After resting Janet was ready to push. She was doing great, but during the process she threw up and the baby’s heart rate dropped dramatically. The midwife questioned the nurse and suddenly there was a whole lot more tension in the room (and my confidence was a little shaken). Thankfully it passed, and the pushing resumed. Unfortunately there was another drop, and baby was not progressing. The midwife indicated that they might need to use a vacuum which was most definitely NOT in the birth plan – but offered to have a nurse come with “fundle pressure” instead. Fundle pressure is the steady application of pressure on the fundus of the uterus with one hand at a 30 to 45 degree angle to the maternal spine in the direction of the pelvis. From what I’ve googled (for whatever that’s worth!), Fundle pressure is a little controversial as some say it cause shoulder separations to the baby or harm to the uterus. At any rate, we knew nothing of this at the time, we just saw the nurse- who was as petit as Janet – hop up on the bed, raise her forearm and with a series of football-like stiff-arms helped Janet deliver with several great pushes. I am not sure about the controversy, but I am grateful we were able to avoid the vacuum and C-section.

A wave of emotion overcame me as I saw our child’s head emerge. I was surprised at how quickly the delivery went after that: before I knew it we were both staring at our daughter, Evelyn Rose.

Everyone I’ve spoken with says it’s the most incredible experience they’ve been lucky enough to have.

They’re underselling it.

Since then I have been soaking up every squeak and squawk, getting lost in the depth of her blue grey eyes, smiling as this little person s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s her 19.25 inch frame from tiny head to tinier toe, wondering at how she can change so noticeably from day to day, allowing myself to be intoxicated by her scent (which reminds me of flour) and am continually reminded of how lucky we are that she chose us.

When the nurse came back in the room, this time accompanied by the midwife, we made it clear that Janet wanted something for the pain (AKA “take the edge off”). I felt a little helpless at this point, knowing that there was little I could do beyond offering words of support to help her get through each wave. As the Fentinol was being administered the nurse told Janet to stop holding her breath. Another nurse who happened to be in the room suggested that Janet might be bearing down, and the midwife checked her again. A mere 45 minutes after being offered the option of going home Janet was fully dilated, and the medical staff’s looks of shock reflected my own.

A mad rush ensued to get Janet from the admit area up to delivery. Halfway down the hall I realized my camera was back in the room and I was torn between wanting to capture the moment and being in the moment. I decided to run back to get it, then realized I had no idea where they were going, and that I might not even be around for the moment if I did not get back to our little group!

After getting set up in the delivery room Janet asked if she could have an epidural. Getting that in was also an adventure, taking somewhere between 20 minutes and an eternity, but afterwards she was able to rest for an hour and a half before pushing. This was great on a number of levels, and it afforded me a chance to actually reflect a little and let things soak in, as opposed to the adrenaline-filled rush I felt like I’d been on since I woke up that morning. And luckily one of the nurses brought up our stuff (camera included – which I had completely forgotten about!)

I had always joked to friends that Janet and I would take BART to get from our new home in Berkeley across the Bay to CPMC (the San Francisco hospital we scheduled to deliver at). And, despite having read “The Expectant Father’s” overview of how to deliver a baby in an emergency, it offered little comfort as I contemplated the prospect of rush hour traffic on the bridge. Thankfully, no boiling water or string was necessary and we got to the hospital in ~ 40 minutes. One point stressed during our birthing class was that the “birth plan” is really just a wish list: in spite of what we wanted for the birth, we were ready to roll with whatever happened, and knew not to get too hung up on what we wanted to happen. Turns out, this was another one of those understatements!

When we arrived they sent us to the admit area. By this point Janet’s contractions were around three minutes apart and close to two minutes long. But when the nurse checked her she indicated that Janet was “barely a finger”. This was incredibly disappointing as Janet really felt she was further along than that, and according to what I’d read, the earlier in labor mom arrives to the hospital, the greater the chance of the things we were hoping to avoid (narcotics, a C-section, petosin, etc.). The nurse said that normally she would give Janet something for the pain and send her home, but she gave us the option of staying despite being “very early” and left the room while we talked it over.

However, this did not jive with Janet’s intuition, and thankfully we listened to that rather than a nurse we had not met before. At this point there was not much room for “talking” as Janet’s contractions were incredibly intense, and the methodic yoga breathing and acupressure I had been doing were simply overwhelmed by the pain she was experiencing. I had always hoped we would be able to avoid using drugs for our birth, but seeing Janet in agony made it very difficult to hold on to that hope.

Fast forward to the big day…actually the day BEFORE the big day. I think the excitement over Obama’s victory left my immune system a little vulnerable, as the day after the election I found myself with a sore throat & fever, five days before the official due date. That night I left more than a few loose ends untied, including packing a bag for the hospital.

Luckily my wife packed hers before she went to bed, because at ~ 1:30AM she went into labor. And being the ridiculously considerate partner she is, Janet left the bedroom hoping to let me sleep a few more hours while she labored solo. When she came in at 5:30AM to tell me we were having a baby, my first half-awake thought was “well I’ve known that a few months!”, which was quickly supplanted by – “holy crap! You mean today – like now!?” Part of me was a little bummed I missed the first four hours of her laboring, but that was quickly subsumed by the excitement of knowing that today was the day we had been waiting so long for. And judging by the frequency, strength and duration of her contractions, I was hoping we would be waiting at least a couple hours more!

I had always scoffed at the stereotypical panicked new dad rushing to pack his bag, absentmindedly encouraging his wife to breathe and forgetting what to do next. But I have to say I came a little too close to “that dad” that frenzied morning! I did manage a shower and during that relatively calm moment I envisioned telling friends and family about our new baby and I knew instantly we were having a girl – it was a tremendously overpowering feeling, and one I will never forget.

When Cheryl (some of you know her as MsGreene) first asked me to blog about my impressions of the birth of our first child I figured it would be a good chance to offer a dad’s perspective on this amazing experience. I hope this rather long winded, personal account does that…but at a minimum I figured it would help crystallize the experience, so thanks for indulging me.

It took my wife Janet and I almost three years to conceive, so when we got the news in February that we were pregnant, we were pretty well over the moon (well, actually Janet was over the moon, I was more “cautiously optimistic”). My wife loves surprises, so she was adamant that we keep the sex a secret. And we made it through about 50 (or so it seemed) “3D Ultrasounds” without spoiling the surprise.

One of the many pieces of pregnancy wisdom we got was that if it takes you a while to conceive, the powers that be smile down upon you and grant an easy pregnancy. Luckily in our case this panned out (more or less). No morning sickness, no swelling, not really even any tiredness. I kept waiting for those changes but when my wife went into her 9th month still wearing high heels, I figured my worrying was for naught.

There was a little scare at 31 weeks when my wife was overly ambitious while we were moving to our new home, relegating her to modified bed rest every day from 4-8 PM for a total of 6 weeks. That was a tough one because the worrier in me was amplified about a hundredfold…and the worrier occasionally gave way to the nagger: “Don’t lift that!” (my purse isn’t that heavy!), “Shouldn’t you be lying down?” (not unless you brought me a bedpan!). It’s a role I did not relish but we made it through.