What’s the phrase? Mothers connect with their babies during the pregnancy while fathers don’t connect until they see their child. I wouldn’t say I wasn’t connected to my son until he was born, but it’s amazing how in one instant your entire world is forever changed. One minute I’m playing war with my wife and shaking off the cobwebs from an early morning rise; the next minute I’m holding my second child — my first son — with tears streaming down my face as I smile the biggest smile of the year.
Desmond’s birth on April 30 was much more calm than Maggie’s one year ago. This time, I mostly knew what to expect during labor and delivery and had some confidence from having been there before. That is not to say my heart wasn’t beating through my chest as my wife pushed her way to a second birth, or that I wasn’t on Cloud Nine as I held my son for the first time. This time around, it was just less frantic.
Professional athletes get MVP awards. Journalists get writing awards. Women should get awards for excellence in childbirth. With her performance on April 30, Sarah earned the Nobel Prize of childbirth awards. To fully appreciate what she did to bring Desmond into this world, you need to know two things. First, Sarah has a very, very low tolerance for pain. Two, Sarah gets very nervous during an sort of medical event — exams, blood drawn, vaccinations, etc. — especially when she’s not entirely comfortable with the doctors and nurses.
Because of our recent move to Massachusetts, Sarah and I struggled to find the right OB/GYN for us. We loved Dr. Kevin Fleischman in Florida and any other doctor paled in comparison. As a result of all our searching, we never got a chance to get a strong connection with any doctor in Boston; the doctor who ended up delivering Desmond, we had only met him twice before the birth day. Also, even though we had been to the hospital for a few false alarms before April 30, Sarah and I weren’t nearly as familiar with the Worcester hospital as we were with the one in Fort Myers. We felt truly on our own as we brought our son into this world.
When it came time for the actual event, Sarah’s epidural didn’t work like the one from Maggie’s birth. Instead of being an entirely painfree experience, my wife felt all the pain of each push, and I was pretty sure she was going to pass out before Desmond was born. Instead, she exceeded all expectations, defied the odds and pulled out the performance of a lifetime. I am so proud of her for what she did that day. Instead of backing off from the pain or trying to hold out for an alternative solution, Sarah plowed right through and was centrally focused on giving birth. Feeling all the pain, surrounded by her husband and a bunch of strangers, Sarah was amazing.
The time between when Sarah started pushing and when Desmond was born could’ve been 5 minutes, 20 minutes or an hour, but time doesn’t really exist in those moments. For me, they are forever etched in mind as the expanse where I ran through one thousand emotions and back again. When Sarah first started pushing, I was filled with excitement and nervous energy knowing the time was close for our son to be born. After she had pushed for an eternity and still there was no sight of Desmond, I became frustrated and anxious wanting to make sure he and Sarah were OK. When his head first came out of her body, my mind was blank, my body unable to move in those few seconds. When his face came out, I was filled with warmth and happiness as my son was no longer a bump in Sarah’s belly but an actual person in the outside world. As the rest of his body worked its way out, I once again became concerned for his safety, waiting to hear him cry, assuring me he was alive and well. As he cried and the doctored placed him on Sarah’s chest, I beamed with pride for my son and my wife. When I cut the umbilical cord, I had to calm myself down for fear of making a mistake. From that moment on to the rest of his life, I wanted to protect him forever from all harm.
Most of the days of my life are a blur, filled with various activities that occupy time but rarely have a lasting impact on my long-term memory. The difference for big days like our wedding day or the birth days of our children is that they are still a whirlwind, but in my mind I can slow them down by thinking of all the little wonderful things that happened, making them special. Such as the way Sarah’s hair looked when she was the bride, or the way Dr. Fleischman said “Happy Birthday” after Maggie was born. For the birth day of Desmond Harold Kane, there are countless little things, such as the game of war that wouldn’t end, the way Desmond cried but wasn’t fussy right after the birth, kissing him for the first time, sitting alone with him in the nursey as he had his first examination, hurrying so Maggie could see her new brother before visiting hours were over, the voice message from my younger brother congratulating Sarah and me.
In this lifetime, I have been a lot of things — a son, journalist, rugger, waiter, drunk, teacher’s pet, boyfriend, track captain, wanderer. I used to think that after someone died that the coolest thing somebody could have said about them is “Brewer, Patriot.” I no longer think that. Even though the titles have applied to billions before me and billions more after me, the best thing anyone could say about me after I pass on is “Husband, father.” I may never figure out my professional role in this world, but I know that when I am with my family, I feel more complete than I have ever been.
Thank you Desmond…. and Maggie and Sarah. Bella, Molly, Vegas, too.
