Skrip - tyur' - i - ent: adj. Possessing the violent desire to write.


#088 In which our hero has big news.

And yet another diversion before I talk about the new office digs ... but this one, considerable more significant.

I'm a daddy again.

The unreasonably uncomfortable load that The Scientist had been lugging around was showing no signs of arriving, so her doctor finally suggested that we induce the reluctant little bugger. Being that my wife was dilated to 4cm and was fully effaced, I thought it was a good idea, too.

We went into the hospital at 6AM on Thursday. The Scientist was immediately strapped to various monitors and IVs in preparation for the big event. There was a little drama involved with getting the IV in, just like there always is when you mix my wife and needles; but nothing out of the ordinary.

Frankly, the entire experience -- while certainly anxious and exciting and life-altering for The Scientist and I -- doesn't make for that interesting of a read. She was given drugs to induce contractions and she starting having contractions. When the contractions became too painful, she requested and received an epidural. When she was dilated enough she started pushing. After a half hour of pushing, I cut the cord and we had a baby.

Simple as that. Our nurse (who, by the way, was completely awesome) called it "textbook."

And I'm sure that everything I witnessed after the delivery was also "textbook." Not that I would call it that... I would call it "a fucking horror show."

Everyone knows that there is blood and gunk involved with birth. And there was a fair amount of blood involved when daughter #1 was born. But she was delivered via c-section in a very sterile operating room. The kind of room in which you might expect to encounter a lot of blood.

However, the "birthing suites" at our hospital are tastefully designed with woodwork, floral wallpaper and other little touches designed to hide all the hospital equipment. The theory being, I guess, that women feel more comfortable having a baby in their living room than in a hospital. Personally, if I were a woman, my living room is the last place I would want to be if a baby was clawing its way out of my womb. But that's just me.

Anyway, so there's comfortable surroundings, the lights are turned down, and there's a nice couch in the corner. And by the end, everything was covered in blood.

Well, not really, of course. There's this handy garbage bag-like thing that attaches to the end of the bed, directly beneath where the baby comes out, and that catches most of the blood.

And there's a lot of blood. Like, an alarming amount of blood.

The thing is, I was okay during the actual birth. Miracle of like and all that. It wasn't until after when the NC-17 rating really kicked in.

Apparently, the inside of the womb continues to bleed some after birth, and that's okay. After the baby is safely under the broiler and all necessary stitching has been finished, the doctor pushes on the woman's stomach to release some of this blood.

And by release, I mean open the fucking floodgates.

The doctor pushed on The Scientist's gut and the spurt of bright red blood that came gushing out of her vagina could have extinguished a California wildfire.
ME: "Jesus Christ! Is she okay?"
NURSE: "Oh yeah, that's normal."
ME: "That's a lot of blood."
NURSE: "It's okay."
ME: "That's a lot of blood."
Ten minutes later they did it again, and an equal amount of gore came out.
ME: "And this is okay, what I'm seeing here?"
NURSE: "Everything's normal."
ME: "I'll take your word for it. Christ!"
And, of course, everything was okay. So much so, that the doctor cleared The Scientist to go home a day early. Which was fine by us, being that there was a real screamer of a baby in the room next door.

So yeah, I'm a father again. I witnessed first hand an amazing, awe-inspiring event that will forever change my life. And all that really sticks out in my mind is the horror... THE HORROR!

No offense, Macey. Daddy loves you.


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