Go Ask Yer Grandad-

...so my oldest daughter had the baby yesterday. All went great. I'm thrilled (of course) but subdued when it took place. I'll chalk it up to being an old hand in the ol' 'livery room. . . an experienced spectator.

The Missus had a whale of an old time giving life to our oldest daughter. After a few dozen hours of being bashed around with no appreciable progress, she earned a really quick trip to the ER.

We read everything we could about birthing babies for months. We dutifully attended all the classes. I had the confidence to scratch in "urethra franklin" as an answer for one of the "name the parts" tests they had given us and although she cracked me in the ribs real good, we still giggled about it like we had heard someone fart in church.

She was really healthy and of course, the birth would be textbook..

But somewhere along the line she got really big ankles and really big blood pressure and then got induced and stabilized and sent home and summoned back and induced again and someone talked her into a little Demerol and she lost her mind and started clutching my collar and begging me to blow in her face (?) and not leave and I didn't. We stayed that way for almost a day...squinting her eyes and breathing through pursed lips with her IV'ed hand pulling me all hunched over to her cheek and her free hand fanning her face.

The washing machine sudsy sounding monitor thing that had been our soundtrack for the day started stalling every few minutes. Everyone but the two of us hustled around and about 3 minutes later we were in another room.

I had gotten used to being useless all day leading up to this, and even more so perched on the little stool in my full surgery scrub get up on the non-business side of the the screen by my wife's head. One of the muzzled asked "are you alright, Dad?". I nodded like there was no reason to have been asked.

A few minutes, a few unwraps of the cord that was killing her, and 22 1/2 inches later, a beautiful baby girl.

My wife insisted on another natural birth three years later when our second child was due, despite my silent fears that she would wind up with another emergency cesarean delivery. She almost made it too.When baby's head popped out to check on us and nothing else followed. The salad spoon made an appearance. My wife screamed at the catcher..not the forceps! The catcher very patiently laid the medieval tool aside and quietly let her know that the rest of the thing we were staring at needed to come on out of the host. Babies are durable. I know that now. A few cranks later..another beautiful baby girl (with a black eye).

When my grandson was born, my former puke-if-she-got-a-paper-cut daughter went the distance with no pain meds and (unfortunately for everyone else present on the entire wing that afternoon) no gag. I stood on the sideline in the room, away from the field of play (this time it was my daughter who clutched the daddy's collar while my wife fanned her face) and watched my 5'11 1/2" 120 lb. first baby give birth to a son of nearly matching height and weight.

Ever held your hand on a rabbit? Every fibre of every muscle is humming beneath the calm exterior. This is how my guts feel in when I'm in the hospital on birth days.

So yesterday by some divine act, we found that the waiting room had been moved from the birth business (3rd) floor, to the ground floor and we stayed (all twenty or so of us) far away from the mechanic's area...we could have been spending a really busy afternoon at the tire store.
We heard progress from upstairs via the cell phone from time to time and, as if it had been pre-ordained, I hit the button of the elevator and waltzed out and into the work bay at the precise moment that my grandaughter popped into the room.

At 46 I'm a Grandad twice-over and no one has missed an opportunity to let me know it...all day.