Learning on the Job

Dominic Ryan: 12 Days old

Well it doesn't matter how many books you read, or classes you take there are just some things about fatherhood and newborns you learn on the job. So twelve days in, here are the five things I've learned so far...

Daddy & his little tearcher

1. In the line of Dootie

In twelve days, I’ve been wetted on, peed on (there’s a difference, one is a leak, one is a spray), pooped on, puked on, spit on, and then peed on some more. This kid seems to think daddy is a walking, talking port-a-potty.

(Special note: Shortly after writing this, Dominic did two of these things on me at once. I'll let you guess which ones.)

2. Diaper “Not-So-Dandy”

While we’re on the subject, I’d like to give the makers of “Huggies” a very tight “hug”… right around the neck. We have “newborn-sized” diapers… only Dominic is creating some “man-sized” messes. Why? Because the diapers just don’t fit. We’ve gone so far as doubling up… to no avail. Where can I send my laundry bill?

3. Laundry List of… Laundry

Speaking of laundry. You get a lot of advice when people find out you’re having a baby. So why didn’t anyone tell us to start stocking up on laundry detergent? Since Dominic came home the washer and dryer run continuously. Our home has turned into a 24-hour Laundromat.

4. Waiting to “inhale”

We already made our first unscheduled trip to the doctor. Nothing serious, Dominic was just having some serious eye-crust. Anyway, here’s what I learned… there’s really nothing worse than sitting in a waiting room full of sick children. NOTHING! Call Guinness… I may have broken a record for holding my breath.

(At least, we got to hear some strange woman’s tale of pregnancy, appendectomy, and C-section all while teetering precariously close to dropping her daughter on her head. Got to love Kaiser.)

5. Sleepless in West Sacramento

And finally, no new daddy blog would be complete without a second to complain about lack of sleep. Honestly, it’s not been that bad… at least not for me. Unfortunately, (or fortunately, depending on how you look it) I can’t help Dominic at night much at this point. He only wakes up to eat and daddy don’t have the goods.

Dominic's Big Debut (LOST style)

(Note: I’ve started writing this 3 or 4 times… and have been interrupted by feeding time, poopy diapers, and gas pains. Welcome to fatherhood! Before we start here’s what you need to know… when everything started I was watching “LOST”… so I have written this in true “LOST” style… complete with flashbacks. Just think of this symbol “~~~” as the flashback “whoosh” sound.)

Our little man.

Wednesday, April 14^th, 11:14 PM

“You’re ready. 10 centimeters, complete, and +1. Let’s start with two test pushes. Dad, you need to grab a leg.”

~~~

Monday, April 12^th, 12:55 PM

“Well you’re only about a centimeter dilated. Kaiser will only let you go 2 weeks past due. We can talk about scheduling induction now or we can wait for a week.” Our doctor adds that she will not be around next week because her sister is getting married.

“Might as well do it now,” Melissa says. “What days do you have available?”

“We can do it, April 20^th, at 5:30 PM.”

“Ok, that sounds fine,” Melissa says.

I’m disappointed by this development. Everything else in my life is so planned out; I was really looking forward to the labor spontaneity.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 11:25 PM

“Things are looking good. I’m going to get the delivery cart ready.”

“We’re going to have a baby!” I’m just a little excited.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 6:27 AM

“I’m feeling kind of crampy this morning,” Melissa says.

“Different than the last few days?” I ask?

“I’m not sure. Do contraction pains start in the back and move forward?”

There’s only one thing to do in this situation… Google it. WebMD says Melissa is having real labor, not more Braxton Hicks. Time to start calculating the contractions, luckily there’s an App for that.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 11:30

“We’re pushing. Baby will be here soon!!!” That’s the text I sent to Melissa’s mom, who is my contact to huge group in the waiting room.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 8:30 AM

“Dulce, are you ready to make the drive?” I ask.

“Oh, oh, oh. Uh… I need to get dressed. Get in the car, uh, uh, uh.” Grandma maybe hyperventilating.

I call Melissa’s brother. His excitement seems to disturb his office. “SHUT UP,” he says. “I’M ABOUT TO BE AN UNCLE!”

My mom is in Modesto. She has to drive an hour back home to get my dad. My brother is asleep and doesn’t answer his phone. No surprise.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 11:35 PM

“Pushing lasts between a half-hour to 3 hours for most women.”

“I’m shooting for a half-hour,” Melissa looks determined.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 10:15 AM

“In a perfect world, I’ll examine you and we’ll say your staying. You’ll be uncomfortable for a few hours, get an epidural, then be happy for 3 or 4 hours, then it will be time to push.” This is the doctors projected schedule.

We’ve been in the triage room for about an hour already, feels like about 10 hours. The drive to the hospital was less hectic than expected.

The doctor also puts the “Vegas Line” on the baby weight at 7 lbs., 13 ounces. That sparks a series of over/under bets. The “unders” won.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 11:45 PM

“You’re a really good pusher. Justin, do you want to see the head?”

“Um, no.” A decision I would reverse shortly.

~~~
Wednesday, April 14^th, 11:30 AM

“The baby’s heart rate is really dropping,” Nurse Christie says. “We need to figure out what’s going on.”

This would happen for the next 12 hours. Almost like clockwork, every hour on the hour, the baby’s heart rate would plummet for a minute and then go right back up. This would keep the doctors, nurses, and expecting parents on their toes for the rest of the day. Each time it dropped, more people would come into the room.

Eventually, they would hook him up to an electrode to get a better read on his heart rate. Luckily, the first time this happened was the scariest moment of the entire birthing process.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 11:50 PM

“You have amazing control of your legs. That was a really good epidural.”

All I can do is agree. Melissa seems to be in no pain, but is still in complete control. She’s amazing.

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 3 PM

“Can you go tell them I’m ready for an epidural?” Nine hours of contractions was enough. The last few have been really strong.

Minutes later, an older gentleman comes in to administer the wonder drug. I’m in panic mode. Melissa and I have agreed that her mom would come in and take care of her while the giant needle went in her back. Problem is, her mom’s not here yet.

I guess I have no choice.

“I can just stand,” I say as they scramble to find me a seat.

“No you can’t. It’s not allowed. Too many dads pass out. Most of them are firefighters and police officers.”

“Good thing I’m a television news producer.” I don’t pass out. I don’t look either.

~~~
Thursday, April 15, 12:15 AM

“You’re doing amazing Meli,” I say as she digs deep to push for a fourth time during a particularly long contraction.

“The head is just about out.”

~~~
Wednesday, April 14, 3:30 PM

“There’s meconium in the womb. That is a little worrisome because if he comes out and takes a deep breath, he’s going to inhale it all.”

Not exactly the news expectant parents want to hear. This probably means mom won’t get to hold him right away. It also increases the chances of a C-Section if they can’t get him out soon.

Just something else to worry about.

~~~

Thursday, April 15^th, 12:28 AM

“One more push. Here he comes. No don’t swallow little guy! We need to suck that stuff out of his lungs. Dad, if you want to cut the cord, you need to act quick.”

The little man comes out screaming… and pooping. Even in shocked panic, I know that’s funny.

I cut the cord, and they rush him to the warming table. An older British woman starts clearing his lungs. I’m in awe. I can’t do anything but stand there and look at him.

“Justin! Get the camera!” Melissa brings me out of my trance.

“Oh yeah, the camera!” I spent $800 on it, better use it. I also take a second to text… “It’s a boy!!!”

~~~

Wednesday, April 14^th, 4:30 PM

“So you’re still not going to tell us the name?” My mom asks. Probably the 12^th time she’s asked today.

Everyone is in the delivery room visiting Melissa. After the epidural she feels great.

“They’ve been trying to get me to tell all day. Even offered me money,” I say.

“Oh yeah? How much?” Melissa asks.

“Not enough.”

~~~

Thursday, April 15^th, 12:58 AM

“Dominic, meet your family. Family meet Dominic Ryan Chechourka.”

“I love the name,” I don’t know who said it… because I’m holding my baby boy for the first time, so I’m a little distracted.

Our White Rabbit

Much like Alice’s white rabbit… our baby is late. He’s late, for a very important date. He’s late, he’s late, he’s late!

Right now (Monday), Baby C’s really only a day behind schedule but it feels like an eternity. It’s sort of like waiting for a Jack-in-the-box. You know he’s going to pop out at some point, you just don’t know when and you know you’re going to be startled.

Every night for the past week I’ve gone to bed thinking, “tonight is the night”. Every morning I wake up… and Melissa is still pregnant.

And I’m not the only one anxiously waiting. Melissa’s over being pregnant. And I’m pretty sure the grandparents-to-be are sleeping in their clothes, shoes at the ready, waiting for the call. They call to check-in, and then can’t hide their disappointment.

We go to the doctor today. We’ll get an update with how far along Melissa is, and we’ll set a date for induction (should be sometime next week). Kaiser won’t let you go more than two weeks past the due date.

Hopefully, we won’t get that far, but we need our white rabbit to get hopping.

Open Letter to our baby...

Dear Baby C.,

We’re now seven days from your due date. That means at some point over the course of the next two weeks, I will officially become your daddy. I’m not sure who should be more frightened, me or you.

Here’s the thing. It wasn’t that long ago that I was riding a big piece of cardboard (named the Express) down a flight of stairs, racing beer that was flowing down a giant beer bong (called the Twister) wrapped around the banister. And now, I’m supposed to raise you and encourage you to stay away from the Expresses and Twisters of the world? Good thing we have your mother around.

I’d also like to apologize in advance. I’m going to embarrass you. A lot. I sing in the car, I dance in the living room, I make silly jokes, and somehow I still think I’m cool. The good news is… you’re probably going to think I’m hilarious… and then you’ll turn 9.

I also apologize for this sports thing. I love sports, I want to coach, I want to take you to games and I want to play 1-on-1 until you can beat me. I hope you adopt my love for the Buccaneers, but don’t feel like you have to cheer for your mother’s Dodgers. If you don’t love sports… well… we’ll figure something out.

The one place we will not compromise: school. You will be a good student. You have no choice, your mother is brilliant, and your father is a genius. We’ll try not to ride you, but we won’t let you slack. A little hint, come to me for the math help. Your mother is better at the English.

The last thing you can count on… love. There’s a lot of love in this family. Your mother and I may never have a lot of money, but this family will always be rich with love.

Despite my trepidation, I’m ready for your arrival. I’m soooo ready, and so is everyone else. We’ll see you soon.

Love,

Your daddy.

P.S. I also apologize for Sputnik. He’s not so bad once you get past the smell and the slobber!