Welch Whirl

Welcome Hazel May

Sharalee woke at about 4:55 a.m. to use the bathroom. When she got back in bed, she glanced at the clock and thought, mournfully, that Dr. Ford (pseudonym) -- her OBGYN on whom she has a self-proclaimed "man-crush" -- was a few minutes from concluding his weekend shift. Then, suddenly, she heard an audible "pop." Gush.

"Ben!"

"Mmmmphf." [Translation: "It's your turn to give Eva a bottle."]

"Ben, my water just broke."

"Mmmmphf?" [Translation: "Are you sure?"]

At this point, I went back to sleep, but methinks I heard sounds of a shower running followed by a hair dryer. I know, I know -- I'm probably crazy, right? What sane person, whose water had just broke, would shower, shampoo, and then blow-dry her hair prior to going to the hospital? (I'm not saying this happened -- I'm just saying what I heard.) Also, when we finally got to the car, I may or may not have seen Sharalee wearing eye shadow and lip gloss. Then again, it was early.

At approximately 6:00 a.m., Sharalee observed that her contractions were coming at two-minute intervals. At this point, she thought it advisable that we get to the hospital. We called my mother, who responded promptly, and left for the hospital. Not surprisingly, Sharalee was starting to panic. Not the panic of woman about to give birth to her fourth child and third daughter -- consider the wedding costs, especially in this down economy. (Those were the panicked thoughts of the father.) No, Sharalee was experiencing the panic of a woman who, having procrastinated our departure to the hospital in favor of blow-drying, may have advanced past the point of no return -- the point when you can no longer get an epidural.

And she was almost right. When we arrived, the nurse took one glance at Sharalee's face and decided we could skip triage and go straight to Labor & Delivery. The nurse also had the wherewithal to grab the anesthetist before he went to ply his wares with a non-emergency C-section down the hall. Thank goodness. A few contractions later, she was slowly descending into Numbville, population 1, when the door opened.

"Dr. Ford!" Sharalee exclaimed.

You remember that scene in the old BBC version of "Pride and Prejudice" when Mr. Darcy takes a dip in the pond before heading back to Pemberley only to find Elizabeth Bennett there? Well, picture the look on Elizabeth's face and you will approximate Sharalee's expression. (Turns out Dr. Ford didn't get off until 7:00 a.m. -- it was now 6:55.) Dr. Ford entered and gave a reassuring smile, sort of like Han Solo in the Mos Eisley cantina, you know, the "ya-but-who's-going-to-fly-it-kid" sort of expression, and sat down. He surveyed the territory, commanded the nurse and I to hitch up one leg each (Sharalee's, not ours), one push, half-a-push, and suddenly he was holding our baby.

Frankly, at that point, I could have kissed the doctor on the mouth. (I was still reeling from memories of our last delivery experience, which was like a two-hour tug-a-war with Sharalee's uterus, a.k.a. Tito Ortiz.) A few minutes later, we were alone in the room with Hazel May, the three of us staring at each other and glancing at the clock, not to mention the snow falling outside (in May!), like "what just happened?"

The rest, well, is pretty much like everyone else's experience. Here's the vitals:

Weight: 7 pounds, 14 ounces
Length: 19 and 1/2 inches
Birth time: 7:00 a.m.

And here's the pictures:



More to come later.