Get Mad! Get Angry! Just Shut Up and Let Me Get This Baby Out!

The dog show was still on TV.

As more show dogs pranced across the screen, the new doctor decided it was time to break the water and begin the birthing process. Seemingly from nowhere, a large light that looked like it was something out of the James Bond movie "Goldfinger" was lowered from the ceiling and the bed was converted into something more suitable for delivery.

With Christie, it seemed like breaking the water bag took effort. Back then, the membrane seemed tough and the doctor had to use an instrument a number of times to get through. This time around, it took very little to get through it. Just one poke with a finger. The time was almost near. Obviously, we were more than ready to go. Well, at least the baby was. Me? Well, I guess I'll have to be. Maybe I can draw inspiration from the calmness of the handlers exhibiting their dogs for the best in show competition.

As I did almost four years ago, I once again took my place at Lisa's side, ready to help support her, while the nurse did the same on the other side. The doctor and "Elaine" stood ready to do their jobs. The judge on TV continued inspecting the dogs.

The contraction hit. Lisa was allowed to start pushing. And suddenly, the medical staff became a cheerleading section.

"Come on! Push!"
"Get mad! Get angry! Push!"
"Pushpushpushpushpush!"

I stood there completely dumbfounded, holding Lisa's right leg. Of all the things I had mentally reviewed and prepared for, this wasn't one of them. Suddenly I felt inadequate...insufficient...unsuitable to be a father and husband. I had no words of encouragement for Lisa quite like these cheers. I didn't have an overt show of support. How could I let these strangers upstage me during the moment when I was supposed to be the primary source of strength for Lisa to draw on when she got exhausted? So I decided I had to follow suit and add my voice to the cheering. Not overtly, mind you, since that's not really my style, but at least enough to let Lisa know that I was supporting her.

Word to the wise. In moments like these, stay within yourself. Because later on, I would find that all that "cheering" annoyed the hell out of Lisa. It can't be fun to be in active labor and be super annoyed at the same time.

Still, there was a least one thing I did that actually helped: provide progress reports. Lisa couldn't know just how far along things were, so I had to be her eyes. Each time I could tell her that I could see the baby, each time I said that the baby was that much closer to coming out, seemed to infuse her with more strength. But yet, with the top of the head visible, it seemed like we'd reached an impasse. Not much movement was going on, despite the pushing. It seemed like an eternity was passing without a whole lot happening. Maybe Lisa was getting tired, or more likely the inane cheers of ""Get mad! Get angry! Push!" were just sapping her will. But regardless the doctor made a decision at this point.

Episiotomy.

Sure it would help free the baby quicker, but I had a front row seat to all the activity. The birth of my child was not an issue for me. The epidural was not an issue for me (I had seen it before with Christie's birth). But having to watch an incision be placed in a very sensitive area? Um...yeah...I don't know. Still, if Lisa could go through this, then I should just suck it up and deal with it.

So here we went. The next contraction came. Lisa began to push, and the doctor readied the scalpel and....

Wow! It looks like a nice day out there! The sun is shining. Not a cloud in the sky...

I turned my head back from looking out the window to the matter at hand. The episiotomy had been completed without me having to see it. I felt a slight tinge of guilt at being such a wuss, but this was not the time for me to feel squeamish. Viewing that procedure would not have been a good thing for my state of mind. Having not seen the cut, I could easily get back to concentrating on the task at hand. With room to emerge, the baby's head came out.

Then the shoulders.

And then, with the widest part of the body out, it seemed like she flew right out.

She.

A girl. A lovely, beautiful baby girl. With quite a set of lungs on her.

The clock read 8:15 AM. And here at last was our Amy. If the windows could open, I would have shouted out to everyone that she had arrived.

It was unfair. It almost seemed like a crime. After Lisa had carried her and worked so hard to get her out, I was the one to get to hold her. But sInce there was a little repair work to do, Lisa wasn't in any real position to hold her. With Amy wrapped up in my arms, I brought her over to meet Mom. They snuggled for a few moments, and then I had to take her back as the stitching began. God, I had forgotten how small they were when they started. How fragile they seemed, yet given what the birthing process involved, how tough they really were. And as I marveled at her, I thought of one thing to show her now that she was here at last.

Hey, Amy...want to see who won best in show?