My Son's Birth

My son was born one week into the new year, exactly two weeks after Christmas.

He was born right on his due date, which I'd not expected. The apartment complex the ex and I were living at had three pregnant women in our building. The woman downstairs had had three "false alarms", and I'd fully expected that we'd be going through the same scenario.

However, he decided to make a punctual arrival. The morning before his due date, his mother started into labor. I remember being woken up by the sound of her moaning in the bathroom. When I got up to see what was the matter, I found her in the tub. She said she thought she might be in labor but wasn't sure.

I went to call the doctor and when I described what was going on, they said to monitor it for a few hours and to call back if the pains intensified in duration and frequency. We called again around one, and they told us to come on to the hospital at that time. She'd already had a bag packed and waiting, so we jumped into the car and took off.

Into gridlock.

There was road construction along the route to the hospital and we got mired into a traffic jam, the cause of which I never found out. She was panicking with each pain, bouncing up and down in the seat each time one hit. I was nearly frantic, looking for somewhere to pull off to find an alternate route. A police car came zipping up the median, and I tried to get his attention, to no avail.

If we'd known then how long the labor was going to be, we'd not have been so agitated, but at that point, we thought the baby would be coming any second.

Finally, we got to the hospital, where a nurse in the labor and delivery area told her to walk the halls for awhile. We did so, even though she had to grab the wall from time to time as a pain hit. We eventually ended up in the waiting room, where she threw up into a trash can.

That was it. Enough walking. I took her back to the nurses' station, where they finally admitted her to a labor room. Once she was in bed, I sat with her after she'd been hooked up to several different types of monitors. I talked to her, trying to distract her during the pains, which she could see coming on one of the monitors, as the readings would spike every time one came along. She was in a good bit of pain, moaning and shaking the bed with each new wave.

The nurses didn't have a very good bedside manner. One told her to shut up, because "labor didn't hurt" if you breathed properly. I asked the nurse how many children she had. After she told me none, I told HER to shut the fuck up.

I'd called my Dad after we'd gotten her admitted, and he turned up late that afternoon. I left to get him and I some supper as soon as he arrived and let him sit with her for awhile. After I returned, he and I ate, and all three of us sat there for a good part of the evening. Once it became clear that the baby would not likely be born that evening, my father left, promising to come back in the morning.

It was a long night, to say the least. Finally, after more than 18 hours of hard labor, the doctor decided to do a C-section. They got her prepped, then rolled her into the delivery room.

I returned to the father's waiting room, where they had an intercom. About a half hour later, I heard her voice on the intercom telling me that it was a boy, 22 inches long and nine pounds. I went around to where the nurse had him bundled up for me to see. I was amazed at his full head of dark hair and as I looked at him, I knew I couldn't deny that one.

She slept most of that day, so I went home to crash, as I was worn out. Mother and baby stayed in the hospital for five days, as was then standard for a caesarian birth.

My father wanted to do the honors of driving his grandson home in his big Caddy, so he picked me up that morning with the new car seat I'd bought. Once we got to the room, my father took over, scooping the baby up and carrying him down the elevator as she and I followed behind.

Little did I know, that less than a year later, I'd be raising this baby alone.