As I turned the key in the lock and closed the deadbolt on the door to our little Emeryville bungalow, I paused. 

This would be the last time we would be leaving our house as “just” a couple. Just us two. If all went well, when we returned, it would be as a family…three of us instead of two. I pondered that thought for a moment, then turned and hurried past Jen to open the large wooden gate that led to the street. She waddled more than walked through the gate and after closing the gate, I rushed past her again to open the door to our little white Toyota Tercel and helped her into the front passenger seat. As she pulled the seat-belt over to secure it, I noted that it seemed barely long enough to cover her large tummy.

A short while earlier, after Jen’s water had broken, we had reviewed our little checklist from our birthing class to remind ourselves of the things we needed to do.

1) Don’t Panic – CHECK!
According to our Birthing Class instructor, most expecting first-time parents rush to the hospital far too soon and then end up having to come home again OR spending hours if not days longer in the hospital waiting for the baby actually to come. We called the hospital, and they confirmed at what point in the contraction timing we should head in.

2) Eat a meal – CHECK!
The next thing people forget is to eat before heading to the hospital. Depending on how things progress the mom-to-be may not get another chance to eat, and if things take longer than expected it can be a problem. I made a nice dinner while Jen took care of the last of the first three items on our checklist:

3) Take a bath
Again, too often folks don’t realize that things may take longer than they expect and with all of the excitement and anxiety surrounding a first baby, taking a nice hot bath beforehand can help relax the Mom-to-be before heading in.

As we left the house, I noted that I seemed to be becoming hyper-aware of everything that was about to change in our lives. The last time we’d be in the house as ‘just us’. The last time driving in the car as ‘just us’. The brand new baby seat that we had been practicing putting in and taking out of the car these last few weeks, this might be the last trip it took for a while ‘sans passenger’.

At the hospital, we were checked in (with what seemed like far too much time-consuming paperwork with such a momentous event pending), then they put Jen in a wheelchair, an orderly rolled her over to the elevator and escorted us up to the maternity ward. All the while we held hands and talked quietly and excitedly to each other, the anticipation growing. Every few minutes, the conversation would pause as another contraction hit. Jen would get a look of total concentration on her face… it didn’t seem exactly painful, but a little uncomfortable. Things were certainly progressing.
A nurse brought us to one of the ‘pre-birth’ rooms. It was very small and felt very sterile. Just a bed and a chair, some equipment and a fluorescent light. The nurse proceeded to hook Jen up to a myriad of monitoring equipment with wires extending to pads on Jen’s front, back and sides.

Suddenly, the equipment began putting out an alarming insistent beeping. Jen’s eyes got large, and I could tell her worry was taking over. She grabbed my hand as the nurse who had just hooked Jen up, hurried back into the room, looked at the equipment and called out “I need a doctor, STAT!”. I suppressed a wave of panic as Jen gripped my hand tighter. I had seen enough tv medical shows to know that calling “STAT” meant something was urgent. Jen’s eyes were wide as saucers, and she had a distraught look on her face. I held her hand firmly and said in as soothing a voice as I could. “Hang on Hon…don’t worry…the doc is coming. It will be okay”, although I wasn’t so sure.

The doctor came in, took a look at the monitor and then calmly asked Jen to roll over on her side. When she did, the monitor immediately stopped beeping. After having Jen adjust her position a few times while checking the monitor the doctor explained that the baby’s heart rate had slowed and it was probably due to there being pressure on the umbilical. They were going to give Jen some fluids to help give the baby more room, and keep an eye on her position to make sure that everything was okay. As soon as the beeping had stopped, Jen had relaxed a little bit…once the doctor explained the situation, I could see the relief wash over her face.

Jen’s contractions continued to come, and they began coming a little closer together. A short while later they moved us into a slightly larger “Birthing Room” which was more inviting and less sterile. Jen’s sister Tamison arrived and joined us in the room, and that put Jen even more at ease.
Things began to move more quickly. The contractions ramped up, coming closer together and each one getting more intense and lasting longer.
I noticed that things started to look different. I was totally focused on Jen. The rest of the room seemed to have faded into the background, and I seemed to be experiencing a kind of ‘tunnel vision’. All I could see was Jen, my hand holding hers, her face as it alternated between intense concentration and effort when the contractions came and her breathing fast and trying to catch her breath as they subsided. While the doctor and a nurse and Jen’s sister were in the room, all I could see was me, and Jen.
They said in the birthing class that this was a group effort, but at this point I was feeling about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. My job was to remind Jen to breathe when she should and push when she should…but that seemed to pale in comparison to what she was going through. She was doing all the work. I wished I could do something…more vital. More physical. More HELPFUL.
Then, all of a sudden, the doctor said “Look, there’s her head!” and I looked..and what felt like an electric shot when through me.
“There she is! I see her!” I exclaimed to Jen…. She smiled but was too busy to react more. Now…time felt like it slowed down and sped up simultaneously. The room seemed brighter all of a sudden. The whole world was in this room, and everything was pushing and sweating and breathing and words of encouragement and muscles straining and me holding Jen’s hand tighter and her face this amazing contortion of concentration and effort and pain and joy and…

… and then…. it happened.

Our daughter was born.

One moment, there was just the top of her head peeking through and the next moment: bam, out she came!

The moment she came out…was…Well, if just seeing her head had been a shock, this was a full-blown thunderbolt. It was, in the very same instant, the most joyous and most frightening moment of my life…all coming through me at once. Joyous because, here was this new life…this baby we had wanted and waited for…and we had created her, Jen and I. Just us two. And it was frightening because I immediately felt this overwhelming sense of responsibility. We were now responsible for this new being…we had to keep this frail little bundle alive…it was all on us. I was laughing, crying and just…..amazed.

Here she was…our new girl, crying in her Mom’s arms, shocked at being pushed out of her warm, cozy organized world into our loud, cold messy one. And we marveled. Her tiny little hands, with curled fingers and those tiny feet and eyes and BIG lungs (by the volume level of her crying). I don’t know if I have ever stared so intently at anything in my life before that moment. What magic this was.

Much more happened in the next few hours. We began getting to know our new daughter. We finally decided on her name, Sofia Harriett. Sofia, because it meant wisdom. Harriett, after her Great Great Grandmother who had raised my father and who had been born a slave. Then came three hours or so of calls to family and friends, and many laughs, tears hugs, and kisses.

As it neared dawn, Tamison and I left so I could drive her back to her hotel. It was a bright November morning. As I drove across the Bay Bridge toward San Francisco, I looked across the calm waters of the bay, and I thought that I wasn’t sure I had ever seen a morning to bright…so clear…not a cloud in the sky. My view was framed by a thin layer of frost around the edges of the windshield. The world was so bright and clean. And I wondered if there had ever been a morning as crisp and clear and beautiful before.
The world was just…

Sparkling.