My pastor and I meet on Thursday evenings to talk ministry and get to know one another; eventually I will be more involved in the church's ministries, maybe even doing some preaching. The Thursday before Emma's birth I gave Holly a good-bye kiss and drove to my meeting. When I came home forty minutes later I looked at Holly and remarked that Emma had dropped. Holly tried to quietly dismiss it, but I insisted she had dropped, which I proved by feeling her belly and pointed out that the top was like pudding, and not a hard knot like it had been. Again Holly shrugged it off and we eventually went to bed.

Now I love my wife, and under normal circumstances I'd be upset that she was keeping things from me and deceiving me. I had not been sleeping well all that week and she knew I needed sleep more than anything, and had she told me she had been nesting all evening I probably wouldn't have slept a wink. Instead she shrugged everything off quietly knowing it was all about to start, and we both went to bed.

One of the things I love about being an adult is the freedom I have. If I want to eat a bag of fish sticks for dinner I can. If I want to turn on all the lights in my house just because I can, no one is there to stop me. So if I want to drink a huge glass of water before I go to bed I don't have to worry about my mother calling me up and warning me about wetting the bed. And, instead of wetting the bed, my bladder sent a memo to my brain at approximately four in the morning on Friday that it was at capacity; my bladder is quite considerate that way, much better than what it used to do when I was a wee little tyke. Thus it was that I was found shuffling myself about my bedroom at four in the morning, trying not to wake up too much. It almost worked.

As soon as I pulled the covers over me and got myself comfortable my kind, loving, gentle, sweet, heart-attack inducing wife whispers to me, in a voice filled with quiet excitement, "I don't think you have to go to work today." Curse my ears for waking up along with the rest of me just to relieve a little pressure my stupid bladder was complaining about! That little message ran all of the red lights in my sleep addled brain and sent a spike of some anti-sleep chemical through my system. I tried to go back to sleep; I really tried to pretend I didn't hear anything so I could quietly drift back into the warm embrace of my most fickle mistress; it was no use. We were in labor.

I finally gave up and asked some pitiful questions meant to reveal that Holly was surely mistaken and this was just the onset of some really strong false alarms. No use; she'd been awake since 2:30 timing her contractions, and we were now 10 minutes apart and a full minute long for each contraction. I am now fully awake, because on Tuesday Holly found out she was two centimeters dilated and 70% effaced. This did not sound like a false alarm, and likely we'd have a screaming kid before the sun arose.

I'm only 30 years old; I don't have the benefit of six decades of walking with God to have all my theology straightened out yet. So I still puzzle over why God throws us curve-balls. Holly called her folks, all giddy and happy. I tried to wake up and calm down; I really needed another day to wrap things up at work, but it looked like my leave just started and there was nothing I could do about it. We passed a couple of hours getting all our bags ready and by the door, calling my folks to give them the news, and calling the office. I got a shower and felt so awful that I decided to lie down and wait for the world to stop moving on me.

I woke up. I woke up to hearing Holly on the phone, and that is when I found out her contractions all but stopped. Now what? Do I go back to work? Do we call her folks again and tell them to not rush up here? It turns out Holly was on the phone with a nurse, and they encouraged Holly to get some sleep because she was in labor, this was no false alarm; Emma may not come before lunch, but she was coming.

Like I said, my theology isn't that of a man twice my age, but I'm not sure what God was doing. For my part I know it's not a good idea to tease a pregnant woman with labor. Holly was ready to have her body back, and the onset of labor had her excited that we might finally get to see (and hear, why do women forget we'll hear babies?) our little girl. The mood in our house Friday morning was a mixture of relief and disappointment. I was relieved that I could get a longer nap in, and Holly was disappointed she was not going to the hospital.

The videos we saw in the birthing class made some passing mention of relaxing during labor and everyone in the class dismissed it. It was true; our morning at home was relaxing, calm, soothing, and enjoyable. I put on some light music, we ate some food, chatted, and enjoyed just waiting. We got some naps in and even watched some TV. Then things picked up again, and with a vengeance. All this time Holly was getting contractions an hour to half-an-hour apart. Suddenly they were more regular and growing in intensity. We got to ten minutes apart, then jumped to seven, then Holly gasped that we needed to go now. It was time.

I may never know how a pregnant woman knows these things. It amazes me what God has done in engineering our bodies. Holly has never been pregnant before but she knew with some God-given intuition that even though we were at seven minutes apart and not the prescribed five, we needed to go. The hospital is a mere thirteen minutes away, and it took less than five minutes to get all the bags into the car. By the time we got into the birthing center Holly skipped six, five, and four and was now only three minutes apart.

The birthing floor was a bit busy. They delivered twelve babies on Thursday and were still getting pregnant women filing in to squeeze out their little bundles of joy. As we were getting admitted Holly had another contraction and like all the recent ones she had to stop talking and could only focus on breathing. Holly's focus was remarked by all our nurses and doctors who witnessed her contractions. They were impressed and encouraged by her control all throughout the delivery; the anesthesiologist was surprised Holly was six centimeters dilated, stating that usually at six centimeters women he gave epidurals to were unable to maintain focus on their breathing and just screamed. I still wonder if Holly could have managed without an epidural.

When we took the birthing class we also got a tour of the facilities. They not only showed us the rooms but gave us an idea of how we'd progress through the building. I had forgot they were first going to take us to a triage room to determine if the baby was indeed coming or if was a false alarm. We walked past all the triage rooms. We walked past the rooms and straight into a delivery room and I wondered what that meant. The triage nurse asked some questions, got the monitors hooked up to Holly, and Holly reported she thought her water broke on the walk in. They were ready to do some tests but the contractions kept coming, and coming hard. I don't know what made them decide we could stay but I recall the nurse said it no longer mattered if the water broke we were going to have our baby.

It was now about 3:30 in the afternoon on Friday, and Holly had been through thirteen hours of on-and-off labor, and not all of it easy. Each contraction had Holly wracked in pain and some of the first words out of her mouth once we were in the room (even during the questions) was when the epidural could start. Now I don't know how many other husbands look into the delivery bathroom and spy the spa and wonder if they could use it if their wife won't. Once you get an epidural the spa as an option is out; I never did figure out if I could use it. I was too busy helping Holly get through her contractions.

My parents tell a story about my father having a cup of coffee during one of their deliveries and my mother shooing him out of her face because of his breath. This story came to mind as Holly had me blow in her face with every contraction. The class had warned the mother not to hyperventilate but they said nothing about me! Our stellar nurse gave me some cool cloths to put on Holly's face and forehead and that worked great, and I didn't get dizzy again. The labor was intense and Holly felt every minute of it. Remember that epidural she wanted so bad?

My little girl was a pain in the butt, and she'll never live that down. Holly was given the epidural and her abdomen pain went away. The anesthesiologist asked her the usual questions about numbness and tingling and such, making sure he got everything in right, and Holly gave back and answer that gave him pause; I saw the look on his face and I started to panic. Something was not what he expected, and this was not going to be routine. With each contraction Holly had a pain down her left buttocks and leg. After some thought, consideration, and a readjustment of the epidural (he pulled it out a bit, which meant re-applying the surgical tape, which meant Holly got two free wax jobs) it was decided Emma was pushing against one of Holly's nerves and that nerve was so low there was nothing safe we could to to block the pain. The epidural was working, but it only revealed another pain.

Somewhere in here I started to feel a bit faint from lack of water and food. The nurse and Holly agreed she was stable enough for me to move the car and bring up our gear, including a huge bag of snacks (which we are still munching on). Only an hour had lapsed and she was at six centimeters and fully effaced when I left. When I returned, not ten minutes later, she was at seven centimeters and progressing to eight. Emma had enough and wanted out. Soon it was time to push and I was hoping I could sit down, close my eyes, and ignore that something absolutely disgusting was about to happen. I'm not lucky.

We went through a changing of the nurses while we were there, and they were both stellar. They were encouraging, helpful, and calm. They never rushed were always accommodating and professional. I only hope they are still there in a couple of years when we do this all over again (egads!). When it came to pushing we had two nurses for a time, but they wouldn't let me sit it out. One would do some paperwork while the other nurse and I assisted Holly with her pushing and I counted to ten while keeping one eye closed.

The nurses were happy with Holly's pushing. She was pushing perfectly, and given the rate we were going she was making excellent progress. In total she only pushed an hour and we were ready for the usual two hours, and so were the nurses. In fact the doctor did not have her tools ready in time and Holly had to try and not push. Here is some free medical advice: never tell a woman about to crown to not push. Holly nearly screamed with frustration.

I remember I was in the middle of counting to ten, my left eye closed my right eye (the one that is blurry) only able to see Holly's face distorted with the effort of pushing, when I heard this sound of gushing water spattering down on Holly and felt her relax a bit. I thought our little girl was out and on mommy's chest, then I heard the doctor say, "Keep pushing!" Holy smokes! Holly erupted in a fountain of fluid that shot out at the doctor and arced up onto her chest. I now know why the doctor had a face shield on. Somehow I managed to not lose it after that, possibly because in another few seconds I heard the wailing cry of my little girl.

Anyone who knows me won't be surprised by what I did next. I turned my back to the doctor and my baby girl and breathed. I heard the doctor comment that she'd clean up baby before handing her to me and I replied that Holly did all the work and should have the first cuddle. That was no clever way of wimping out; Holly really did a lot of work, suffered through a lot of pain, and she needed the reward: she needed the fruit of her labor.

The rest of the night was a blur. Emma was born at 8:31 and somehow the clock kept turning and before we knew it the day was nearly done and we were settled in our room and Emma was getting her first bath and the hands of our nurse. Everyone remarked at how pretty Emma was, that her features were delicate, and that her fingers are quite long. I just remember feeling that primal urge to protect that little screaming voice. Somewhere around midnight we all went to bed and despite the short day bed I went right to sleep.

The labor was not what we expected. It came and then went and then came on hard and fast. All told we had about 18 hours bringing Emma into the world, and she is a precious child of God. With apologies to my daughter, I still say all babies are ugly, but that does not mean they are not special. Emma has cute grunts and whimpers, beautiful grey eyes I get lost in every time we stare at each other, and she does indeed have long fingers like her dad. She has made a mess of our lives, but it's a mess we welcome.

Welcome home Emma. You are well loved.