12 months

Tomorrow, Saturday, marks a full year since our second son's birth.  I remember thinking, before it all happened, how it could possibly come close to producing the same visceral emotions and sense of wonder I experienced at the birth of our first boy.  Then, I stood at the foot of the portable scale while a nurse swabbed the newborn boy clean, recorded his birth weight, and measured his length.  Tears ran unchecked down my face and a second nurse gave me a small smile and briefly clasped my shoulder.

I didn't have to worry, in the end.  The emotions with Tavish were different, more frenetic, but certainly no less memorable.  The calm, familiar, controlled, safe environment of the hospital was replaced with the charged and terrifying prospect of an unexpected home delivery just half an hour after being discharged from the hospital.  (You're in early labour.  Go home.  Have a hot shower.  Maybe come back tonight.)

Instead of being a spectator whose only job was to hold my wife's hand and look on in amazement, I had to DO SOMETHING when she was bent over our bed, unable to move after her water broke, her mind focused only on one thing, mine frantically trying to think of anything.  Maybe I should call 9-1-1?  Genius!

What stunned me after the fact was how quickly everything happened.  The paramedics arrived less than five minutes before Tavish was born, and they whisked the new son and mom out the door to the hospital not much more than five minutes after.  During that time, my strongest memories, now, are of sprinting up and down the stairs ferrying heated towels from the laundry room to the bedroom.  The last trip I made was punctuated by the squall of a new babe and I wondered what the sex was, sorry to have missed the moment; I ran into the bedroom to be confronted by a scalpel-wielding paramedic.  "Wanna cut the cord?" 

It was a boy.

I realised it the first time at the hospital, but it really struck home the second time: birthing is messy business.  We lost an expensive (new) mattress, sheet set, and numerous towels.  I spent the next hour alone in the preternatural quiet of the house, first making the requisite phone calls, and then cleaning up as much as I could.  I didn't stop shaking the entire time. I had to wonder if my mother-in-law understood much of what I was saying.  We were both a little frustrated -- me at home, five minutes away from the hospital, and her at home, five hours away.

I was still very jittery on the drive to the hospital to meet the new addition.  I had to remind myself to slow down.  Parking was an inconvenience.  The walk through the corridors to the maternity ward interminable.  Crossing the threshold of my wife's room and espying my new son a joy.

I should never have feared that the second birth would be any less memorable than the first.  I can hardly believe it's been a year already.

Comments

[Mark]

Great introspective recap, but I'm glad you provided a link for relative newcomers to enjoy the adventure in its original format.

It's good to know that a man's reaction can be just as emotional the second time around. We don't enjoy the same connectedness as the mother does prior to the birth, so we're never sure how we'll feel.

Then it hits us, and soon fatherhood feels as natural as breathing.

[Moksha Gren]

Moonshot and I often talk about the future Baby #2 and look forward to someday being able to go through the experience again with some foreknowledge of what it will be like. The first time was amazing, but so surreal that I can only remember it as a hazy blur from which crystaline images sparkle. Maybe with Baby #2, I think, I'll be able to calmly appriciate the moment.

But probably not. And certainly not in your case.

Last night Moonshot, Norah and I treked down to the hospital three blocks from our house to meet the newborn daughter of some close friends of ours. It was odd to be there, to see the same haggard but excited look on Dan's face that I know I wore only seven short months ago. It was bizzar to hold that tiny bundle that weighed so little I was afriad she would float away and to remember that Norah herself was nearly that small so recently.

I may have to go back and recalulate my "perception of time" chart to factor in children...little time warps in diapers, I say.

[Lori]

You are an amazing writer. You salmost made me feel as though I was there . Good job. and you seem like an awesome man and Dad. Oh just so you know I got yourlinc through JuJu. I read your comments all the time. They're great. I'll be back.

[Simon]

Mark, the emotion was all there the second time around, to be sure. I knew what was coming (other than the location, that is) so I had more a sense of anticipation than the first time, so it was all of a different flavour, but no less sweet for all of that.

Moksha, I've done that same thing - holding a newborn and reeling back, wondering how my own kid was ever so small and seemingly frail. Very true about the perception of time. I don't know where the last nearly three years have gone, they've been so fast, but they've also been so full that I can't recollect much of the time before. I think you'll need quantum mechanics to adjust your graphs accurately! (Or just get Norah to scrawl something on a piece of paper and then try to rationalise it. That'd be more fun.)

Lori, thanks very much. I try to be a good husband and dad, with varying degrees of success at times. It's all fun.

[Paula]

Happy birthday, Tavish!

[Paul]

I was going to say, "happy birthday, Tavish," but Paula beat me to it. So I'll just say, "happy birthday, Tavish," instead.

[Linda]

Like you, Dad, I can hardly believe it's been an entire year. It seems like a few months ago that I was tearing up here to the computer, hourly, awaiting updates on the arrival. I was like a proud and nervous aunt. It was one of those days/nights that I regretted how often I'd declared my utter hatred for computers.
Have I ever told you how much I appreciate and love you for opening up your life and letting us intrude day after day after day? I'm real sure I'm not alone in this.
Please give that gorgeous boy (the smaller of the two) a great big birthday hug from me. Oh, give Declan one too. And have fun! I don't have to remind you to take pictures or video.

[Émilie B.]

That Tavish's birth post a year ago was great, and I think everyone who read it must remember most of the story, down to some funny details.

I am too looking forward to the differences between a first and second birth when it happens (hopefully a short and easy labour... heh), but I think, in a way, the fathers have the chance to live their emotions a little better at the actual birth - we're too busy with labour and then sheer exhaustion. I was happy when Xavier came out, but I have to admit a good part of that was just being happy that he WAS out.

We do feel a connection prior to birth, Mark, but oddly, it might be a bit overrated. The baby still is very much a stranger to us at first, as if we lost the living thing that was inside us, and gained another new one, with a very different interaction, instead. That's how it was for me anyway. Xavier was born around 9pm, but it was the next morning, when all the grandparents were gone and we were alone with him, that I really met my son.

And they change so fast at their age, at some odd fleeting moments I notice his last growth spurs all at once and it hits me to the heart. I feel I'm still meeting a small stranger, except that my love is already multiplied by months.

[Mark]

Well said, Emilie B. Sorry, no time to get your accent on the first E.

I know I speak for men everywhere myself when I say I'm perfectly happy letting the woman experience the first nine months for me.

[Tal]

Simon, the post you wrote about Tavish's birth was the first of your posts I'd ever read - and man, was I hooked. I'd never read abything so personal, so emotional, so poignant, and so damn funny before.

Happy birthday to Tavish, and congratulations to you and Amy for raising two little boys who seem to grow smarter and more adorable every day.