born!
Robin is here!
We had tried everything to get this baby out: long walks, spicy food, plus various other folk remedies that can’t be discussed in polite company. There was just one thing we hadn’t tried: Murphy.
So, on the eve of our daughter’s official due date (the one day they say that children usually aren’t born), we went on vacation. Made sense to us.
Did it work? Obviously. How? Well, let’s see….
We needed a getaway retreat that wasn’t too much of a getaway. Lynn found the charming Arch Cape House bed ‘n’ breakfast near Cannon Beach, everyone’s favorite coastal town. Scenic, but only about an hour away from Portland. Perfect!
We unwound in the cutesy room with the cutesy chairs and cutesy wallpaper, then headed into town to the Bistro Restaurant, which I believe translates as, “Restaurant Restaurant.” (Brilliant. Wonder what they’d call the Italian version.)
Anyway, despite a few of the online reviews complaining of drunken servers and snobby management, the service was quite efficient the night we were there. Tasty eats, too. Roasted beets are hard to do right, but they nailed it when they put ‘em on top of spinach alongside nuts and goat cheese. The Swedish cream we had for dessert would have been better with just a shade less raspberry sauce smothered over it, but the real flavor managed to shine through anyway.
We sat next to a nice couple, half of which was an avid cyclist who’s ridden many of the same big Oregon rides that Team Bag Balm does. We traded cycling and parenting stories for a while, and then pushed back out into the night.
Lynn woke me groggily at 4:something AM, saying basically, “This is it.” By the time we both showered, packed, and enjoyed the last of the cable TV, it was about 6:30. We tried to get the innkeeper’s attention so we could check out, and eventually succeeded at 7:00 by standing out in the cold, waving our arms beneath the right window, and pointing madly at Lynn’s belly.
On the road, the contractions were getting closer together—about 5 minutes or so! If any law enforcement types are reading this, I drove quickly, safely, and (as far as you know) legally back into town. We stopped at the house to feed the cats and pick up our toothbrushes (the rest was packed). The cats puffed out like balloons at the sound of Lynn’s keening. We dashed back out the door to the cheers of our neighbors.
I got Lynn to the right floor, went to park, and came back to find her in Triage. Triage?!? Really? What do you guys think the diagnosis was?
Once the hospital had decided that we were, in fact, having a baby, they got us to our room, and we dug in for the big struggle. Avalon was ushered in by a close friend and quickly set to work drawing pictures for all present. A portrait of Mommy for me, a spider for one of the nurses, a Warhol-esque series of twenty-five hearts with one colored differently from the rest for Robin, and so on.
Lynn was a real trooper about the epidural. This reporter? Less so. I can handle poo, vomit, blood, guts, and even most needles. But when they shoved a sharp thing in Lynn’s spine, started wiggling it around, and said things like, “Let us know if you feel pressure or electrical flashes,” I blanched and muttered something about being thirsty. They got some orange juice on the rocks, but got a little too eager with the smelling salts: for Heaven’s sake, it was just a little squeamishness, not “a touch of the vapors!”
In the early afternoon, the final phase of pushing began. I whispered oodles of useless things in Lynn’s ear, wiped her brow, and generally marvelled at the new shapes, colors, and smells in the room.
At sunset, in a room fittingly near the Sunset Transit Center train station, Lynn gave birth to a hale (9 lbs, 22.5 inches) and hearty (Apgar of 9 and 9) girl. Avalon cheered. Phones rang. Medical professionals leapt into action to snip things and tie things and scrub things. I strove to manage the tide of information for the world outside, so that Lynn and Robin and Av could get in some quality time.
Finally, an hour or two after she was born, I got to hold Robin for longer than a couple of seconds. Holy crap. If everyone knew this feeling, there would be no war. None. Put down your guns, pick up a baby.
And now up in the family room, everyone else is smart enough to be asleep. I’d better go join them. ‘Nite.