so. that happened

so it turns out that as i was typing my last post my wife was indeed laboring laboriously under the laborlicious pains of laborly labor. wow. what sort of shitty husband pauses to update his pathetic blog, read by an audience of tens, when his beloved bride is in the earth-shattering throws of birth pains? don't answer that.

anyway. labor was happening. the sitter had been warned earlier in the day that something odd was abreast (no pun intended) and that she should be at the ready. she should have the Bat Phone charged and the Bat Mobile fully fueled, only instead of Bat Phone and Bat Mobile she should really consider a cell phone and a taxi ... must more realistic when you get down to brass tacks. and that's what we were apparently down to. about an hour after i typed that post, i put our older daughter to bed (because my wife was too busy having contractions: clue number one that something was up). once baby nice guy (who will now heretofore -- which is a great fucking word -- be known as Big Sister Nice Guy) was in her crib, talking about mermaid princess queens and glow-in-the-dark dragons or whatever it is she's into these days, i returned to my wife. this was at about 8 pm. she had assumed child's pose and was making a noise that went like this: KJJJJJSSSSSSSSSS GUUUH FUCK THE WORLD'S FACE mnnnnnnnnnnnguu.

so i called our midwife. our midwife, it should be noted, was out of town for the weekend. she told us on thursday "oh, by the way: i'm going out of town this weekend. don't go into labor." and we were all like "hahahaha. oh my god, we're screwed."

naturally, wife was in labor. we called the midwife's emergency number and Substitute Midwife answered the phone. i was all "hi i'm mr nice guy. um, mrs nice guy's husband? yeah. um we don't know you and you don't know us but we're pretty sure she's in labor." and the Substitute Midwife was all "who?"

great. just fucking balls out great. i explained to her who we were. she said "ok. call me when you think you need to go to the hospital." and i said "awesome. thanks. just what the fuck is it that you do again? because we thought it was your goddamn job to tell us when to go. she could be 8 feet dilated for all i know."

i hang up and called the sitter. "ok. you need to get here like FIVE MINUTES AGO." she says "ok. i'm in Bay Ridge. no problem." god i love our sitter. wife looks up at me with watery eyes. i know this is a special moment. she parts her dry lips and whisper-shouts: "I WANT TO UNLEASH PAIN AND DESTRUCTION ON ALL LIVING CREATURES. DEFINITELY ESPECIALLY YOU."

well. shit on a stick. i pack some bags, pausing to fix my wife a bagel and get yelled at. then i stop and put on the shirt i was wearing when my first daughter was born. just because.

the phone rings! it's the Real Midwife! she says "i'm on my way back from vacation, pulling off the jersey turnpike now. heading to the hospital." AWESOME! she asks me to hold the phone up to my wife as she has her next contraction -- she wants to hear how far along things are. i do this even though i am pretty sure it will get me killed. wife makes a noise roughly equivalent to that of 10,000 undead souls locked in purgatory being unleashed to feast upon the brains of retarded husbands who hold the receiver up to their wives in the middle of a contraction. the Real Midwife says "sounds like labor! see you at the hospital."

fuck. fuckity fuckery foo!

i call the sitter. it is now approaching 9 pm. she answers. "hey! i'm just waiting for a cab. i had to stop by Target to buy a change of clothes for the sleepover."

i think this was the exact moment that my brain imploded an began leaking down the back of my throat. i'm not positive though. so i say to her "next time WE'LL LEND YOU A PAIR OF FUCKING SWEATS. be here. now." at this moment, i do not love her very much.

we wait for the sitter to arrive. actually, i wait. my wife is temporarily inhabiting in a parallel universe where waiting has not been invented. shouting has, though. the sitter arrives. we tell her to hold the cab. she holds the cab. i help my wife down the stairs and while i do this the sitter apparently puts the luggage into the back seat. i know this because when i go back into the house to get the luggage my wife tells me the luggage is already in the cab by saying "THE FUCKING LUGGAGE IS ALREADY IN THE FUCKING CAB."

so we get in. we tell the cabbie: long island college hospital! he says "i live in manhattan. i don't know where that is."

FUCK! NEITHER DO WE!

we look up the address. he rolls. he gets us there with a quickness that would make andretti blush. i unload the car -- wife, luggage and all. i tell him i'll pay him for the sitter's fucking trip from fucking target and i'll pay for us. he says it's on him because of the miracle of life (or probably more precisely: the miracle of not breaking water all over his back seat). i like this guy. i pay him anyway and give him a fat tip. we limp through the emergency room doors, my wife pausing once to have contractions and wish malice upon me. everyone parts like the red sea. one dude walks by, family of eight straggling behind him. he looks at me and says with a rueful smirk "congratulations, man." then he rolls his eyes and keeps walking.

we get to the delivery room floor. the nurses shout something about "active labor" and usher us into a room. wife is stripped, poked, drawn of blood, asked questions and mugged for her wallet. the Real Midwife arrives! we all shed tears of relief. it's about 10:45. wife labors in tub for a bit. her water breaks. it's time to start pushing. the midwife says "let's have this baby!" i ask her if she thinks the baby will come before midnight because i'm pulling for the kid to be born on father's day -- because after all, this moment is all about me, a very very small man. the midwife is all "oh yeah, no problem," as if i insulted her by thinking this labor would last longer than 2o more minutes. wife, sitting on my lap at the edge of the bed, pushes. she screams. it's awesome. wife panics. she says she can't do this. the midwife says "actually you have to do this because the baby's heartrate is dropping. i want her out on this push." and then, boom, the baby is born.

we cry. the baby cries. she looks alarmingly like our first daughter. everyone is fine. i take pictures and make phone calls. and cry.

it was, hands down, the best father's day anyone's ever had.



more to follow!