Saturday, June 19,
1993: Today was lovely. The whole
family went to work, where Sharon and I gave the office a long overdue
cleaning. We went back to Springville
and went swimming. Well, we swam, while
Sharon sat and watched. Drew was tense, as
she usually is these days. She didn’t
wanting to be carried, and then she didn’t want to be left alone. Caitlin was prodigious. Cheerful and obedient all the way through,
she was a marvel of self-assurance and strength.
 |
| Sarah, actually |
After a sunny dinner I strolled over to the stake centre for
the evening session of stake conference.
This was very nice. New Q. o’ Seventy
member D. Todd Christofferson talked about not being so hard on ourselves, while the actual Neal Maxwell gave a stirring address about God’s power and the faith
that it justifies in us. I lingered a
while, thinking about what everyone said, then walked slowly home.
The kids were still up, now subdued and anticipating and
affectionate. They hugged, kissed,
cuddled and then quietly dropped off. It
was dark and warm out. Sharon’s
contractions, which had been taking practice runs for a couple of days anyway,
now began in earnest. Should we go in
now?
Sharon stalked back and forth, withdrawing within
herself. I sat in the den and read,
while keeping an ear on what was going on out there. The pains started to come harder and faster,
but they were irregular still. At
midnight we put on DeMille’s The Sign of the Cross; what Sharon wanted now was some distraction
while she waited for things to kick in.
She watched, and groaned, and snoozed.
By the time the film ended the contractions were still five to seven
minutes apart. But having nothing else
to do, and wanting to devote all of our thoughts and attentions to the job at
hand, we decided to go to the hospital.
After calling LaRae Roberts to come over for the kids, we did so. It was 2:30 AM.
Sunday, June 20: We
had an expectant drive through what suddenly felt like and adventurous night. We reached the hospital just before 3
o’clock. I got Sharon signed in. It was sure nice to know that we had
insurance that would pay for everything.
That other, anxious looking couple over there didn’t have the same good
fortune.
When I got back upstairs, Sharon was all hooked up. Four cms. We had a very nice extroverted nurse, and another sort of slow, sullen one. Our doctor was over at Utah Valley delivering someone else. We were feeling well attended though, and figured that we had plenty of time.
When I got back upstairs, Sharon was all hooked up. Four cms. We had a very nice extroverted nurse, and another sort of slow, sullen one. Our doctor was over at Utah Valley delivering someone else. We were feeling well attended though, and figured that we had plenty of time.
Sharon decided on the epidural. I did too, I guess. At the first poke Sharon went light headed,
and her ears started ringing. The doctor
pulled out, tried again, and got the same result. That epidural never did take, though the
doctor continued to hang around with a strange look on his face. We later learned that his palpable concern
came from having made an error, and from the symptoms that followed, and from
the fact that they can mean an impending cardiac arrest.
So we are glad that didn’t happen. He did fully bill the insurance company
though.
At 3:30 Sharon was at six cm. At 4:00, just after the arrival of our nice
doctor, she was at nine, and then opened all the way up to ten. This delivery room was spacious and well
appointed, quite comfortable and not too brightly lit. Blissfully unaware of these epidural dangers,
we turned ourselves to the task at hand.
Everything and everyone was in place.
It was time to push. And so the
athlete did so: once, twice, a third time and then, at 4:18, our new daughter
was born.
At various times in previous months I thought I’d heard
Sharon use gendered pronouns that hinted at a different outcome. So this was a bit of a surprise. A thought flashed ever so briefly through my
mind. “Another girl?” And at that I also felt a stab of
emotion. Another girl! Here was a happy culmination of
a very happy few months in our home, and our marriage. Everyone was safe. There was solemnity at this new hint of the
mystery and divinity and eternity of things.
Hey! I feel
lightheaded. I went out, and then came
back. Our purple-faced little baby was
crying, just a little. That placenta was
reluctant. Also, stitching. I took the baby down to the nursery. She weighed in at six pounds, fifteen
ounces. I held her for quite a little
bit. Then I went back to Sharon’s
room. There we spoke warmly and at length. Sharon called her folks. We were waiting for the baby, who kept not
coming. There’d been a big highway
accident, and they’d needed everyone to pitch in.
Finally, a little after six AM they brought in the tiny
wrapped creature. We watched and
admired, and began to address the fact that we didn’t know what to name
her. Sharon hadn’t cared for Mary, and I
wasn’t so comfortable with Annie. We
parted without having settled the problem.
The morning was bright and new. I
had an exhilarating ride back. The kids weren’t
awake yet. I shook Caitlin gently. “Is she out?”” she asked, with great
enthusiasm, when I told her about our new baby.
Through the morning I phoned and phoned.
The kids were happy and excited.
So was I.
I talked to (sisters) Lisa and Sharon junior, and, most
movingly, Susan. We talked a good long
time. We prepared to ring off. “Oh, you’ll love having three girls. And I love you.” There were other delightful exchanges, full
of the attention and authentic interest that I guess we crave, no matter how
old we get.
We all went back to the hospital. Baby was sleeping, then eating. The kids clambered and climbed, full of
tender interest. Half delightful. Half really annoying. Sharon was ready to come home. I tried to encourage her to relax a little,
but she was too anxious to savour the release from her body’s long captivity to
sit any longer, and she knows her body best.
More to the point, we were getting anxious because we still
didn’t know what to call this kid. It’s
revealing to me how important a name is if you want to get to know, to get
close to a person. I took the girls
home. We all had a nap. I sent them to the neighbours’, then went
back to spring the others. It took a
while. We turned back onto our street at
7:30 PM. Our kindly, friendly, overly
neighbours were all waiting for us on the driveway and along the sidewalk. They cheered, and we ran the gauntlet.
Caitlin was really happy about this new arrival. Drew went ape. She ran around for quite some time, amusingly
inconsolable at the presence of this usurper.
We got her settled down eventually. Later we slept warmly and happily, with baby snorting alongside us
all night.
Monday, June 21: Caitlin’s birthday, of course, and the
first day of summer term as well. More
importantly, it was time to pick a name, if we didn’t want a ton of paperwork
and an abstraction of a child on our hands.
So, a compromise: Sarah Anne. Two
plain and honest names, both from beloved ancestors. Sarah took her first bath there in the kitchen
sink. She cried lustily. Tender hearted Caitlin, seeing her new sister’s
distress, wept. I’m sure, in her heart of hearts, that Drew felt
similarly…
