And Here Comes The Baby

So I can think of few things more deserving of a live-type blog than the birth of a child. So here goes. And it's going to be long.

3:21 - Jen wakes me up with a start. Through tears, in obvious pain, she tells me that she's in labor. Now I'm a morning person normally. And being told that my son's coming was more than enough to rouse me from sleep.

3:30 - After a couple more contractions, she's still hesitant to go to the hospital. I convince her to at least get ready, that way, by the time the contractions have hit an hour, we'll be on our way.

3:50 - About 5 contractions later we're all of a sudden unsure if we should go. I've already showered and packed and stored away a Frappucino for the trip. Then the mother of contractions hit her and we resume getting ready.

4:10 - She's showered and is putting on make-up, doing her hair. She has never looked more beautiful.

4:20 - We're in the car. I've skipped over all the stuff I've done in the past hour. Shower, clean-up the house a little, prepare my breakfast, check my email, watch some stupid show on PBS, make sure the overnight bag is packed, packed the computer, iPod, mouse, digital camera, cords and rubbed Jen's back with every contraction.

4:25 - It's funny, usually I get yelled at for my driving. For being too aggressive, for challenging too many yellow lights. In the middle of the worst pain yet, I run my first of two red lights. I top out on this semi-main road at 60. Still, I couldn't drive fast enough.

4:28 - I hit the highway and do 80 to the hospital.

4:33 - Pull up the "baby delivering spot" designated for those about to give birth. Every spot is full and there's no valet at 4:30 in the morning. I park illegally and off we go into the hospital.

4:37 - Fighting to maintain a minute more of empowerment, Jen shrugs herself out of wheelchair. I love her fight sometimes, it's very amusing. I'm proud of her. Of what she's doing. She couldn't be any more beautiful.

4:50 - 8:30 - We are admitted and all the normal procedures are done by doctors and nurses who do this sort of thing all the time. They talk over us, about the mundane things before them this day. We're a little preoccupied to notice and I think they know that. And I know what's coming. I hear the excitement in the voices of my parents, also now awakened by a 5 am phone call they've been waiting for. By my sister's screams of joy knowing she'll be arriving in Columbus today and so will her nephew. They know what's coming. But as I write this, a few minutes before 9, having been up for 6 hours, having seen my wife in pain, feeling the baby kick, hearing his heart beat, being told he's coming today, I realize I have no idea what's in store. Even as we pray together, in one of the few moments of solitude we've had this morning, the words come out as one would expect: "We praise you Lord. We give you thanks for this miracle before us." But there's something more there that brings me to tears, something larger than such simple and pedestrian praises I offer to the Creator of this life I'm about to be a part of. And I'm reduced to tears. To quite, shaking, fluttering tears. I know what's coming. But I have no idea.

9:34 - A spot of incredible news. Two weeks ago we found out that Jen was probably going to have to have a C-section because the baby hadn't dropped. It wasn't what we wanted to hear, what any expecting parents want to hear. We've prayed hard for two weeks, that the baby would drop and she could deliver him without the surgery. There are many reasons why we wanted it this way, the main reason was that we could be together as a family in the moments following his birth. Well, according the last check, we may have this baby before noon! And have it normally. He's dropped and she's ready to start pushing here shortly. The doctor and nurse we're shocked. We're ecstatic! I don't quite have words. But I'll be a dad shortly, and then I'll probably talk too much.

10:45 - Decide to shut my phone off because people keep calling. It's understandable...but I've got to help the Mrs. focus. And we're getting close.

11:10 - The nurse comes in and tells Jen to get ready. He's coming!

11:15 - She starts pushing.

11:27: I can see the top of the head. He's got hair on his head. It's so absolutely incredible.

11:40: They call the doctor over and his heads all about out. It's really pointy.

11:50: Out he comes. In one magnificent push, Jen gets his head out. Had to be one of the most surreal moments imaginable. When the baby's head comes out...my gosh...it is amazing.

11:51: One push later, he's out. Surreal. I was there. I saw it. Amazing. Out came another life. Out came my son. From this little point and me thinking he was going to be quite small to an entire baby in the hands of the doctor. What an overflowing moment.

11:52-12:00 - We hold the baby. First Jen. Then me as we get weight and measurements. He is so very small. So very tiny. So very full of life. Almost lidless black-blue eyes. They blink every so often. A mouth getting used to breathing and crying all at once. Skin cool to the touch. Soft. Plush. I'm not sure what he must have thought. I'm 27 and I have no thoughts on those intimate, immediate moments where I held my son for the first time. His eyes. His tousled hair. And movable fingers and toes. His mouth agape. Seems quite a paradox that something so small could contain a moment so large.

12:20 - Calls are made. Everyone's happy. I'm beyond happy. Jen's beyond happy.

12:25 - A quiet prayer. The first Guest family prayer. Me. My wife. My son. My Savior. Thank you Lord for Isaac James. 7 lbs. 11 oz. 20 inches.