A Guest Post: 54 Minutes

Dear Noah,

You were born at 5:52 pm on Monday, June 14, 2010.  You weighed 8 pounds 12 ounces and measured 22 inches long.  You had a perfectly pink complexion and smelled terrific.  The pediatrician described you as a “strapping individual” and said you looked like a “competent” baby; we described you as “perfect”.

On the day you were born, Mommy was having irregular contractions throughout the morning and early afternoon.  Daddy decided to stay home from work in the hopes that a long walk with Mommy and some Matzoh ball soup from the Onion Roll would kick-start active labor.

It didn’t.

So, Mommy and Daddy , ahem, took matters into their own hands and, shortly – and I mean VERY shortly – thereafter, Mommy was having strong contractions every five minutes.  Aunt Amanda came over to fetch your big sister while Daddy called the midwife and Mommy called the doula.  The midwife recommended that Mommy and Daddy head straight to the hospital, which they did within moments of getting off the phone.

Mommy was a total champ on the 40-minute car ride down Division.  She breathed and hummed her way through her contractions, which at this point were washing over her like waves every three to five minutes.  Daddy kept his eyes on the road and resisted the urge to make Bill Cosby jokes.  By 4:58 pm, Daddy had tossed his car keys to the valet parking attendant and Mommy was busy having a monster contraction in the OBGYN triage waiting room.

When the triage nurse checked Mommy, she was dilated to 7 centimeters, which meant that she was already on the verge of transition.  Little did Daddy know that Mommy’s next contraction would take her all the way to 10 centimeters, which created all sorts of drama, as Mommy could hardly resist the urge to push you out right there on the floor of the triage unit!

As soon as Mommy said she felt like she needed to push, the triage room flooded with nurses who (briefly) debated whether they’d have to deliver you right then and there.  Very quickly, the decision was made to get Mommy to a delivery room, which created a scene that was right out of a Hollywood movie (i.e. Mommy being pushed in a stretcher-bed at breakneck speed down the hallway and up the elevator with Daddy and the doula sprinting close behind).  Special thanks to the medical student who sprinted ahead of the pack and opened automatic doors with his key card.

Daddy will never forget the moment right before he and Mommy got on the elevator. Mommy was having another contraction and, at Daddy’s urging, looked squarely into his eyes and managed to resist the urge to push.  The midwife’s exact words to Mommy after she was boarded onto the elevator were: “You’re amazing.”  The half dozen other people on the elevator all nodded in slightly-stunned agreement while  Daddy beamed with pride.

A smiling and curly-haired midwife named Carol stood ready and waiting in the delivery room.  Carol remained preternaturally calm as Mommy gingerly but quickly scooched from the stretcher bed to the birthing bed.  Within seconds, Mommy had another contraction and, this time, was told she could push as hard as she could.  On that first push, Mommy’s water broke; on her second push, you were born.  We’d been at the hospital for exactly 54 minutes.

We loved you then.  We love you now.  We’ll love you always.

Love,

Dad

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