Legacy

Tonight, I welcomed my son into the world.

Yesterday evening, my wife and I headed to the hospital to induce her into labor.  Originally, we were supposed to go around 8 in the evening.  We set out early, because snow flurries and slick roads made the journey to the hospital interesting.  On the way, we got a call from the hospital:  Not yet.  It seems some other woman or women had gone into labor ahead of us.

So I turned the car around.  Back home.

We relaxed and watched a movie while waiting for the hospital to call and clear us to come on in and get my wife admitted.  The call comes.  So once more on to the slick roads.  Snow sticking a little bit more.

We get my wife admitted and settled in the room a little bit before midnight.  Monitors put on.  Medication applied.  We settle in the for the night.  I wake up frequently to the sounds of the nurses adjusting the "belts" on my wife.  I had forgotten sleepwear, so I slept in my long underwear.

The next morning, they put in the epidural drip and my wife's OB checks the progress.  Slow going.  During the day, nurses and OB notice the fetal heart rate drop with every contraction.  As afternoon approaches, we're given the decision to make:  Try and deliver naturally, or go with a C-section.  We opt for the latter.

Around 6 in the evening, they prep my wife for surgery and give me scrubs to put on.  My wife is wheeled into an OR and I'm directed to wait in an empty room.  The minutes I was there felt like hours.  My mind ran worrisome scenarios that only heightened my anxiety.  I noticed a book on Bible verses and pick it up.  I can't remember what I read, just that it comforted me in those nerve-wracking minutes.  When I entered the OR, I was calm.  The nurses found me a stool to sit on so I could keep my wife calm.  We settled on our child's middle name.  The first name had been decided for a couple of weeks.

My wife's OB calls me to stand up and look over the screen to see my child, and to tell my wife what I see.  And I see it, clear as day:  I excitedly tell me wife (though from behind my surgical mask, I'm not sure how much expression there was on my face):  "It's a boy!"

I remember tears of joy in my eyes at that moment.  It's an emotional experience that defies description.  One has to become a parent to know it.  I think to myself about the journey to this moment:  My own childhood, growing up in Florida, Arizona, and Germany.  My time in college.  Working in Minnesota.  Moving to Iowa.  Meeting my wife.  Our wedding day and honeymoon.  All those events that led me to this moment, cutting the umbilical cord and holding my son.  A son.  He'll carry the last name forward.  I sit on the stool by my wife and show her our son.  Tears well up in our eyes.

I accompany the nurse on the elevator down to the nursery, where my son gets tagged like merchandise in a department store.  He and I share a few private moments after he's been weighed and measured:  7 lbs 6 oz.  21 inches.  I tell him:

Hey there, little guy.  I'm your Daddy.  Your Mommy and I are very happy to finally meet you!  I can tell already that you're going to be a heartbreaker.  You're going to get your way quite often with Mommy.  I'll tell you right now that I'm going to be a little tougher on you.  But it's because it's my job.  I'm here to protect you.  To teach you what it is to be a man.  To be strong.  To stand up for yourself.  To teach you not to be fearless, but to conquer your fear.  To give you advice, even when you don't want to hear it.  To help you learn from my mistakes without having to make them yourself.  I'm here to also teach you compassion, generosity, and forgiveness.  But for now, I'll start with teaching you about love.  Love is simply this:  I will do anything, my son, to keep you safe, even give up my own life.  I hope it doesn't come to that, because I look forward to spending the rest of my life getting to know you.

So as I sit here in my wife's room with both her and my son asleep, ready to take him back to the nursery for the night, I glance out the window as another midnight approaches.  It's Sunday, so the traffic on the highway is sparse.  A thin layer of snow still covers everything.  And I still don't have any sleepwear.  But at this moment, I don't care.  I beam at my sleeping son and think how much different my life has become in the last 24 hours.  Yesterday, I was just a husband.  Today, I'm also a dad.