First of all, the title of this post comes from a rather awkward moment at Page’s OB the other day. Our 5,391st appointment of the last three weeks was over, and we were walking out past a collection of docs that up to that point I thought had a good sense of humor. They asked how it went, and I replied “they told us to hurry up and wait!” Well, apparently I had forgotten the one simple rule of “no one gives a $hit about you, Dad,” and the response to my witty retort was blank stares and a collection of eye rolls. Good lord, ladies, so sorry for speaking. Page thought the silence to my comment was high comedy so she tried to stifle a laugh. I panicked, kind of half-stopped walking by them, and, like an awkward toaster at a wedding, tried to fill the dead air. What came out was even worse – “Yeah, um, that’s what they told us to do….” Wamp waaaaa. So awkward. Page lost it. I think even Ford was laughing at me.
So, yeah, we’ve been to the OB a lot lately. About three weeks ago Page’s BP shot up, and it was a Friday (no inducements over the weekend), so all of the docs went nuts. “Let’s rush her to the hospital,” they screamed (yes, screamed), “her BP is through the roof!”
No kidding, Page and I thought, we just broke our necks to get to you on time, yanked a flailing 15-month-old from the car and high-stepped it up a flight of stairs. Usain Bolt would be winded after that. So the solution is to send us to the hospital. We jet across the street to Rex where Page is hooked up to the chill machine – reclining bed, steady beeping of the monitors, TV, comforting nurse. Bingo. BP down.
A few weeks, probably 10 check-up visits and one due date later, it’s time. This morning they scheduled us for inducement tonight. Crazy, right? I’m about to be a father to two human beings. Somehow this can’t be legal.
And it couldn’t come a moment too soon. Page and I have been two walking figures of lame since that first hospital run. That, and I’m not sure if we could handle any more advice about how to ramp up the labor process…or having our collective cervix checked. Sorry…that would be Page’s cervix.
Alllllrighty then.
A few observations from the past three weeks:
1. The list of things to do to bring on labor is, we have discovered, ENDLESS. Spicy food, sex, jump on a trampoline, speak Russian, speak Russian backward, play backgammon, thumb wrestle, watch a Washington Nationals game. We’ve heard it all. And guess what ladies and gentlemen? None of it works.
2. Page and I are shattering the record for consecutive lame Fridays. Seriously, Friday nights have turned into the most boring night of the week for us. This past Friday, for example, we had all intentions of watching a movie on the On Demand cable movie channel. 37 previews later, not only had we not decided on a movie (and never did, for the record), in the time it took to watch those previews, we could have taken in the Godfather Trilogy. From there we kind of wandered around the kitchen muttering, “so…what do you want to do?” as if we could just head downtown for a beer. I know, I know, where can I sign up for a night of fun like that, right?!?
3. When you know the sex, the nicknames are much worse. The first time around we didn’t know if it was a boy or girl, so names like, “The Flinglet” and the now famous “Fudge” were born.
This time we know it’s a boy, and better yet, we know who he is – Cal. Best nickname in the clubhouse? Drum roll…….Calbert Cheaney. The former Indiana star and Blue Chips extra…and NBA retread. Seriously, we call him that. I mean, yeah, wow. Lame.
4. Knowing that a delivery could be “any day now” for 21 straight days will turn you into Bob Vila. If Cal did come three weeks ago, I can’t imagine what our house would have looked like. Now, I’m not saying we’ve added a bathroom in that time, but Page is sufficiently nested and I’ve done really important things like put a kick plate on the front door, tighten our light switch screws and touch up the paint in the garage. OK, so yeah, we’ve been bored (see #2).
And that’s just to name a few…
And the end of the day, the onset of bambino #2 has been much more of an adventure than Mr. Fudges debut. Both versions have been unforgettable in their own way, though, and we can’t wait to welcome Cal into the world. For now, though, we wait. The hospital – which also doubles as Time Warner Cable apparently – has asked us to “hang out” from 6-9p and wait for a call to come in to get the ball rolling. The whole thing seems bizarre, but it’s kind of nice. I got to plan a run, pack, shower and type this post.
Weird to think that in less than 24 hours, Cal will be here…and I will be responsible for him. Shnikees.
We’ll keep everybody posted!
