And I Felt Like Superman

Evelyn Grace Williams was born at about 3:35 pm on March 29, 2010.

On the way out she pooped. Kind of a funny thought at first, except that it actually wasn't funny at all. She inhaled some of it and the doctors are afraid she may have gotten it in her lungs. So it became kind of scary.

We didn't get to hold her. I barely got to see her before she was whisked away to the Critical Care unit (CCN, but I don't know what the N stands for). I took pictures, posted them on Facebook and Twitter and stored them in my phone. I only got two pictures, though.

That evening we were able to go see her, but still not hold her. They were - and still are - giving her a bunch of antibiotics to fight meningitis, and any other kind of infection. Even Herpes as a "just in case" thing. Even though Jennifer and I have only ever been with each other, and it is a very small chance, I guess it is part of the standard procedure. Still kind of scary. We still didn't get to hold her.

The doctor did a spinal tap, and they found white blood cells. I'm not a doctor, so I don't know exactly what that means, except that it is apparently a bad thing and they're going to consult with a specialist. She does have some minor infections, but overall she seems okay - aside from the white blood cells. They want to know why they're there.

They did an ultrasound on her brain because they wanted to make sure she didn't have any kind of infection there. That was kind of scary, too, because the doctor said if they couldn't get a clear shot, they'd do a CTscan. "Scan her cat" as some might say. They don't have to, everything looked fine.

Every moment since our daughter has come out, we've prayed. Every waking second my thoughts have been on her fighting off infection, fighting the only way an infant's body can. She's been sleeping but they say her breathing has gotten so much better. She was green (from the poop) when she was born and since they used a vacuum her head was cone shaped - she looked like a little alien. Then she was blue-ish when they cleaned all that off. Now she looks pink - you know, the kind of pink babies are supposed to look.

I've prayed and I've fasted. I've done everything a man with my limited powers of intellect and strength can do.

And I've felt so weak.

But this morning...

I got told her in my arms. Jennifer got to hold her first, of course, I knew it would mean the world to my wife to get to hold our daughter before me. I also knew I wouldn't want to let her go if I got to hold her.

But this morning, I got to hold her.

And I felt like Superman.

Or It Is Like Bozo Just Stole My Bike

So now that things have calmed down from Monday's big news, we are getting more and more anxious to see our daughter - to meet her for the first time.

It has been a frustrating week, and I think the expectation of having our baby this past Monday has put a cloud of frustration over our house the likes of which many may never understand.

I will do my best to explain it the only way I know I can.

Allow me to paint the picture...

We barely slept the night before in our excitement for our brand-new bike, only to awake on December 25th and find there is no bicycle waiting for us. After unwrapping gift after gift of sweater vests and that big giant pink bunny suit which only made the day worse, we sit sullenly by ourselves in the corner more interested in the empty boxes than the opened gifts.

We've seen the movies where a father waits to the last second to deliver his final gift to his children and thus ushering in that happy ending. So we stare up our dad with those big puppy dog eyes, expecting him to say something like, "Oh, I almost forgot, check behind the desk." Then realize we don't even have a desk.

We wait for our mother to unexpectedly leave the room and come rolling in that beautiful Schwinn bicycle the likes we've only seen Bozo give away to those children who are lucky enough to land a ping-pong ball within that last bucket, but mom just sits there munching on her Christmas candy.

Finally, realizing that the air of depression has ruined Christmas dad sits down beside us and says, "I know you wanted a bicycle, but this time you're going to have to wait until your birthday."

Our birthday is another 11 months away.

That, my friends, is what it feels like after believing yourself to be delivering your first child, then to find out you just peed.

But just like the bicycle that we were too small to ride in the first place, just like the cliché says, "anything worth having is worth waiting for," we continue to wait.

***

We had our doctor's appointment yesterday with another ultrasound. Doctor Bryant who, again I feel I must say, is probably the best "baby-doctor" the world has ever seen, could not get a good measurement on Evelyn's leg as she is now trying to be a gymnast and stretch her body into impossible positions (limbering up for a big jump, I'm thinking). Because of this, we can not know her current weight.

However, our good doctor said that her head and stomach have definitely grown and she looks healthy.

As far as dilation and everything else? Yeah, nothing's changed.

We would be extremely happy if she were to come today, but should she wait and pop out on, or after, her due date we will just be happy to have her healthy and here.

The False Alarm

Yesterday, while I was at work, I got a quick text from Jennifer saying that her water broke. Thinking she was getting an early start on April Fool's day (The day I would love for one of my children to be born on) I went ahead and did as the text instructed and called her office.

When I called, I didn't get to speak to my wife. Instead, I spoke with Julie, the clerk in her office and the lady who put together our first baby shower, who informed me that Jennifer had soaked her chair and was currently on the phone with the doctor.

I soon got a chance to speak to my wife who said that she had checked and there was no odor or anything to indicate that it was urine, so she believed that she had, in fact, broken her water (is that even remotely close to the proper usage of the term?).

So I drove home.

I beat her there. I don't know how, because my work is farther away from home, but it could be a testament to either a.) my kick-butt driving abilities or b.) I was speeding and luckily no cop caught me.*

When Jennifer arrived at home everything became a blur. We were grabbing last minute things for the pregnancy bag we had literally just started putting together, I dove under the bed for my phone charger because I knew my battery would probably go dead at the least opportune time, and the dog somehow found time to run around the house a million times and not pee on the carpet.

We headed to the hospital, dealt with this woman who had the personality of a paper-clip as she had us fill out insurance papers. Headed up to the right room so Jen could be examined. Waited an hour.

Interesting thing to note - they strap these little monitors onto a woman's stomach to monitor both the baby's heartbeat and her contractions. Evelyn, my ninja daughter waiting to be born, literally kicked the monitor from inside Jennifer's stomach hard enough it bounced and registered on the screen. We had a good laugh at that. I'm pretty sure she doesn't like it when we intrude upon her personal space.

Anyway, our doctor came in and I'm just going to go off topic for a small second here:

Call me immature if you want, but something about another man feeling on my wife irritates me. I've been told that's natural, but at the same time, it really does creep me out a bit. It's just like in that scene from "The Office" when Jim and Pam have their baby and the lactation consultant is a man. The expression on Jim's face? It was plastered on my face yesterday.

To skip to the end and not to bore you with the sickly looking tools the doctor used (one looked like a mid-evil caulking gun with a flashlight in it) to examine my wife, or how the doctor was professional lest he get a kick to the knee, etc...

Jennifer had peed all over herself and her desk chair.

I'm sure she felt embarrassed, and who wouldn't? The doctor said it actually happens quite a bit and that we shouldn't feel ashamed. I'm sure this was easy for him to say as I am quite sure he has never peed on himself and thought his water broke.

But either way, it was a false alarm.


*Notice I said "caught," not "saw."

Pre-baby Stress

One thing is for sure. In just a few weeks we'll be having a baby.

In truth, we're about as ready as anybody can get. At least, I think we are. With one exception - we were not prepared for the pre-baby stress.

Let me explain. Our baby is due in April. So are our taxes, and we'll most likely have to pay. No big deal, right? We've been there before and everything turned out fine. Except now we have the upcoming hospital bill, daycare bills, last minute things we'll inevitably need, so on and so forth.

It's hitting me, but I tuck it away as best and as quietly as I can and escape into a book or a video game, or reading about some latest gadget or phone I find interesting on the internet. Unfortunately, I think it is really starting to eat away at my wife.

Now, with all the cards on the table, we're fine. We're going to come out on top. It's just the stress of squeaking through everything that is wearing us down.

But squeaking through is never fun and seldom easy. We'll do it - we've done it countless times before. But the stress is beginning to wear us both down, I think.

Then we have the whole preparation of getting things together before she arrives. Cleaning the house extra nice, making sure the dog doesn't get neglected, baby-proofing the ceiling and all of this nonsense. I knew having a baby was stressful, but I didn't know being about to have a baby was this stressful.

I think the one that keeps us going is when, like today, we head to the doctor's office and get to hear a little heartbeat and ... It's like motivation to keep going forward. To not give up or go crazy. I mean, she's coming whether we're ready or not, but our attitude when she arrives will definitely impact how excited we are.

Don't get me wrong! I'm still looking forward to it. To everything. In fact, as I was saying, when I hear the heartbeat on Thursdays it's like the rest of the world melts away and all I can hear is the future pidder-padder of little feet. I'm very excited to be a dad, but, understandably, I get stressed out a little, too.

No matter what, that baby isn't going to care about how much money is in our checking account. She's going to want food and her diaper changed and to sleep and to feel loved.

I'm pretty sure we're going to handle those just fine.

Prep Time

Now that we're in the final days - no, not talking about the Rapture here - the final days of what I have started calling "the Baby Launch," we have started in our preparation.

Last night we obtained (according to my wife) the most vital piece of furniture: a dresser. It was free and I'm glad. Not because it wasn't worth anything, it's actually kind of nicer than I expected, but because I really didn't want to pay for another thing that will no doubt become a "catch-all." You know, a piece of furniture you pile stuff on when you don't know where else to put it.

But it's good and will get the job done. And, if memory serves correctly, the first piece of furniture my wife and I ever drew on with our markers, pens, pencils, crayons, and so on were our dressers. Yes, both of us.

However, I would argue that my art was better and somewhat resembled something like a balloon animal guerrilla, whereas Jennifer's squiggly lines were no doubt some unknown language spoken by a lost civilization.

I know this because her family still has her old dresser, and I vaguely reimagined mine to look better.

To change the topic a little, Jennifer has been very pleased with the results of the new ultrasound we received last Friday that she has shown everyone the new pictures. I can tell she's really excited to get to meet the baby.

Which brings me back to the preparation. I'm not sure if she has completed her "mommy bag" for when she goes into labor, or even her "labor bag" (I state them as two different sacks of stuff because apparently women must need a bag crammed full of things when giving birth - even though they won't use a fifth of the things in them - and a bag for after the baby has traversed from the womb to the world). Either way, I am making sure that I will have a "daddy bag" crammed full of things I will need for both the labor process (snacks and drinks I may consume without her seeing me, because she won't be able to eat lest she vomit) and things to do afterwards (my PSP, a good book, maybe a car charger for my phone and anything else that will help me keep my sanity after my wife displays all kinds of crazy in that room).

I know I keep saying it, but I'm looking forward to meeting my baby girl.

A Lot Can Happen Since Tuesday

Disregard the improper grammar in today's title.

Not a lot of things have happened, actually. Just a few. For instance, yesterday was pretty big.

We had a doctor appointment in the morning in which they subjected my wife to the type of treatment only victims of alien abduction are somewhat accustomed to experiencing. The intern swabbed her parts and stuck fingers in odd places - I truly don't know where because, not only do I have a hard time watching human beings being tortured, I was trying to listen to the doctor explain exactly what was going on.

Hours later, I seriously asked myself, "What did she say?" I have no idea because I had one eye watching the doctor talk and one eye on the odd torture the intern was performing. I truly felt bad for my wife.

When it was over, though, we found out that she is one centimeter dilated.

Truthfully, this is something else foreign to me. Because in my mind, dilated is bad. Dilated means the baby is on its way. But the doctor put my mind at ease saying that it is all perfectly normal and she could be that way for some time.

I thought being dilated would be uncomfortable, but Jen didn't even know it was going on. So I guess everything's good. But if that baby falls out through a "one centimeter" hole, I'm going to have to have a serious talk with that intern.

Also on Thursday, we took our very last birthing class. There's not a lot I can say about this other than I'm glad it is over. Finally, last night, I actually had a chance to speak with the other dad's to be, and I think we all expressed our joy to be done with the whole ordeal.

One mother pointed out to Jennifer and I that our instructor (also named Jennifer) really loves the skeleton pelvis that she used for some of her illustrations. So, of course, I couldn't pass up the chance to mock the instructor by slinging the pelvis over my shoulder and wearing it as a hat.

A good time was had by all.

Today, something else happened that was pretty fascinating. One of Jennifer's coworkers paid for us to have a second 3D and 4D ultrasound. With it, we got pictures and a DVD.

I wasn't able to be there, since Jennifer had to go over her lunch hour, but I did get to see the DVD, with footage of our little Evelyn rubbing her nose and even smiling. I have to say, my daughter definitely looks like my wife - and thank God for that!

Jen thought I was being kind of hard on myself, but as I told her, I just never thought I would look good as a girl.

I know I have said this quite a bit recently, but the countdown is on.

Evelyn is due on April 6th and that is less than a month away. She may come earlier, she may come later - even though Jennifer is saying April 6th is her "Deadline" instead of due date.

So that means everything from here on out must feel rushed. At least, it feels like everything from here on out is being rushed. Either way, things are starting to get a little stressful.

For instance, we had a baby shower a few weeks ago at the church, and I still haven't addressed the envelopes and sent them out, even though Jen has had them done for the past week. I blame it on my bad penmanship, though. Do you want to open an envelope that looks like a third grader scribbled your home address on it?

I didn't think so.

I imagine the scene to be something like this:

Wife: "Honey, we got an envelope and I think it's from Jeff and Jen."

Husband: "Oh! Here it is. Wait, have they had the kid already?"

Wife: "I don't think so. Why?"

Husband: "Because I think the baby is the one who wrote our address on the envelope."

Wife: "Oh that's cute!"

It's a little bit embarrassing.

Overall, though, about everything else is done. Well, the other loose end to tie up is finding a day care, but I think we have it pretty well nailed down. Unless we decide to take her to a daycare ran out of someone's home.

To be honest, this thought bothers me and it doesn't at the same time. My friend Tim's mom ran a very good daycare out of her home and I would trust that woman with my children gladly. Unfortunately, she lives in Le Mars, Iowa and we are about 14 hours away from there. Don't see myself driving there and back before work.

The part that bothers me, though, is that I don't know who these people are or who they let into their house. We've had kids at my job whose parents worked in daycare, and I've read some of their case reports. I don't want my kids subjected to that type of thing, and I feel kind of rude asking if it would be okay if I run their name and the name of every person they know through our system.

Hopefully, we'll find a good day care and be satisfied with it.

But is anybody ever satisfied with letting someone else watch their baby?

A Tour of the Maternity Ward

Last night we participated in our third "Baby Birthing Class."

I should start out by stating, because I am not sure if I have made this crystal clear, I do not enjoy these classes. I am under the impression that I am not the only man in the room who feels this way. In fact, many of the husbands have the expression pasted upon their face that says, "I'm here because if I didn't suffer through these classes, I'll suffer because I didn't when she gets home."

You would think that this would cause many of us guys to become quick friends. I have found that a common hatred of one thing or person can mutate into a strong male bond. After all, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." This can become almost as strong as any friendship born out of the common love for one particular thing.

However, this had not been the case until last night. Many of the men in the room often look at each other as though we are all from separate planets. Not just me, either, though I could understand that when I show up in my Old Navy jeans and superhero hoodie, and they are in their khakis from whatever store and *Ralph Lauren polos; they may tend to think me different.

I don't blame them. Personally, I'd rather they didn't talk to me. I don't want to hear about their yachts and golf score anymore than they'd like to discuss theology or who would win in a footrace between The Flash and Superman - with the Flash being Wally West and not Barry Allen.

*sigh*

But last night as we walked the halls of the hospital, it seemed many of the other guys started becoming more social. Maybe they were starting to realize they weren't suffering alone. I don't know. Either way, we finally all started laughing about some things, and actually talking.

It may have helped that I didn't wear my hoodie...

Anyway, last night we got a tour of the maternity ward and got to see where Jennifer will be staying the two days after the birth. It was nice and cozy.

Unfortunately, while my wife and I are used to nights at the Holiday Inn (or something less) while travelling, it became apparent that our classmates were not as impressed with the room.

"Did you see the size of that t.v.?"

To be fair, the television wasn't much bigger than the 19" television I had in my dorm, but as my wife pointed out, "What do you expect? A 56" Sony Plasma?"

Whatever. It's a hospital, not the Hilton.

It looks pleasant and after meeting several of the staff and getting to peruse the surroundings my daughter will be born into, I feel very much excited.

We actually got to see a couple of boys who were recently born being cleaned up and having their diapers changed while we toured. It really made the whole thing just seem that much more.

In one month, I'll probably be standing there watching some stranger change Evelyn's diaper. Hey, can you blame me? She'll be doing it for free, I'll have to do it for the next year or so!

Overall, it was a good tour.


*I pronounce it RALPH LAURen. Not Ralph LauREN. Maybe I'm too cheap to pronounce it right...

Around 35 Weeks (Or something like that)

When people used to tell me that I wouldn't be ready for parenthood, despite what I would say I would often tell myself, "Who ever is ready?" and, in my arrogance, "Then I just won't have a kid until I am!"

But now we are in the home-stretch. We're on that last lap around the track and headed towards that joyous day when our baby will be born and even though I feel confident, small seeds of doubt tend to creep in upon my brain.

I want to be a good father. The fact that I will repeat some of my own parents' mistakes scares me. Sometimes with the dog I have often caught myself saying or doing something that annoyed me when my own parents would say or do it. Which leads me to confront the thought that maybe they didn't do too bad, or I need to change how I deliver the same message, so as not to do it the way they did it.

In a health class, in 7th grade, I remember reading about how during the pregnancy changes occur within the father as well. Sympathy pains and all that. However, I'm starting to notice more changes within me at the prospect of now having - not just my wife to provide for and care for - but a completely helpless little individual.

I will be feeding this baby girl, bathing her, dressing her (of course, all of this is when Jen isn't home as she has already told me she can't wait to dress her up; this prompted me to inform Jennifer that she is a baby, not a Barbie doll). Rocking this baby to sleep will be one of the highlights of my life. I know this.

And I will be cleaning up her poop.

That part, however, will be as easy as pie. After all, we've been cleaning up Jack's messes for the past 3 years.

How can this be any different?

Oh. Baby poop is like tar. Or so I am told.

Either way, parenthood is bound to be the adventure of my life and as the day draws nearer to my being a "dear old Dad," I find myself more anxious than nervous, more impatient than stressed, and more excited than frustrated.

I really am looking forward to this.