8 Pounds and 4 Ounces of "Now What?"

[ericrapp]

You may have heard that childbirth is a miracle. I am here to tell you that is not. Just about any two fools you'd care to name can produce a child, and I have proof that this is so: A father I met whose son was born minutes before mine told me that his son would be named "Jedi." ("Because he gonna be a warriorMoreover, childbirth is in many

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[mule]

The birth of my son also lead me to feel that the process is not precious, wonderful, or what-have-you. I felt very vestigial being the dad. The whole experience was just bizarre:

The morning was cold and it all started happening way too early in the morning for me. The lack of cars, the cold weather, and snow falling made me feel very alone. No joy. No anxiety. Just a sense of purpose that I had to get my wife to the hospital.

When he was born, he looked a lot like Gollum. His head was somewhat distorted from his trip out, but I don't remember it being cone shaped. He didn't cry, only stared. I don't know why this was both precious and disconcerting to me. He only started to cry as he got cold and hungry.

I was also taken aback at the size of his genitalia. His penis and testicles were disproportionately large. There was no mistaking his gender from across the room.

The cord episode:

Doc: "Dad, would you like to cut the cord."
Dad: "No, that's your job."
Doc: (smiles) "You aren't squeamish are you?"
Dad: "No, I just don't want to do it."

I never understood why this wasn't honored as part of the birthing plan. I just honestly never wanted to do it. Nor have I ever bought into the whole "symbolism" thing. I've killed animals, cut up and prepared flesh for food, sliced frozen, radioactive mouse tumors for research... You handle it.

Meanwhile, my wife was also having problems with some bleeding that only was reasonably solved after an additional 45 minutes (this on top of the 22 hours of labor she had already gone through). This was probably the part of the process that scared me the most. I think this is the part that most people have already forgotten that I never will.

After things calmed down, I surveyed the aftermath. The placenta looked cooler than I thought it would (for whatever reason, it reminded me of mackerel), the umbilical cord looked alien, and I was surprised at how much of the what came out looked gray and black in contrast to Mom's bright red blood.

Having gone through it once now and having recalled how I've seen births on television, you realize how false the fictionalized version looks. For anyone that's never gone through it, I'd have to explain it like looking at a bad Sci-Fi movie that doesn't look really realistic, glossing over the details for plot convenience and hurrying to move on...

I'm still somewhat confused as how people reduce the process down into simple questions and statements without really asking much of anything. I guess maybe that's part of the point: they just want to know if Mom and Baby came through it just fine. Maybe not exactly how we expected, nor how you expected, nor how they expected, but in all reality, just fine.

I hope both your wife, your son, and you will continue to do well.

[ericrapp]

I was also quite surprised at the size of my son's, uh, for lack of a better word, package, although I didn't notice them until he was being cleaned up. I was standing by my wife's side, so I was able to avoid having to really observe what was going on.

I also hadn't had any plans to cut the cord, but not having slept more than an hour in about 25 or 26 hours before his birth, I was easily bullied into it. It wasn't particularly special. Especially since it had already been cut once before, to actually separate him from his mother. I was only doing a trim job.

All that said, as completely strange and disconnecting as the birth process was, I am already madly in love with my son.

[byrneout]

I think this is the part that most people have already forgotten that I never will.

People don't get the dad's story often enough, I think -- which is silly, since between the drugs and the adrenaline and the exhaustion, I was the one least able to tell you what the hell had happened even a few hours after the baby was born. Eric had to experience it all, and they didn't even offer him a St. Joeseph's, let alone an epidural.

[ericrapp]

As bizarre as it may seem to be responding (again) to what you've said... well, it is bizarre. But somebody mentioned putting a few of my more memorable entries on LiveJournal into the "memories" and I don't think there's anything more memorable than this.

Anyway, with time to look back on it, I will say that you said one thing very very well: The sense of purpose. That this was not just the most important thing that I could be doing, it was the ONLY thing that I could be doing at that moment. Sure, there could be a world to save. If only I would take my pack of gum to McGyver, he could patch up the nuclear reactor, but sorry McGyver, I have this one singular arrow-like purpose, and that is for my wife to deliver my child safely. The world blowing up is in the "so be it" category: I have to get my wife to where she needs to be so that she and my child can be alive. This is my one and only purpose.

It still gives me a huge lump in my throat. And despite my cavalier attitude in the original post, I don't think I was fooling anybody: From the moment I first saw my son, I was and am completely his. I only hope to fool him that it is the other way around for enough years to keep him out of trouble.