Well, as you probably know, we have recently added a little girl to our family. She arrived on December 8, 2008. The days leading up to her birth were filled with many unique experiences as we began to prepare ourselves for discovering a new aspect of NYC.
Studying up
Baby classes in NYC, or I suppose any major city, were far different than our friends from the suburbs described.
Our class took place at 49th Street and 9th in Hell's Kitchen. A storefront, filled with $800 strollers and organic baby clothes (wait... does she wear them or eat them?) and large circular couch in purple velvet narrowed in the back where two classrooms had flat screen televisions and hardwood floors. A staircase led down to the prenatal yoga studio. The walls were exposed red brick and hanging near the top of the double high ceilings were five-foot tall, black and white artistic posters of smiling babies being held by multi-cultural mothers and the occasion stray nipple.
Our classmates were a motley bunch. Ken and Barbie were of the flawless, upper-east side variety. Type-A Couple were composed of a malpractice attorney (our midwife teacher visibly cringed) and a mother who described herself as "completely unafraid and ready for an orgasmic birth." There was a doctor ("Are you going to deliver the baby?" our teacher asked. "No, I'm a pathologist.") who was married to a lawyer. One dad worked at the biggest art auction house in the city and he and his wife live in Brooklyn Heights. They were probably the only couple that we could say that we'd LOVE to go out to beers with sometime. One of his many zingers in class was, "I'm still trying to get my mind around the concept of an epidural. Please... don't even SPEAK to me about episiotomies." One dad looked like Elvis and his wife made cookies with spelt flour that were totally delicious.
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Our teacher asked us, "How are you getting to the hospital?" Ken and Barbie said, "We're probably going to walk."
"How many blocks?" the teacher asked.
"4 blocks."
"Streets or Avenues?"
"Don't worry... streets."
"That should work out. If you are thinking of taking the train to give birth, I really wouldn't recommend it. Can you imagine being stuck in a metal tube under a river giving birth? And please, Dads, make sure you have cash on hand for a car service or taxi. Really, nothing will piss of your wife as she is in labor if you have to ask the driver to pull off at an ATM for cash."
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"Partners, you should consider scrubbing out the tub so that your wives can take a nice bath. It really makes a difference for the mom and relieves stress and can reduce the strain on her back." Ken and Barbie's eyes drift off into space. So do Type-A couple. It seems they had never scrubbed a tub in their life. You see, that is what "the help" is for.
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"Why on earth would we need spend a hundred bucks to buy a car seat? We don't even own a car!" said one father.
"Because the hospital won't let you walk home after giving birth," said the teacher. "You'll never use it again, but you'll need it for the first taxi ride home."
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The Obligatory Birth Story
We had planned to drive to the Birth Center when Kitty went into labor and on the eighth, as I was sitting at my desk sipping my 10:15 cup of coffee, she called to say that her water had broken as she was doing yoga. Since she wasn't having any contractions, the midwife said to just relax and hang out and because it will take awhile. The midwife even said that I could stay at the office for a little while and wrap things up.
I left at 12 o'clock after checking in with Kitty-- still no contractions. She had ordered pizza and we were going to have as soon as I arrived. I was surprisingly calm, even though the train was incredibly slow with occasional random stops between stations. It took an hour and fifteen minutes to get home. Arriving home, the pizza was waiting and Kitty was just hanging out. No contractions yet so we hung out, chatted and ate. I had versions of a quiet, calm birth. Where Kitty felt no pain. Perhaps I was hoping a stork would really end up delivering the baby to us.
When she felt her first "twinge," the time was 1:50 p.m. Immediately, the contractions were three minutes apart but very mild. We checked in with the midwife and she said to relax and have Kitty take a shower since the contractions were only frequent but not strong.
As Kitty got out of the shower, the contractions started getting stronger. They still weren't bad but we figured they weren't slowing down so we should just hop in the car and go.
Then everything went completely and totally insane.
I had packed the car and helped Kitty into the passenger seat. She popped the seat back and all of a sudden she started groaning. The time was 3:50 p.m. As we travelled through the streets of Brooklyn, the contractions got stronger and stronger. Soon she was wailing at regular intervals. She was clammy and pale and was gasping for breath between her groans.
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At this point, I'd like to point out that the time was about 4 p.m. What happens at 4 p.m. in Brooklyn? Children get out of school. And how do they get home in Brooklyn? Via School Bus.
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Considering the groans eminating from my wife, I'm faced with a choice, do I pass those school buses, with their stop signs and flashing red lights? If I do, I risk the lives of my neighbors children. If not, I may end up assisting her in delivery on the side of Ocean Avenue.
I do what any good geek would do. I breathe deeply and and stay calm and focused, just as Master Yoda taught me. I cut around the buses as soon as their stop signs retract and the lights stop flashing. Niko Bellic taught me that hitting pedestrians causes the cops to chase you.
As I pulled up to the birth center, I realized that I needed to pull a u-turn across 4 lanes of traffic. I think it might be the first time Kitty really responded... "Why are we stopping?" Still in my zen-like state I said, "We need to pull a u-ie... I'm just waiting for a safe opportunity." The time was 4:20 p.m. By the time she made it up the short flight of stairs and into the room, she was told they could see the head so start pushing. At 4:50 p.m., our daughter arrived.
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