so that I might make the trip to the hardware store for the parts I would need to try and repair the bathroom sink and also pick up a few items from the grocery store for dinner.  I lingered, maybe a bit too long.

“The kids were great, not a bit of trouble.  Did you get the parts to fix the sink?  Oh, and take a look at Zia…..you think that’s gonna need stitches?”……as reported by my sister-in-law on my arrival back home.

“Wow!  It is amazing how you can buy pvc drain pipe, copper pipe, a blow torch and any food item you need to prepare dinner on New Year’s Day but God forbid you want to sit down and have a nice meal in a restaurant.  And yeah, that’s definitely gonna need stitches.”  You’ve seen the old photos of the dancing bears, balancing on a ball as they twirl.  Seems it’s not so easy after all.  A quick call to my wife and it was back in the car to visit mommy’s work.  My sister-in-law generously offered to watch the kids while I left–again.  She really felt horrible for what had happened and although I tried to convey to her it was perfectly OK somehow I don’t think she felt better.  It took six stitches in all, 2 inside and 4 outside and  Zia was an absolute trooper.  She was perfectly still throughout the entire procedure.  Still, not quiet.  My ears are still ringing from the screaming.

After a well needed day of rest it was back to the comforting grind of a school routine.  To celebrate it’s triumphant return I took the kids to the coffee shop, OK I took me to the coffee shop kids were just collateral baggage, and then we did some browsing at the antique store next door.  We lingered, maybe a bit too long.

We sloshed our way back to the van and piled ourselves into our collective seats.  I turned the ignition only to hear the sweet sound of my engine….. not starting.  That’s the sound you generally hear when your battery is dead.  A quick call to my Mother-in-Law who was able to lend invaluable roadside assistance.  Have I mentioned that my Mother-in-Law is a saint?  She’s also a card carrying member of Triple A.  A short wait, quick jump and we were on our way to the service station for a new battery.

I suppose there are worse things that could have happened in the first four days of the new year.  Like it or not though, 2008 is hear.  I guess this should be my general attitude now…..

So…..would you do it again?  I despise the question.  First off, the question centers around a point or issue that is for every practical purpose mute.  Unless of course, H.G. Wells’ Time Machine was not just a science fiction novella but in all actuality the genius blueprint for actual time travel.  Bear in mind we are talking about life decisions here.  If I decide in a momentary lapse of reason to ride the twist til I puke whirly bird spinning teacup of death at the county fair and by some act of God himself am able to step off of said ride without puking and someone asks, “So…would you do it again?” Well, then I can see how “would you do it again?” may be a fair question.  If you are actually asking me to repeat something I am fully capable of repeating then sure, ask away.  All’s fair.  If, however, you pose the question as it relates to some decision I have made during the course of my lifetime that has obviously affected my current state of being…your question is ridiculous, shallow and shows me that you put no more thought into meaningful conversation than the thought you put into selecting the socks you are currently wearing.

Really!  I can not do it again.  Whether I want to or whether I do not.  It is behind me now and like it or not, I am unable to change the events of the past or for practical matters repeat them.  Upon graduating high school, I like most of my peers went to college.  I chose a state school and pursued a degree in art appreciation.  (Close to home and I listened to a lot of music.)  Would I do it again?  Mute!  It’s done and like it or not, I am unable to alter the path I have walked.  This post is not about my chosen path of enlightenment, though.  It is a far more serious, more meaningful life choice and one I am also thrilled to report that I am happy I made.

For you see, eight years ago today, Y2K, 01-01-00, January 1, 2000, the first day of the new millennium, the dawning of Aquarius, I prepared myself for what the twenty first century would mean to me in a truly extra ordinary way.  I married the most wonderful woman in the world.  That’s right.  I poo-pooed every naysayer that felt Y2K was basically an acronym for the apocalypse and got myself hitched.  To my good fortune the doomsdayers were wrong and I have spent the last eight years blissfully wed to my best friend.

In the past eight years I have cried.  I have laughed much more.  I have fallen and been helped back up.  I’ve moved, traveled, stayed put, won, lost, welcomed loved ones and mourned others.  I’ve seen floods and fires, tornadoes and hurricanes.  I’ve torn down and I’ve built back up.  I have been transformed.  I am not the same person I was eight years ago.  Wholly to my wife’s credit and diligence I am a better man.  As with any relationship there have been valleys but never a chasm too deep from which to return.  And there have been mountains from which I never wanted to return.

“So…..would you do it again?”

I repeat, the question is mute!  When it comes to an earnest evaluation of life choices, I feel the more appropriate question should be, “So…..any regrets?”  One of my all time goals in life is to live in such a way that I can honestly say after careful review that I have no regrets.  It’s not an easy task.  But in my opinion, to honestly answer the question requires one to look deep within and evaluate not just the action, the decision, the choice but the consequences that making such decision have had in your own life.  Not only does the question make me believe that you actually care about my answer, but it makes me have to actually think and care about the answer I give you.

Now, let’s try this again.  “So….any regrets?”

Well, yeah.  Just one.  I regret that it took so long for us to meet.  That so much of my life had passed before I was allowed to become a part of yours.  I am a better man because of you.  Just think what you could have done with an extra ten years—-I could be king of the world.

“You have made me the happiest man in the world.  My only wish, my desire, is that you give me the opportunity to do the same for you.”  Honey, your are still my life, my love and the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

Happy Anniversary!

I Love You!