As of this moment, nine years ago, Frederic was born. 8:37pm CST on April 19, 2000. He and I share the distinction of being born at the start of a new decade. It will always be easy to remember how old he is.
It's cliche, but time really does fly. I remember the day Frederic was born as if it were yesterday. Again, a tired cliche, but it works. And it seems like this past month, he's really beginning to mature. Not mature in the sense that he's ready to face challenges, but when I look at him, he looks so much more grown. He's about a head shorter than Cyndi, he weighs about 83 pounds, his facial features seem more outlined, and he's "getting hair down there." I too was nine when that happened.
I've imagined how the day I was born occurred. But with Frederic, I know.
Cyndi and I went out for dinner the night before to Papagus Greek Taverna. I'm not sure why we chose the place, but I seem to remember winning a gift certificate on the radio or something. It wasn't an unusual thing back then for me or Cyndi to win radio contests. It was a Friday night, a nice spring evening, nice enough to leisurely walk around the area before hopping on the L to get home.
Cyndi was within two weeks of her due date and the doctor told us that having sex would help speed the process. Often one to obey doctors orders, the night was capped accordingly. The next morning, Cyndi awoke, "not feeling right." I grabbed a spiral notebook and began writing down the times when she felt like a mild to moderate contraction was happening. I logged the numbers several times throughout the day. We took walks around the neighborhood. The Cubs were in town, so 40,000+ fans had converged all around us.
The doctor told us to keep an eye out on her condition, but as it got closer to early evening, and the contractions themselves got closer together, we were instructed to head to Northwestern. It's never like it happens in the movies or TV. No mad rush for the door, no shouting or frenzy was needed. I didn't shout for a taxi or yell for towels and hot water. We simply made a couple phone calls (Cyndi's mom--to join us in the delivery room; Mike Rizzo--to let the dog out in our absence), secured our overnight bag, and leisurely walked to the car.
It was the same thing when we got to the hospital. There was no mad rush for a wheelchair or screaming for the nurse for "a little help here!" We simply made our announcement of our presence and were sent to the labor and delivery area.
Everything about the rest of the night was set by the tone of our doctor. Our main OB/GYN was part of a larger practice. It was their SOP to make sure the patients met and were treated by each member on the staff in case "our doctor" was not available when D-Day arrived. This was a smart move. Dr. Lin was not working the night Frederic decided to peep his head out into the world. Instead, we got Dr. Moses a long haired, motorcycle riding, boot wearing, sushi eating free spirit that immediately relaxed us and prepared us for the miracle of birth. Dr. Moses checked under Cyndi's hood, popped her bag with a large needle of some sort, and said, "who's ready to have a baby?"
As we waited, we listened to Enya and other soft music on a CD we made for the delivery, Cyndi's mom arrived, Cyndi was given the epidural, and me and the rest of the staff were treated to take-out sushi, courtesy of Dr. Moses. There's a picture of me, eating sushi from an emis basin (translation: throw up bowl); the happy father-to-be.
Before long, the room was filled with a few doctors and nurses, and our video camera was being shoved directly into view of the entire scene, thanks to a very steady anesthesiologist. If you ever get a chance to see the tape, you see EVERYTHING.
Since Cyndi had had major eye surgery a few years prior, they did not want her to push during the delivery. The doctors decided that forceps would be the best course of action to avoid pushing. They look like large salad tongs, so when the resident OB/GYN was instructed to be the primary person in charge, I wondered what other ingredients were going to be part of our tossed salad. Forceps are not a fun way to enter the world, I could only assume from seeing the condition Frederic was in when he came out. He had several bruises on his face, a possible chip in his jaw, and to this day, he has a bald spot on the just above his right temple.
Despite his battered condition, we became frightened, yet excited parents roughly three hours after Cyndi was admitted to the hospital. We've been lucky with the births of our children; no major complications that were not immediately addressed and planned out.
Frederic keeps saying that this was his favorite birthday so far. He's a great kid. Excited with each new day, attempting to figure out his station in life, and happy to be alive. He's officially on his way to double digits. Next year's a big year for both of us. Today, it's all about him.
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