At 1:21 PM on August 11th, I became a father to a 21 and 1/4 inch, 7 pounds 8 ounces baby girl.
I’m shocked by my ability to articulate anything at all, let alone the events that have happened since I got home from the record store at 11:30 on Friday night. I found Denise pacing in the bedroom, on the phone with her mother. She wasn’t sure if she was having contractions or not. A tip for first-time mothers: Ask your doctor what contractions feel like. Women you know who are mothers are just going to tell you horror stories about labor. One call to the doctor confirmed contractions and after first being advised to get some sleep, a couple hours later, we were on the way to the hospital. 12 hours later, I’d be holding her.
Delilah is strong and aside from an upset stomach and some gas, she’s a model healthy baby. She’s aware of everything around her, has a strong grip and unlike the baby across the hall that howls all day and night, she is quiet. Not so quiet that we’re worried, of course. She coos and makes all sorts of little noises. Denise was convinced she could push this baby out naturally, but a mind altering trip to a world of agony convinced her otherwise. On the precipice of shock, she called for the epidural and it was easy street from there. There’s no shame in taking cover under the umbrella of anesthetics, though. Denise held out for a real long time, longer than most women would. She came out of this in perfect condition and is bouncing back at an alarming rate.
I’m still wound up and over the last 48 hours I’ve probably had 10 hours of sleep. I’m going to come down hard, eventually, but not as long as I have that shitty cot to sleep on in the hospital room.