Michael
...was born around 9 pm on June 25th, after some 20 hours of labor, culminating in a C-section. "Cranial-pelvic discrepancy" was the culprit. Almost full dilation, all systems go, good hearty pitocin-enhanced contractions, delivery seemingly imminent -- but hours passed, and the little guy just wouldn't descend.
So, a surgical birth -- memorable in its own eerie, hi-tech way. All that time in the dim delivery room, and now this bright light. The doctors chatting away like old pals at a cocktail party as they're cutting and sewing, or whatever it is they're doing other side of the sheet. My wife's in a daze, exhausted physically and emotionally -- 20 hours of ups and downs, and she's alternating between Caesarian-induced dejection and just wanting the whole thing to be over. She presses my hand, tells me things feel unreal, dream-like. And it is like a dream, albeit one directed by the late Stanley Kubrick. There's music -- a sound system's on, playing lite hits. Hey, it's our wedding number, Natalie Cole singing "Unforgettable." The miracle and mystery of birth, accompanied by swirling violins...
Just as I'm registering this serendipitous fact, jubilation erupts from the doctors. "He's got hair! A whole lotta hair!" Moments later, our son's hoisted ceiling-wards, into my field of vision. It's not the hair I notice, so much as what looks like a miniature version of my schnozz. All these weeks we'd been wondering what the gene lotto would produce, which lucky traits would prove the big winners, and now the results are in...
"He's got my nose!" I announce to my wife.
"You can see him? Is he born?" Y. says blearily.
The doctors are congratulating us. A nurse tells me I can take pictures now. Video? Video's fine too. Our son's in a warmer, being examined. He's not pleased with the situation. He's spent the last several hours being pushed head-first into pelvic bones, and the top of his skull's bruised. He's been abruptly removed from the homeostatic, all-needs-met-all-the-time world of the womb and dumped in this plastic tub, with a nurse fingering him, checking his vital signs, and some guy -- this would be Dad -- filming him with an antiquated Samsung videocam.
Life's a riot.
9:57:58 PM 
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