How Ransom Came Into The World (version 2.0)

It had been 12 hours since Amy woke me up that morning to tell me she was having contractions. That was 2 in the morning. I was just coming out of my delirious state of sleep and Amy wasn't 100% confident that she was really having THE contractions but she did feel like something was changing inside her. Although our soon-to-be-born baby boy was still warm and comfortable inside his mother's womb, we had gotten pretty accustomed to his "personality" and were not the slightest bit surprised that the day of his induction would be when he would choose to come out on his own.

Amy's fever had gotten worse and we had been pushing for hours. I say "we" because each time she had to push, I couldn't help but push myself and was doing it so much that Amy was afraid I would pass out from lack of air intake. Maybe it was a natural reaction like when you are in the passenger side of the car and the car in front of you brakes suddenly and you push your foot to the floor looking for a brake pedal that isn't there. Amy says it's because I love her so much but that would seem too simple.

The nurse had told me that she had seen the top of our boy's head poke out a few times aleady and said that we were so close. I tried to see it during one of the pushing rounds but was so distracted by trying to help Amy get through the pushing that I wasn't able to see anything.

It had been 12 hours since I drug myself out of bed to get all of our baby day gear together and loaded into the car. I wanted to make sure, just in case this was indeed the real thing and we didn't have to wait for our 10 o'clock appointment for inducing, that I didn't forget anything. We had our clothes, books, a deck of cards, snacks (for me and some for Amy to sneak into her mouth when the nurse was not around),games and our baby's first change of clothes and his car seat for the joyous ride home. 12 hours and Amy was exhausted, fever still hot and no baby to show for it and I still could not keep myself from breathing and pushing too hard myself.

Doctor Ford had just recently joined us. Up until about 2 hours prior, it was just Amy, me and our nurse. Pushing. Taking a break. Pushing. Taking a break. Every contraction, about a minute or two apart, push! No baby. Take a break. Oops, the line on the graph is going up again. Push! No baby. Take a break. Enter Doctor Ford. We had wanted Ransom to be born on May 21st so that he could share a birthday with his father. Partially because I felt like it would be a nice bonding detail for us, but more importantly, since I am adamant that I do NOT want to celebrate my birthday ever again (and if anyone ever tried, let them know that that day they will rue) having a son born on the same day would be a good distraction from my own day of birth. Unfortunately, Doctor Ford also had a son with the birthday of May 21st, she wanted to have us induce the day before so she could spend the next day with her own son. We obliged but both Amy and I know deep inside our hearts that if we had waited, he would have been born on the 21st naturally because the contractions wer far enough apart that without the induction procedure, he may have waited until after midnight to come out.

The doctor told us it was time to bring in the vaccuum. I had never heard of the use of a "vaccuum" before but seeing how Amy was still growing hotter and hotter and grew more tired by each contraction, I agreed to anything they could do to speed up the birth and relieve her of the pressure.

Amy's legs were propped up on the stirrups and the big flood lights came in, the extra nurse stood by and the vaccuum pump thing was ready. COntraction. Amy pushed. I counted (and pushed). No baby. Breath. Short rest. Push! No baby. A couple more times and the intensity grew more and more.

I was getting lightheaded from my sympathy breathing/pushing and Amy looked like she was going to just collapse. The doctor thought it would be any moment. The line graph starting rising again and the next round of pushing started. I saw the vaccuum pump disappear under the sheet around Amy's legs and as Amy pushed her hardest ever, she began to cry a painful cry (I learned later that an incision had to be made to allow more room for the baby to come out) but the doctor encouraged her not to stop and I looked over the sheet and saw a small head poking out between Amy's legs. It was the back of his head and the full head of hair was plastered down to his head. I turned to Amy who seemed delirious and coaxed her to push hard, just once more. She let a strong gasp and pushed and I saw Ransom slide out into Doctor FOrd's hands, in which she reflexively tossed his limp 8 pound 6 ounce body onto Amy's tummy.

He laid there quietly and the room seemed to fall silent. Everything was in slow motion and I was holding Amy's hand, leaning against her head. We both stared in awe at the calm, still grey baby lying on Amy's tummy. And then there was a cough. And then a cry. A single cry that broke what seemed like hours of silence that passed in a mere moment. Then all the sound rushed back into my ears and I cried along with my newborn son. Amy was crying. Ransom was crying. And I cried to Amy, "He's beautiful! He's beautiful! You did such a good job! I love you! I love him!"

Amy smiled a weak yet approving smile, allowing me to leave her side to go over to Ransom, who was not on a table, under a light, to be cleaned up and checked out. I walked over to the table where he cried quietly. I must have been in so much awe of how beautiful he was because I don't remember the crying stopping. I just suddenly realized he was not crying anymore. He was lying on his back, with a slight tilt of his head, looking outward and I could already see in his eyes that he was a smart boy. His eyes were open and his brow scrunched in the middle. The same look that I had been known to make when I was deeply in thought. I was amazed how aware his face seemed and I loved him. I wanted to grab him and take him over to Amy but I knew that the nurse had to finish what she had to do and did not want to risk messing any of her work up.

Now, at 11 and a half weeks later, as Ransom lays quietly in the other room, now sleeping through the entire night, I am reminded of that first night with him. Both Amy and I exhausted from little to no sleep and with him practically waking up every hour, we knew it would take a lot out of us but we did not care. He was now here was us and missing out on a day or two's sleep was not a big deal to us at that moment. Once again, he sleeps through the night now and we, too, get a full night's sleep each night now, but there is a part of me that misses that 3 in the morning time with him when he woke up then for feeding. It was a special time where he and I bonded, just the two of us. But I am cool with it.

This Wednesday, it will be 12 weeks after that night Amy woke me up and told me she thought she was having contractions. 12 weeks after that glorious baby's day out. And now, I have a lifetime ahead of me and I only fear that it will go by too quickly.