a baby story, season two

I know that for some of you, the basic baby stats just don't cut it. You want the details, in all their gory -- I mean, glory. And so, because I like you, here they are.

When the painful contractions that kicked up during the tail end of church wouldn't go away, I started timing them on the car ride home that my friend, Melanie, bless her heart, offered to give Garrett and I. Sure enough, they were coming every five minutes. Afraid that this might be another false alarm, I decided to lie down on the couch as soon as we got home. But instead of going away, the contractions intensified, and I started to get worried that Blake wouldn't be wrapped up with his clerk duties at the church before I needed to get to the hospital. I didn't need to worry long, thankfully, because he walked in the door just in time to pop that thought bubble. I called my friend, Emily, who long ago agreed to give us a ride to the hospital when it was time, to give her a heads up, then called my doctor. He told me to get to labor and delivery stat. And so we did.

We got checked in at the hospital at about 3:30. When the initial pelvic exam revealed that I was now dilated to 7 cm, and the monitors showed that contractions were coming every three to four minutes, I got bumped ahead of at least one person to move from triage to a delivery room. As soon as I got on the bed there, my water broke and suddenly I was in transition. It was horrible. I told everyone within hearing of my [urgent] desire for an epidural, but apparently it was too late. The baby had descended so low and things were happening so fast that there was no time. I cried. And screamed. And pushed. And then, a half an hour later (and only an hour and a half after we arrived at the hospital), Caleb was here. It was over. But boy, did it hurt. I don't care how trendy it is to give birth without drugs -- I never want to do that again.

I'm also not sure if I ever want to have another baby in Brooklyn again. Everything turned out fine, but it was a complicated process making sure that it did -- one that we certainly couldn't have accomplished without all of the truly self-less help from so many friends (thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone!!). It was, however, in many ways a very unique experience.

For one, it was incredibly cultural. Examples: my doctor is Egyptian; the labor/delivery nurse was from Guyana; another nurse who poked her head in during the delivery was Norwegian (and assumed, because of my last name and my blonde hair, that I was, too, and consequently started speaking to me in her native language until she realized that I didn't understand a word she was saying); I had a shared recovery room and my roommate was Nigerian (and, unfortunately, the best time to call family in Nigeria is at 4:30 in the morning); the lactation consultant was Irish (or maybe English...it was sometimes hard to tell); one of the shift nurses was Russian, while the rest were from different parts of the Caribbean; and our pediatrician is about as Brooklyn as they come, which, once you've met a true Brooklynite, you'll agree that there's a foreign aspect to that particular heritage.

To complete the Brooklyn birth experience, upon discharge, we took a cab home from the hospital, stopping on the way to pick Garrett up from the babysitter's. It honestly doesn't get much more New York than that.

Since we've been home, we've been busy in a slow and relaxed sort of way. It's been a relief to have Blake home from work while I continue my recovery process. He deserves a major award for all the running around he's had to do this week. Garrett, despite the fact that his energy these last few days has been through the roof, is transitioning well to his new position of older brother. He is very tender with Caleb and, for the most part, gentle, too. I think we can take as a good sign the fact that shortly after we returned home from the hospital, Garrett scurried off to his room to find his favorite silky blue blanket, which he rushed out to the living room to offer to his baby brother.

And Caleb. Sweet Baby Caleb. He really is too precious for words, but I'm going to try anyway. He has Blake's nose, which will take some time to grow into, and his Grandma Joyce's mouth and chin. Like his father and big brother, he has a little cleft in that chin that I just can't get enough of. From the nose up, he reminds me a lot of my brother, Tyler, so that must be the contribution from my genetics. He has lots of light brown hair, and his long fingers are surely destined for the basketball court. He's a tiny bit meatier than Garrett was, but it's hard to tell simply by looking at his skinny arms and legs. So far, his personality is a calm one. Like most newborns, he spends the majority of each day sleeping, and he prefers to rest his cheeks on his hands while he does so. He only cries when he's hungry or needs a new diaper. That doesn't stop him, however, from making some pretty hilarious faces. He honestly looks deeply concerned or troubled most of the time (which might be why he looks so much to me like Tyler). Where Garrett spent the first six months of his life keeping it all in, Caleb poops like a champion. And his tiny voice is adorably squeaky. I seriously could eat this sweet boy up, so I think we'll hang onto him.