Beginning of a Great Adventure: 2007

Todd here again. In this installment, I offer my keen insight, sharply honed wit, and effusive, evocative, and inimitable style on the topic of doo-doo.

Remember, I am a professional writer. I get paid to put words to the unspeakable. Don't try this at home, kids.

We are now fourteen days into Naomi's life and I have become that most dreaded of beings: the cliche. I am overanxious about my child's health. I wake up in the middle of the night to make sure she's breathing. I stay up at night wondering how I'm going to pay for her to go to college -- a decision that is more than seventeen years away.

But the thing that has made me the greatest cliche of all is the fact that I love to talk about my baby's shit. There is no part of her crap that I don't like to discuss: shape, size, volume, frequency, consistency, and color -- it's all fair game.

On the one hand, there's a fairly simple explanation. When a baby is breastfeeding, there's really no way to tell how much she's getting, so you pay attention to the diapers. More than X wet diapers and more than Y dirty diapers and your baby is likely doing fine. (You also look for weight gain, but that's not as much fun to talk about.) For the overanxious parent (like me), the dirty diaper is a little gift, a reminder that she's a healthy baby girl. Every time she poops, she poops pennies from heaven.

But that's kind of a simple explanation. There's another level to it, too, which is that I think my daughter is funny, witty, and charming, and is best -- nay, only -- able to express herself through bowel movements.

Take, for example, her latest opus. (Please!) One of her favorite things to do is to dirty a diaper moments after it has been changed. Funny stuff! Well, this is one of those times. So Daddy -- that's me -- pulls off the now-soiled wrapper and begins cleaning. That's when Naomi pees. Haw haw! Funny gal. So Daddy rolls the baby over to begin cleaning her back -- the place where all liquid rolls -- when Daddy hears a loud, eerie, and demonstrative sound come from his daughter's bottom. It is the sound of a thousand deaths. It is being; it is nothingness; it is wet and mustardy and it is moving very quickly through the air.

If projection counted, this one would have scored major points. Unfortunately, it does not count, except in Daddy's heart.

I'm glad you're healthy, sweetness. Keep up the good work.

Todd here, interrupting one of my many checks to make sure Naomi is still breathing (yep! still breathing!) to write the story of Naomi, Day One.

We begin our tale at Day Minus One (there is no Day Zero). Tiffany was actually due on November fourth, so here she was, plus-eleven as they say, and no sign of birth. We go to the OB, who examines Tiffany, who it turns out is 2cm dilated and fully effaced. The OB, Dr. Allen (who reminds us of my sister Amanda), asks us what our thoughts are about inducing. We ask, what are the pros and cons? She says, well, the only con you need to know is that if you wait, you might not have a healthy baby. Well, geez, doc -- let's induce. The induction is set for 8 am the next morning, and we go home, with these words, maybe tongue-in-cheek and maybe not, from the doctor: "Just watch -- because I examined you and set the induction time, you'll go into labor tonight." We hope so, doc....

Tiffany had planned all along for her mom to be present for the birth, so a scheduled induction worked out just fine. Phyllis got on a plane that night and was in LA by 7. We had dinner at Marmalade Cafe and went home and tried to sleep. We were in bed by 9:30. We would have to leave for the hospital at around 7:30 the next morning.

At 4:50 am, Tiffany began to feel something. Not a very strong sensation, but occurring about every five minutes. And then getting stronger... she woke me at 6:00 and I knew this was it. We showered. Nobody ate anything. We drove to the hospital (Torrance's Little Company of Mary). Connie, our labor nurse, introduced herself. "This is our induction?" she asks. Yes, but we're in labor. But I still have to give you the progesterwhatever -- the induction hormone -- I have my orders! Yes, but those orders were given BEFORE Tiffany went into labor.... fortunately, the nurse decided to examine Tiffany before administering the hormone, found that she was "a generous four centimeters, almost five," and decided that she didn't need it.

The other thing Tiffany knew right from the start was that she wanted an epidural. Here's the story I like to tell... during our Lamaze class, our teacher said, "Who knows? Maybe you can get through it without it. Some women feel a real sense of accomplishment after getting through labor without an epidural." I know it kind of doesn't make sense to take a Lamaze class and then call it horseshit -- I mean, what did we expect them to say? --but that said, what horseshit. Not too long ago, I had an infection that would have cleared up without intervention, but I got antibiotics and it cleared up faster. Had I avoided treatment for the pain and irritation of my infection, I'd have had the same result, eventually, but I don't think that I'd have had a sense of accomplishment -- I'd have been an idiot. And I had pink eye, which is a grain of sand compared to the Gibraltar of labor pain.

We'd heared a rumor that the anaesthesiologists at LCoM weren't so great -- can take multiple tries to put in the epidural, and maybe not so effective -- and we weren't sure what to expect. I wish I knew who our anaesthesiologist was, because this dude was a pro. He was on the case when Tiffany was dilated to seven cm and he got it on the first shot, and it was perfect -- took Tiffany's pain away just the right amount. She could still feel the pressure of the contractions. She got to 10 cm quickly and stayed there for a time before Dr. Allen came and we started to push. Pushing took about one hour. It was hard work for Tiffany, and she was a star. She was so grateful for the epidural at that point -- if she'd already been dealing with the pain of contractions for hours, she's not sure she'd have had it in her to do what she needed to do.

Tiffany pushes. Wrikled top of baby's head is visible. Tiffany relaxes. Head retracts. Repeat for about, what, half an hour. Getting closer every time, a little more visible, a little closer to birth. The doctor poured mineral oil, prepared for the birth. We were very, very close.

Then -- in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment (though I was wide-eyed, present, and grateful) -- the head and one arm were out. There was the first half of my daughter, and with one more push, there was the whole thing, all ten fingers and ten toes, all seven pounds zero ounces, all twenty inches of her. The next moments are a blur -- though I remember the nurses wiping down Naomi and placing her on Tiffany for a few moments. Dr. Allen presented the cord for me to cut, which I did on the second try.

Then began the longest ten seconds of my life.

Whether this was actually ten seconds or some longer or shorter period of time, I don't know. But I do know that Naomi had not yet given that first cry of life, and that was a matter of some concern. She was wisked away from her mom to the other side of the room -- "Stay with your daughter," I ordered Nana Phyllis, "and I'll stay with mine."

If you'll pardon the probably unrealistic "ER"-speak, they "bagged" my baby, squeezing air into her little lungs. There were a few nurses there. A Neonatologist showed up -- don't know when. Additional nurses came in, asked, "Is everything all right in here?" and were answered "No" -- this happened repeatedly -- and soon the place was swarming with nurses, all doing a part in getting Naomi to breathe.

What to do? I could hold my daughter, which, instinctively, seemed like the right thing to do. But no -- obviously, obviously, better to back off and let the doctors and nurses do their jobs. So that's what I did. I was, in a word, anxious. In three words, really effin anxious.

Tiffany was the only one not worried. Later, she would say, "You looked really worried, and my mom closed her eyes, but I just knew she'd be OK and everything would be fine. I just knew. We just had to wait a bit."

Finally, she gave that first cry and everyone relaxed. As quickly as the team of nurses appeared, they vanished. The Neonatologist checked a couple of things, then he too was gone. Because she'd gone for a bit without breathing, the remaining nurse or two blew some oxygen by Naomi's nose and mouth, but she was clearly out of the woods.

Again, the period of time that she wasn't breathing was probably ten seconds. It all happened very, very quickly -- I recognize that intellectually. But to me, time moved so slowly. It took forever. I was obviously caught in some Einsteinian warp in space-time: the New Daddy Wormhole, where time moves at a speed inversely relative to the amount of danger one's baby is facing. Ten seonds? Ten Years? Same thing.

But it all worked out. And maybe I'm still in the Wormhole, because I can't believe that Naomi is five days old already. The days are going by very, very quickly.

(Time out. I just realized that a whole bunch of scientists, including Tiffany's bosses, read this blog. They actually know about relativity and space-time and wormholes. I should stress again that this is Todd writing this and that this post has neither been submitted to nor approved by Tiffany. I don't really know what a Wormhole is. Errors are mine alone and if I've made any, rest assured that Tiffany will make sure that Naomi knows better than her Daddy.)

There's so much more to share and I will write it up when I get a chance, but I think I need to rest now. I will say now that if there was any doubt, Naomi has definitely learned how to cry and is putting her skill to good use. From midnight to 2 am.

I'll upload some more pics soon.