Here is how it all went down.
A few weeks ago my 39 weeks pregnant wife wakes up with lower back pain. Her due date wasn’t for another week, so we thought nothing of it. After all, an additional 30lbs on anyone, let alone a pregnant woman might give you back pain.
The work day was surprisingly quiet, thank gawd. The night before I had 2 papers, and a presentation due at school and I was toast. Fo’ realz.
Around 4pm she IMs me and tells me that she thinks the lower back pain actually might be contractions, and maybe I should get my butt home to help her ride out the pain.
So I rush home, heart pounding, thinking that the baby is going to be delivered on the floor of my living room. Before I walk in the door, I get some fat stack (Sorry, I’ve been watching Breaking Bad – that means cash) and move our new Nissan Rogue closer to the house. I traded up for my Mini Cooper a week prior. (Nice timing, huh?)
I walk in the door to find my wife is pacing back and forth until a contraction came, which meant that she was doubled over in pain holding onto our crappy Ikea kitchen table. From this point on I was bouncing off the walls triple checking our “bring to hospital list”. She was the one in labor but she was telling ME to relax.
Me: Do you have your iPhone charger?
Me: Do you have your Kindle?
Me: Do you have your Kindle charger?
Me: Where is my iPhone charger?
Her: I don’t know.
Me: Where the fuck is my phone?
Her: It’s in your pocket.
Me: No it’s not.
Her: Yes it is.
Me: Oh right, it is. Do you have extra socks? Where are the snacks? Should we call the Dr? Should I call my parents? What about your parents? Its rush hour on Friday. We’re fucked. What’s the hospital address? Is the EZpass in the car? Do I need my checkbook? I’m hungry. Are you hungry? What’s in the fridge? Should we order something? Should I go get it?
Her: CALMMMMMMMMM DOWWWWWWWWWWNNNNNNNN!
Ok, ok. You get the point. After I sat on a bowl of ice (meaning “chilled out”, get it), we dealt with her contractions until 2:30am. It wasn’t fun. She was in pain, we were both exhausted, and it was only going to get worse. We finally called the Dr. to let her know what was happening and of course, we were forwarded to an answering service. Wouldn’t you know, when the Dr. called back I missed the call – probably because I was keeping track of the contractions with an amazing iPhone app. When we called back, and then she called back (again), she was annoyed that we missed the call. I wanted smack her in the scrubs for being so condescending. Excuse me for being an almost new parent who has no idea what to do.
She told us to come in to the hospital, so I lugged our two overnight bags, bags of snacks, car seat, and everything else we thought we might need into the car and off we went. When we got to triage, wifey face wasn’t even close as far as dilation was concerned. On top of that, the Dr. was just as mean in person as she was on the phone. I looked at my lady and I was like, “Oh no she di….int.” She responded with, “Oh no… I HAAAATE her.” We still had hours to go, but the contractions were getting worse. They almost sent us home which was NOT happening. They had us walk around the hospital letting gravity do its thing for 5 hours. At 3:00am, when your wife is screaming in pain every 5 minutes and you have to walk around for hours in a circle, you tend to get a bit tense.
After that misery, they re-checked her shiz, and woohoo! She was 5 cm, which meant, DRUGS!!!!!!!!!!! Luckily Dr. had taken a nap before returning to our room and was in a much better mood so I didn’t have to kill her. She had even called the anesthesiologist (or as wifey calls him – her new best friend) and he was waiting outside the door. She had made it through… Rain rain, pain go away. Granted we still had hours to go, but at least Mrs. Kess wasn’t suffering anymore.
I made a few calls and sent some texts to semi important people to give them the news about what was happening. After some insane screaming, a bunch of cursing, and some powerful visuals (go watch a birth video!), my son Logan Reid was born. Boom! I’m a father.
Best feeling in the world. Go do it. It’s amazing. Now I’m up to my ears foul liquid coming from all sorts of places on my son’s body. But I don’t care at all. He is the best. And I love him with all I got.