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

The leaves have started in an ever so subtle way to change their colors and break free from the branches that have sustained their tiny lives since the spring when they blossomed forth.  No longer are my children able to walk silently through the yard as now leaves crunch loudly beneath their feet.  OK, so my kids, to the best of my recollection, have never walked silently through the yard.  Remember that scene in Stripes when the platoon is running like banshees through the woods as they tackle the confidence course.  That is my kids in the yard at all times.  The piles of leaves grow larger with each passing day. Happens every year.  I love this time of year for the inevitable changing of the season is not only visible, but it is audible and tangible.  You can even smell fall in the air as the cooler air undoubtedly spurs the weekend bonfires and burning leaf piles.  Yes, the season is changing and with summer’s passing I am also able to joyfully mark another equally admirable feature of the fall season.

My wife is celebrating her birthday today, September 21.  I have spent the past several months giving you, dear reader, some insight into who I am and who my kids are.  I have not been very divulging with information about my wife but rest assured she is without a doubt the single most important person in the world to me.  She is a fabulous mother and an extraordinary wife.  She is my best friend and my limited ability at self expression in no manner does justice to the true and genuine love that I feel for her.

So on this day I thought I would give you just the slightest bit of insight, an introduction if you will to the most amazing person I know.  Read carefully and you’ll know how many candles to light in her honor.

immeasurable passion relentless forgiving Zoë fun loving football fanatic educator healer sister mother wife friend Zane daughter adventurous strong caring compassionate driven wild Zia happy meticulous carefree spontaneous surprising inspiring calming Zander reassuring supportive giving example faithful devout advocate Zella whimsical thankful artistic bold soft powerful loved

Happy Birthday, Honey.  I Love You!!

I suppose when compared to varied celebratory events that take place in a child’s life during the normal course of a year, the fact that any kid can get excited about commemorating the milestone of having successfully completed another year of existence is absolutely amazing.  Let’s start with the  two big ones.  Gift occasions, that is.  You’ve got Christmas and Easter.  Then there’s Valentines Day.  Oh, and Halloween (not so much a gift occasion but I have to believe that the dispensation of immeasurable quantities of processed sugar for having to do nothing more than recite a pithy line, “Trick or Treat!” has got to rank real high on any kid scale of favorite holidays.)  And I didn’t even mention that you get to actually be Belle or Jasmine or Captain America.  Little known Halloween fact that the costume actually manifests your child’s fantasies.  Yes, Halloween is a big one.  July Fourth celebrations can be quite pleasing, a truly enjoyable family time.  And let’s not forget about some of the lesser billed holidays like Columbus Day, Arbor Day, Ground Hog Day, Bastille Day and Earth Day.  There’s the county fair and the state fair.  Annual festivals.  Sprinkle in some siblings’ birthdays, cousin’s birthdays and a classmate or two’s birthday and you’ve pretty much given yourself an excuse to spoil your kid rotten at least once during each and every month of the year.  That being said, there is nothing quite so exciting to a young child as a their very own birthday.  That one day of the year that is exclusively their’s.  We have all experienced the joys that come with trying to teach a toddler how to share so when a day actually comes along that belongs only to them and no one else, it’s special.  Yesterday was my third Z’s day.

My middle Z, Zia, turned three years old on Saturday.  It was her day to shine.  Finally, there was a day all about her, something she lobbies for quite verdantly on just about every other day of the year.  I know she’s the middle child and that this type of behavior is pretty much to be expected, but the girl is relentless.  To say that Zia and I have the best relationship would probably be stretching things just a tad.  Adversarial is the term that usually comes to mind.  I can’t quite explain it but Zia seems be able to elicit the absolute worst personality traits I possess.  Traits that I never even knew I had or those that I thought were buried way deep she has dredged right to the surface and splayed them open for all to see.  I have embarrassed myself in front of family, friends and total strangers.  She’s not malicious.  She does not possess a callus bone or thought in her tiny little body.  There’s just something about her inability to cope with difficult or adverse situations and her total body meltdown during these times that causes me to act like a fool.  I’m the guy at the hypnotist show that acts like a monkey when he hears the word ruby red rutabaga.  The one that said, “Oh, this hypnosis thing is all bunk!”  and, “He’ll never hypnotize me.”   I just can’t seem to help myself, I’m under some strange spell.  The sad thing is that the damn hypnotist forgot to undo the spell and worse yet, sent me home with a three year old that only knows how to say ruby red rutabaga.  I suppose we both have a barrier, a wall so to speak;  her inability to appropriately cope with difficult situations and my inability to appropriately respond to her inability to appropriately cope with difficult situations.  The cycle is not only vicious, it’s absurd. 

Yesterday, I was able to start chipping away on my side of the wall.  Tearing down the fence, if you will.  How, you may be asking?  Alone time with the enemy.  That’s right, I met my demons face to face, mano a mano.  A scared stiff 42 year old mature father of 5 face to face with a fearless (and quite strikingly, cute) curly haired 3 year old little girl.  With five kids it’s difficult to have alone time with any of them.  I am taking at least two to most events, but generally my three oldest so when a one on one opportunity arises it’s a rare occasion.  Such was the case yesterday with my little birthday girl.  My wife has scheduled several classes at our local Children’s Museum for the express purpose of giving Zia one on one time with us.  By us I actually mean she gets to take Zia to these classes.  God, it feels good to actually be able to reverse the meaning of that term, even if it is just this once.  Anyone who is, has been or is even thinking about being in a relationship for any length of time surely realizes that when a woman says, “we need to …..”  what she really means is, “you need to …..”  So my wife usually takes Zia to these classes but because of a work snafu was unable to attend.  

My wife gets her work schedule a month in advance.  On the day it came out, I immediately called her to let her know she had been scheduled to work on Zia’s birthday right in the middle of her class at the museum.  My stomach was in knots.  Without hesitation she simply said, “you’ll have to take her.”  That hamster in my brain immedialetly jumped on the treadmill.  “But what about Zoë’s ballet practice?”  “Zane has soccer practice.”  “Who’s going to watch the twins?”  “What’s your sister doing?”  “Don’t I have to get the tires on the van rotated?”  “I was going to learn how to play canasta!”  “Won’t somebody please just shoot me?”  “My God, don’t make me do this!!!”  What my wife said next made me feel about as low and ashamed as I may have felt, ever.  Again, in her simply stated, black and white world tone of voice she said, “It will be good for both of you.  She’s your daughter.”  And snap, you are now awake!  The spell had been broken.  The sad part is that I completely remember every part of acting the fool. 

We met the rest of the family later that evening at the soccer stadium to continue the theme of “All About Zia.”  Zia continued to beam and the family had a blast.  Our team even won it’s first game.  All in all the day could not have been better.  The most fun I had though, was spending time alone with my little girl, a former foe turned ally.  Happy Birthday Zia, I love you!