The Birth of Helena Kara Latiri: Gross and AWESOME (Part 2 of 2)

Continued from Part 1...

The Birth.

I was surprised. As Dr. VanMilder got dressed for the delivery and the nurse was preparing all of the tools and instruments and lighting necessary, I must confess that my mind was not on anything specific. I thought about how quiet the delivery ward was. I thought about the consequences of having a child's birthday on New Year's, and how it was less than two weeks before my wife's birthday and only one week after Christmas, less than a month after our wedding anniversary, and how much budgeting would have to go into gift-giving each winter. I thought it was awesome that Heather's contractions didn't lead her to scream obscenities (which I was preparing myself for), but instead, took place while she napped. I thought of the wonders of modern medicine, while at the same time appreciating that females of all species have been giving birth to offspring for eons.

The nurse disassembled the foot of the bed, which slid away to reveal stirrups on either side of the bed. The nurse quickly assembled them, and I thought it was like a giant Transformer toy. Then I noticed that the doctor was still getting dressed. By this point, the doctor had put on overgarments over her scrubs, at least two pairs of gloves, foot coverings up to her shins, and a face shield similar to the one I wore when I serviced liquid oxygen to the LOX converters on F-15s. The nurse herself had on a pair of latex gloves, and I felt extremely contagious, because I was only dressed in my street clothes. No mask, no gloves, just a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Meanwhile, the doctor looked as if she was prepared to shoot tear gas into a mob as she stood between my wife's spread legs.

Heather's feet were on the stirrups; the nurse was on Heather's left side, and I was on the right. I had a clear view of what can now only be described as "birth canal." It had grown in size since I'd last seen it, and of course, that made sense. But I was surprised, because it's not something that anyone had ever really taught, whether in sex ed or in birthing class. We learn all about the uterus and even the steps of labor, but being a guy, that information really went in one ear and out the other. Guys are usually just grateful that they don't have to ever experience that. They should be, too, because to be honest, it was a bloody mess. Fluids were oozing out, and there was a smell. Of course, I didn't really care, but these are observations that people are afraid of making.

The doctor then instructed Heather to start pushing during the next contraction, and Heather did just that as the nurse and I held on to each of Heather's legs. When the doctor yelled "Push!" and the nurse gave an authoritative count of "One...two...three..." all the way to ten, I realized that this was it. This was what we all see in the movies and television, and boy this wasn't anything like that. It was quiet, intimate, private, comfortable, and safe. For my part, there was no animosity, no stress, just this act of biology that I was witnessing live for the first time. I wasn't watching Lifetime; I was watching Animal Planet.

After the fourth set of three pushes, I saw the generous amount of hair that signified my daughter's head was approaching. I wasn't sure which part of her head I was looking at, so I thought that the baby's head was just the size of my fist. The doctor's fingers were kneading and spreading, as the hair kept creeping closer and closer to the exit. On the seventh set of pushes, the amount of hair grew and grew and grew! When her face slid out from underneath, my jaw hit the floor. I was looking at the most unnatural sight I'd ever seen in my life.

There she was, my daughter's face, sticking out between my wife's legs, and the only thing I could think of was Kuato saying "Quaid...start the reactor..."

With the ninth and final set of pushes, the doctor delivered Helena out from the womb. The first thing that I needed to see was that Helena was, indeed, a girl. You see, ever since her 20-week ultrasound, I'd been concerned that she might be a boy. Nothing wrong with that by itself, but all of the pink clothes and dresses and tights and "It's a Girl!" themed gifts would be wasted, not to mention my embarrassment at preparing the whole world for something different. So when Helena came out, all I could see was her back, which made the wait for gender verification even longer. Even when the doctor exclaimed, "Here she is!" I still wanted to see for myself. When the doctor handed Helena to Heather to hold, I sighed with relief.

Helena was huge. I was shocked. I didn't think a human being could hold a whole other human being inside herself. Also, Helena was a cuttlefish. She started out whitish-gray, then as she started crying, her body turned a deep shade of purple. The purple gradually gave way to red and then to pink, and when I could see her eyes, they were blue like the Fremen of Arrakis.

The doctor handed Helena to Heather, and the cord was still attached, but clamped. The doctor asked, "Daddy, would you like to cut the cord?" I said, "Of course!" but in a tone that reflected the mood I snapped into when she asked me that. I became an enlisted man ready to execute the orders of my superior, and cutting the cord was simply another order to carry out. It didn't mean anything to me other than a medical procedure that I happened to perform. I cut the cord, which looked like a slimy blue coiled rope that reminded me of very thick rotini.

Helena was crying strong, and Heather instantly snapped into a soothing mother. It was a side of her I'd actually never seen before, and I was so happy to see it. Any lingering doubts I had that Heather would be a good mother disappeared without a trace.

Helena weighed in at an impressive 8 lbs, 10 oz. Helena was cleaned and swaddled and I got to hold her for the first time, and I looked at the milia on her nose, her prominent upper lip, and her flat nose. I listened to her crying as I rocked her, letting her lungs work for the first time in her life. I wasn't thinking about how my life was going to change. I wasn't thinking about how much sleep I was going to miss. I wasn't thinking about how many diapers I would have to change or how I was going to get her to eventually stop crying. I just looked at her in amazement and thought, This is my daughter. I hope she doesn't hate me too much.

It's been two weeks, and everyone is doing great. Being a dad suits me, I think. I rush to her side whenever I hear her cry, and I'm happy to change her diaper. I'm glad she's a strong girl, and seeing her go through delivery reinforces my trust in her strength. Right now, there are two things that I'm waiting for: her smile and her laugh. When those things happen, I'm pretty sure my ability to say no to her will be hammered away.

I wonder if Helena will enjoy Total Recall...