So this particular post has been a long time coming.
The arrival of Mr. Batman himself has changed my concept of time, to say the least. Now, in honor of his two week birthday, I shall retell the story of his arrival.
I've debated on how this story should be told, given the fact that it was a very life-changing experience and I am sure that BD will agree. So, don't let my snarkiness fool you. There aren't enough words to explain the whole parenthood process and I can't even begin to do it justice. Similarly, I cannot imagine this story without BD. He kept me sane and whole and without him, I wouldn't even conceive of trying this again. Beyond the obvious logistics of that statement, he made for a very good support partner.
Instead, I will attempt to tell Batman's story through wit and sarcasm.
The Sunday before he was born, Batman's Gamma and I decided we would walk the baby out. Looking back on this day, I figure that I was nesting. Nesting, for me, included walking around the mall several times, shopping at Meijer, baking two loaves of banana blueberry bread, cooking dinner, and painting our new front door*. After some very productive piddling, BD and I finally retired to bed around 11 PM. At 1:30 AM, I woke up with contractions. BD started timing said contractions around 2:30 AM.
I should take this opportunity to tell you that the ONE consistent conflict BD and I throughout my pregnancy was how long labor would last. BD shared with me confidently, more than once, that he thought it would last about three hours. Being the well-studied student that I am, I was anticipating twelve to fifteen hours. Little did we know.
My contractions continued throughout Monday morning. BD and I did not go to work. We both were thinking that we would have a baby by the end of the day. After all, BD had predicted that Batman's birthday would be 8.9.10. The contractions never seemed closer together than every six minutes. We attempted to nap while listening to relaxing music. I began taking showers [by the end of this story, I will have taken about 25 showers/baths/shower-bath combos/leaps through the lawn sprinkler, what have you.] Long about 3 PM, I began to have my doubts that I was actually having a baby. Surely it wouldn't take this long. Surely it won't get more painful.
Wrong, wrong, wrong! Without boring you with monotonous details [contraction, breathe, count, rest, contraction, breathe, count, rest, walk around the neighborhood etc.] we decided to leave for the hospital around 1:30 AM on Tuesday morning. This is where the story gets interesting. After shower #14, I told BD that we are going to the hospital. Period. And when I get there, I was getting drugs. Period. [nevermind that we've spent nine months hoping/studying/practicing for an unmedicated birth]. As soon as I got out of the shower, I was ready to go. At this point, I had already begun to lose the modesty I thought would never leave and it took some convincing for me to get decently dress for a quasi-public appearance. Anyway, I patiently wait for BD to get his things together for us to leave. I had packed for the hospital about four weeks earlier and had packed some things for BD in this bag. So you can imagine my shock when BD is scurrying about throwing every bag we own on the coach in preparation for departure. Laptop bag? check. Gym bag? check. Extra pillows? don't mind if we do. This wasn't going as planned. Snacks?!? already packed. Let's get a move on.
We make it to the hospital in one piece and are faced with having to transport our five bags from point A to point B. Let me break away from this train of thought to tell you that the arrival to the hospital in labor is not like the movies show you. We had to be buzzed into the lobby, walk down a flight of stairs, locate a separate elevator [with a painted stork on it] up four floors, in order to arrive at the front desk of the labor and delivery area. With our five bags. And my body pillow. And I am refusing to hold anything at this point because I am pretty sure my body is exploding from the inside out.
We make it to triage, which they also don't tell you in the movies. We were not rushed through double doors on a stretcher to a delivery room. We had to stop by a triage room, I suppose, in order to qualify for the next level. Luckily we pass. Cue the transport of the 25 bags, 13 pillows, etc. to yet another area of the hospital. All by BD.
Once we arrive in our labor and delivery room, BD spreads all of our belongings out on one couch. At this point, due to the fading modesty, I am having a hard time grasping why we need all of the things that he's been lugging around. I do not need clothes. I do not need snacks. I do not need pillows. I need a nap. And preferably a baby. However, I do not choose to bring this up with him. Instead, I hop in shower #23 and hang out for what seems like an eternity.
I should tell you that I did request drugs on numerous occasions. Up until 10 centimeters and pushing, I wanted an epidural. I wanted an epidural because I wanted a nap. Sure, the pain was bad, but the pain in addition to not sleeping for over 24 hours was inconceivable. After all, we were well past my predicted labor duration. No such luck. It wasn't that the medical professionals were unsupportive. They were trying to give me what my naive-inexperienced-self had asked for. [note to self: maybe a "birth plan" wasn't such a good idea. So much for planning.]
As a result of my many showers, BD's clothes got wet and he had to change into scrubs. At least this is what he told me. By the time I was ready to push, I really couldn't concentrate on much, so imagine my shock when I look over to my labor partner to find him decked out in blue scrubs and snapping on rubber gloves. Literally. He made the snapping sound. Proudly. Unfortunately for BD, he was gloved and scrubbed for about two hours before Batman made his arrival. So here I am pushing and making noises that I could not recreate if you paid me, all the while my loving husband is standing off to the side, as though in a completely sterile environment, prepared to catch his son.
FINALLY, we make it. The moment is here and Batman arrives. The next two hours f-l-y by as we are transferred, yet again, to our official room. Now, in addition to all of our bags, we have a baby, so I am extremely unhelpful when it comes to transporting all of our belongings.
After arriving in our room and settling in, I look over to my husband. Still dressed in his scrubs.** He unfolds the chair-for-dads into a bed, grabs some pillows and sheets, and appears to be settling in for a little nap. Before passing out, he looks at me and says, "I don't think I'm ever going to get those 31 hours back. ever." And with that, he sleeps for about two hours, while I view his sleeping self from my hospital bed while holding our newly born child. The sage advice of "sleep-when-the-baby-sleeps" is not lost on BD, not even from the moment that Batman entered this world.
In fact, now two weeks later, BD will wake up after a restful night's sleep, look over at me [the fact that I may or may not be asleep does not matter] and wishfully say, "did he sleep through the night?!?"
No babe. You slept through the night. We, in fact, did not. And, not that I'm keeping tabs or anything, but I'm pretty sure you're close to retrieving those 31 hours. And then some.
* The story of the front door is still too fresh to be blogged about. Once we are secure that the door will not trump marriage, I will share it with you.
** It may come as a shock, but I first use my "mom voice" on BD as I sternly tell him that he has to take off his scrubs. As comfortable as they seem, they have served their purpose, surely are no longer sterile, and need to be discarded. I am not altogether sure that he did not cram them into one of our bags as a momento of the-time-he-didn't-sleep-for-31-hours-and-oh-yeah-had-a-son.
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