BIG BABY

It’s birthday season. In some weird twist of timing, almost everyone I work with was born around this time: Christine, Wendy, Gord, Darren and Ian, in that order. March is prime time for birthing babies, because it’s spring, and, if you timed it right, you get the summer off. Also, working backwards, March babies are conceived in June, the wedding month, not that we need to dwell too much on how my colleagues came to be conceived. That’s just weird.

And then there’s Aidan, my first-born son, born March 23^rd, 1993, the most terrifying and exhilarating day of my life. He came a week early, but reluctantly, after an almost completely uneventful pregnancy. We were so ready, having taken the birth classes, prepared the nursery, taken an infant CPR course. I had a fresh pedicure, suspecting that my feet would be on display in labour, and wanting my toes to look tidy while I hollered my head off. I was still working, and finished my afternoon show on that Monday feeling the odd twinge, but passed it off as Braxton Hicks contractions.

By 3:30 AM Tuesday, I knew I was in labour. We called the hospital, and they said “C’mon down, but no hurry”, so I had a bath, while John admired my pedicure. We drove through the darkened streets of Parkdale, and I remember John asking me if we had time to pick up a hooker, which still makes me laugh to this day. We checked into St. Michael’s, and were ushered into a private delivery room. We brought a boom box with a couple of specially mixed cassette tapes, and a backgammon board. As I recall, I beat John twice, between contractions. Piece of cake, I thought, I got this.

Then of course it all went sideways. As the day progressed, my labour did not. Or rather it did, but along the way we discovered two important truths: that I had a disproportionate pelvis (and still do), and that the baby had a large head (and still does). It took a long time to figure this out, and throughout it all there was a lot of screaming and swearing, and that was just the doctor. It was, in fact, rather awful. By mid afternoon, they gave me an epidural, and then attached a monitor to the baby’s head to keep track of his heartbeat while they tried suction, and then forceps, until … his heartbeat weakened, and then stopped. I was rushed to the O.R., where dozens of green clad doctors, surgeons, and pediatric specialists suddenly materialized. I was too crazed with fear and pain to notice, but John later told me there were over 20 people in attendance.  The atmosphere was grim, and strangely quiet. It took mere minutes to deliver him by C-section, as I was already numb, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath.  Then Aidan popped out, kicking and crying. It seems that the heart monitor had come detached from his head, which is why we couldn’t hear his heart. He was pink, and loud, and big (8 pounds, 10 ounces, most of it head), and incredibly beautiful. They gave him 10 out of 10 on the APGAR scale, and everyone in the room cheered.

And here he is, 25 years later.  I’m still not over it. Happy Birthday, baby.

             

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