I couldn’t hold still. As I examined the door, paced, and critiqued the ceiling, I could hear the muffled sounds of activity in the room beyond. My mind wandered. It was as if I were traveling back in time about 34 years to a similar setting. In my mind’s eye, I was amazed that Michelle was just where Barbara had been, with sweat beaded on her forehead, pushing to the doctor’s command. Although the epidural block had diminished the pain, the pressure and urge to push was still powerful. Near the bed where I had been, Josh was coaching Michelle, holding her hand, telling her she was doing great. He looked much more calm and collected than I remember being.
As the baby’s head started to squeeze through the birth canal, like dough through a cookie press, the doctor placed a small electronic probe on the baby’s head to track the heart tones and monitor the stress. All sorts of strange terms were flying around–one hundred percent effaced, fully dilated, IV, and here he comes. (I recognized that last one.) It was as if it were in slow motion. First the top of the head appeared, then a bit more, then a shoulder, then his torso and all of a sudden the whole baby was squirming and wiggling. The doctor held him up as the nurse used a suction bulb to remove fluid and mucus from his nose and mouth. With a plastic clamp the umbilical chord was isolated and then cut and the baby started to cry. It was amazing! Moments earlier he was a big bulge making his mother’s belly as tight as a drum and now he was in the light, on his own, breathing, crying, trying to figure out what had happened. Cleaned off and wrapped in a little receiving blanket, he was placed in his mother’s arms. Neither she nor his dad quite knew what to do.
“Is it okay if I hold him?” Josh queried. (I think that is the universal “Dad question.”)
“Oh, oh, look at him.” Michelle observed. (And that is the universal Mom comment.)
Welcome to the world, Benjamin Reid Cook!
With all the excitement I was imagining on the other side of the door, I continued my pacing. Although Mary Lee had a magazine in her hands I really think she was only pretending to read, because she would eagerly look up every time there was sound. Now people were entering and leaving–nurses and doctor. I caught a glance inside just enough to see the curtain but everything else was blocked.
At last we were invited to enter the delivery room (which was also the recovery room). It was nicely appointed with the medical equipment and monitors to give it the comfortable “right at home” feeling. Michelle and Benjamin were together on the bed and Josh was all smiles beside them. As Michelle and Josh introduced us to Benjamin they observed, “Look at that dark hair on his little cone head.”
I responded, “Yeah, he really is cute and . . .”
“Cone head?” I interrupted myself. What is that all about? Then I remembered that the doctor took Nathan’s head and shaped it in his hands like a snowball. I remembered wondering, “What are you doing with my baby?” His head looked like an earthquake had hit–it had ripples and bumps all over the place.
Little Benjamin had no such bumps and lumps but his little head was definitely elongated--not quite a cone, but close. All that time in the birth canal had extruded his little head out like a cylinder. I didn’t dare say anything, I just looked on in amazement. While I was wondering about what would happen to Ben’s head, Josh mentioned that the doctor has said that the “cone” would go away after a while.
I looked again at Ben. He was so ‘stinkin’ cute (to borrow a phrase from Megan), it was all I could do to wait my turn to hold him. His little hands were curled tightly in a fist and his fingers looked like those of a piano player who could also shoot three pointers–a perfect blend of his Mom and Dad. Although he did not seem to cry much, when he did I thought I heard the mellow tones of a singer mixed up in there somewhere.
Here he is only a few moments old and I am already projecting into his future. “Settle down Bruce,” I said to myself, “There will be plenty of time for that later. Just let him get his feet under himself. Who knows maybe even . . . racketball!”
Mary Lee: I just want to add a couple of lines to Dad's wonderful post. Here's what I wrote in my phone as we waited to meet our newest grandson:
"Ben was born at 1:43. We arrived, pizza, bread sticks, and Jamba Juice in hand, at exactly 1:48 pm. It's about 2:20, and we're still waiting in the hallway to meet Ben. We can hear that he has a good, strong cry. Dad says he's just upset that we're not there yet. The nurse said Michelle had to push a lot and that she did well. 'She's tough,' she said.
We're excited to meet you, Ben!"
