It's a .... Little Critter Vallancourt
Apparently Verbal Jazz is too chipper at 4:15 in the morning, according to the obstetrician who returned my call. She sounded as though she had been asleep, whereas I had been awake since 3:30 am timing the Missus Jazz’s contractions and figuring that I would not be sleeping any more that day. Two-and-a-half hours of sleep would do for me, and based on what I had heard of child rearing, two-and-a-half is a luxury.
The Missus Jazz had been having contractions since 11 pm the previous night. She told me to go to bed at 1 am so I could get some sleep. A similar scenario had played out the night of the Oscars. We were up until 2 am, timing sporadic contractions that began because the baby was bored with the Oscar speeches and wondered why Al Gore did not show the same personality seven years ago.
But this was different – it was 9 days later and 6 days past the Critter’s due date. In this age of modern medicine and 24-7 information, we decided not to find out the sex of our baby until the day it was born, hence the name “Critter.” It was looking more and more like March 6 would be the day we found out, as the Missus would pause with each contraction.
It was 11 deegrees Fahrenheit when we left for the hospital. We arrived in the darkness of 5 am, when early birds are starting to wake up and night owls are going to bed. Labor progressed into the next shift which started at 7 am. My Mother-in-law and I ate breakfast, and the Missus Jazz continued to experience the pain of a Critter that was ready for its new adventure.
The Missus Jazz was attended to by a regular nurse, the obstetrician, and a nursing student who wanted to be part of another childbirth. The nursing student was game until the anesthesiologist had to try three times with the epidural catheter. She turned white and bolted out of the room. I spoke with her later. She was embarrassed, as she had witnessed one live birth prior to ours. She surmised that her lack of food and standing around had caught up with her. For the epidural procedure, I was told to sit down in case something like that should happen to me. The epidural procedure is the one point in the whole process in which the birthing coach is not involved.
My mother-in-law was not allowed stay through the epidural process. Forty five minutes later she came with the news that Scooter Libby had been found guilty. If only Cheney could be indicted, I mused. Meanwhile, the Missus had gone from excruciating pain to feeling slight pressure when she had a contraction.
The obstetrician asked what sex we each thought the baby was. In every dream I had, the baby was a boy. The one I remember most vividly involved me not telling my mother about the baby until the day after it was born. She would have been horrified had we waited that long. Not putting much stock in dreams as predictors of the future, I said that it was a girl. We had a girl name picked out for months, but boy
names were becoming increasingly difficult. The Missus got to the point where she wanted to find out just to see if we had to worry about a boy name at all.
The doctor settled on “she” for the baby during the labor. The doctor said that she does not like to call babies, "it", and that whatever she settles on is usually wrong. The Missus was convinced that the baby was a boy because we had such a hard time coming up with boy names.
“I can see her head,” the doctor said, coaching the Missus through the pushing process. The doctor took some time to style the baby’s hair into a Mohawk. A “sick, sick profession” the doctor had called her line of work, as an attempt to tell the Missus it was okay to vomit during the delivery process.
The doctor also declared that the baby “has more hair than your husband.”
“How would you know,” I asked, “you’re way down there.” Verbal Jazz is not above the occasional retaliatory short joke while his wife is pushing out a baby.
“Whenever you come into the office you’re sitting down,” the doctor replied.
My mother-in-law and I held the Missus’ legs during the delivery and watched the head crown and the baby pop out. 3:30 pm came and the Missus was still pushing…12 hours after waking me up. “Here she comes,” the doctor said. Our little girl was coming. At 3:41 pm the baby finally slipped out, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of our little girl’s…penis.
“We have a boy!” I said with surprise, and all 9lbs. 11.5 oz and 22.5 inches of Samuel Lee Vallancourt started crying. |
The Missus Jazz had been having contractions since 11 pm the previous night. She told me to go to bed at 1 am so I could get some sleep. A similar scenario had played out the night of the Oscars. We were up until 2 am, timing sporadic contractions that began because the baby was bored with the Oscar speeches and wondered why Al Gore did not show the same personality seven years ago.
But this was different – it was 9 days later and 6 days past the Critter’s due date. In this age of modern medicine and 24-7 information, we decided not to find out the sex of our baby until the day it was born, hence the name “Critter.” It was looking more and more like March 6 would be the day we found out, as the Missus would pause with each contraction.
It was 11 deegrees Fahrenheit when we left for the hospital. We arrived in the darkness of 5 am, when early birds are starting to wake up and night owls are going to bed. Labor progressed into the next shift which started at 7 am. My Mother-in-law and I ate breakfast, and the Missus Jazz continued to experience the pain of a Critter that was ready for its new adventure.
The Missus Jazz was attended to by a regular nurse, the obstetrician, and a nursing student who wanted to be part of another childbirth. The nursing student was game until the anesthesiologist had to try three times with the epidural catheter. She turned white and bolted out of the room. I spoke with her later. She was embarrassed, as she had witnessed one live birth prior to ours. She surmised that her lack of food and standing around had caught up with her. For the epidural procedure, I was told to sit down in case something like that should happen to me. The epidural procedure is the one point in the whole process in which the birthing coach is not involved.
My mother-in-law was not allowed stay through the epidural process. Forty five minutes later she came with the news that Scooter Libby had been found guilty. If only Cheney could be indicted, I mused. Meanwhile, the Missus had gone from excruciating pain to feeling slight pressure when she had a contraction.
The obstetrician asked what sex we each thought the baby was. In every dream I had, the baby was a boy. The one I remember most vividly involved me not telling my mother about the baby until the day after it was born. She would have been horrified had we waited that long. Not putting much stock in dreams as predictors of the future, I said that it was a girl. We had a girl name picked out for months, but boy
names were becoming increasingly difficult. The Missus got to the point where she wanted to find out just to see if we had to worry about a boy name at all.
The doctor settled on “she” for the baby during the labor. The doctor said that she does not like to call babies, "it", and that whatever she settles on is usually wrong. The Missus was convinced that the baby was a boy because we had such a hard time coming up with boy names.
“I can see her head,” the doctor said, coaching the Missus through the pushing process. The doctor took some time to style the baby’s hair into a Mohawk. A “sick, sick profession” the doctor had called her line of work, as an attempt to tell the Missus it was okay to vomit during the delivery process.
The doctor also declared that the baby “has more hair than your husband.”
“How would you know,” I asked, “you’re way down there.” Verbal Jazz is not above the occasional retaliatory short joke while his wife is pushing out a baby.
“Whenever you come into the office you’re sitting down,” the doctor replied.
My mother-in-law and I held the Missus’ legs during the delivery and watched the head crown and the baby pop out. 3:30 pm came and the Missus was still pushing…12 hours after waking me up. “Here she comes,” the doctor said. Our little girl was coming. At 3:41 pm the baby finally slipped out, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of our little girl’s…penis.
“We have a boy!” I said with surprise, and all 9lbs. 11.5 oz and 22.5 inches of Samuel Lee Vallancourt started crying. |
