Your Mom is a Superhero

Ellie, your Mom is a Superhero.  I'll explain this a little further in a minute, but I want you to remember that for the rest of your life; even when you're 16 years old and you're convinced that she "just doesn't get you."  It doesn't matter.  Your Mom is a Superhero.

With that out of the way, and with this being my first post on this blog, I wanted to provide my version of your arrival into this crazy world.

It's kind of funny that the offspring of two very little people would end up being a rather large baby -- but you were.  We felt from very early on that you would be a bigger baby than most had expected, and those feelings were confirmed during the last few visits to the OB prior to your due date.  At the end of the day, it really didn't mean much other than your Mom and I knowing that we were going to have to be pretty flexible in planning for your birth.  The ultimate conclusion was that you were scheduled to be induced on December 20th at 5:30 a.m.

Yea, that totally worked out.

Lucky for us, my dear, you have two very stubborn parents who like to do things on their own time and their own way.  It appears that apple has not fallen from the tree.  Despite having your birth scheduled for the following day, you decided it was time to send your Mom into labor on December 19th at around 11:00 a.m.

Let's just say the process is nothing like you see in the movies.  I was at the office, and your Mom sent me a text that said something to the effect of: "I think my water broke, and I'm going into labor."  You know, no big deal.  The next logical step should be everybody panicking, running in circles, forgetting to grab bags that had already been packed, and rushing to the hospital, right?  Ha!

I gathered my things and rushed home to find your mother sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch, which she followed with a nice leisurely shower, shaving her legs, etc.  WHO DOES THAT?!?!

A superhero.

We went to the hospital with your Mom having obvious contractions, but an overall sunny disposition.  Upon checking, we were greeted by a nurse that I could only describe as a human version of 'Roz' from Monster, Inc.

The following is a list of things that this nurse found entertaining/funny:



Yep...that's it.

Ultimately, your Mom being in an overall good mood (in addition to other more scientific/objective measures) led this nurse to decide your Mom was not "sufficiently" in labor to be admitted.  Your Mom had me fooled, but what do I know?  I'm just an evil lawyer with enough knowledge of the practice of medicine to get myself in trouble.

We went home, and it looks like neither you or your Mom were in any mood to delay this process any further.  I went upstairs to change my clothes, only to find your mother doubled over in pain shortly thereafter.  Back to the hospital we go!

Nurse Sunshine was nowhere to be found, so I felt a little better about our chances this time around.  Of course, we were admitted.  Fast forward a few agonizing hours, and your Mom has had an anesthesiologist inject medication into the epidural space in her SPINE so that she doesn't tear my arm out of its socket because of pain during the delivery.  Let's just put that down as #42,038,406,323,628 on the list of things I'd like to do in my time on this planet.

Now that she was (allegedly) drugged up, it was time to push you into this world.  Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the pump that was supposed to push the aforementioned medication into your Mom was not working.  I'm honestly not sure how, but your Mom was able to push for 1.5 hours with very little medication to numb the pain.

Again.  Superhero.

After 1.5 hours of pushing, it became clear that you were not going to make your arrival the way we had initially planned.  Time for a Cesarean-section!

Ellie, you really don't like being told what to do.  Let's hope that ends soon, but I don't like my chances.

I was told to jump into scrubs while your Mom was sent to the operating room for the c-section.  Once I was "scrubbed in," I was instructed to wait about 15 minutes while the room was set up.  This meant a giant blue screen in front of your Mom's face, straps to hold down her arms, and a gaggle of medical professionals chatting it up while your Mom was cut open.

Once I was in there, I quickly realized that your Mom was not only conscious, but she was completing quotes from "The Princess Bride."  Yes.  Your Mom was quoting movies while her abdominal cavity was wide open for the world to see.  I'm fairly certain that's her super power.

My reaction was probably something like this:

The good thing was that this gave me peace of mind that she was just fine.  My focus was back to checking on my little girl.

After about 25 minutes in the operating room, you were pulled out of your Mom.  You were the most beautiful baby girl I had ever seen.  Looking back, I'm pretty sure I was giving your Mom the play-by-play of what was going on in those final moments, and I probably sounded (and looked) like a lunatic sports announcer that was jumping around the room as though his favorite team had just won the World Series.

To be honest, that's how I felt.  I had just won the World Series.

I went over to check on you and to cut the cord.  I couldn't believe how perfect you were with all your little fingers and toes.  8 pounds, 1 ounce.  19 inches long.  Completely perfect.

The moment you were all swaddled up and handed to me is something I will never forget.  You were looking around with these beautiful blue eyes, just taking it all in.  You weren't even crying...just content.

Your Mom, who was still being closed up, was completely exhausted.  At this point, she had been at it for at least 16 hours, but she had done it.  I finally had my two girls right there with me, and it was pure joy.

The funny thing about c-sections is that it's almost like it's God's last cruel joke to the pregnant mother.  She just finished this amazing process that took nine months, and all she wanted to do was hold you; but she couldn't.  On top of the fact that your Mom just had nineteen staples placed in her abdomen to hold her together, one of the side effects of the medication caused her to shake uncontrollably.  It was really quite bittersweet, because I had the honor of holding you for the first few hours of your life, only to see your Mom sitting across the room wishing she could do the very same thing.

Once the side effects wore off and your Mom was finally able to hold you tight, it finally sunk in that it was over.  You were here.  A part of our lives.

You're a little over a month old now, and I can honestly say that the luster of being your dad hasn't worn off one bit.  I see you getting bigger, making new faces, learning new things, and everything is just perfect.

But the best part of the whole thing is seeing you and your Mom interact and learn about one another.  You were inside of her for nine months, yet there's still so much for each of you to learn.  So whenever you're feeding, or your Mom is changing your diaper, or she's on the floor doing tummy time with you, all I can picture is your Mom wearing this long pink cape that is flowing with the wind.

Because your Mom is a Superhero.  Never forget that.