The first in a six-part series chronicling the birth of Michelle and Dennis Teravainen’s second child, August, who was born with Down’s syndrome.
[In Part 1, The Teravainens head to the hospital for a planned c-section. They don't yet know that their son will be born with Down's syndrome.]
We’re blogging to you live on the eve and morning of Baby T 2.0’s arrival.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
6:00 p.m. I am painting Greta’s bedroom door and touching up the kitchen. The wife is folding laundry because she is obsessed with washing clothes in Dreft these past couple days. If you’re not looking, she’ll take the socks off your feet to complete a full load of whites. I’m still in denial that a baby is coming tomorrow. By the way, I think I’ve got a corneal abrasion after a mishap at Lowe’s loading a box onto the cash register’s conveyor belt. Long story. Bottom line is it feels like there’s a pebble stuck in my eyelid. Sweet.
7:00 p.m. Nana took Greta for the weekend, so the wife and I are heading out for a quiet dinner date. We head to a tapas restaurant not too far from our place. Glass of Spanish red for the wife. She’s having a contraction. Chopin chilled straight up with olives for me. My eye hurts. Are we really having a baby tomorrow?
8:00 p.m. We hammer back some delicious grub: scallops, mussels, beef tenderloin, green beans with garlic and almonds, and empanadas. Great stuff. Yes, I’d love a glass of what she’s drinking. We have a 6 a.m. appointment for the c-section. Let’s have dessert. It may be a while before we have dinner without bibs, sippy cups, bottles, or burp cloths.
9:30 p.m. Back at the house. Mad dash by mama to finish packing. We check out “Deadliest Catch” on the DVR. I try to write but I’m too tired. I’ll try again tomorrow.
11:00 p.m. Finally, we turn out the lights for our 5 a.m. wake up. I’m so happy to be in bed. This might be the last time we snooze peacefully for the next several months. Mama announces that she’s having more contractions as I drift off to sleep. I’m uninterested and tired.
Friday, July 23, 2010
12:30 a.m. The wife is having more contractions, which she decides to tell me after waking me up. I roll over.
1:30 a.m. The wife is still contracting. Thanks for the update.
2:30 a.m. The wife continues to contract. What do you want me to do about it?
3:30 a.m. You guessed it. Contractions. I’m really annoyed.
4:30 a.m. Okay, let’s just get out of bed because clearly the wife is not going to let me sleep. Why? Because she can’t sleep. Naturally, I should suffer too, she reasons.
5:47 a.m. We arrive at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston. Contractions are five minutes apart. We check in.
6:30 a.m. Michelle’s first measurement. Drum roll please. 4-5 centimeters. Whoa. I guess she is in labor. Glad to know that our son is prompt. How did he know he was going to arrive today?
6:45 a.m. The original C-section was scheduled for 8 a.m., so the wife’s doctor may not be on time to deliver Baby T. She begins to cry. Don’t mess with a laboring pregnant lady.
7:00 a.m. Phew. Our doctor made it early so we can get started! The wife is whisked off to have her spinal. I am left alone with my booties, jumpsuit, mask, and cap. I hated this part with Greta. I’m hating this part with 2.0. No other nurses or parents in waiting. I’m by myself.
7:15 a.m. I Wish they had ESPN in here—or a sports page.
7:30 a.m. Finally! A nurse comes in to get me. They are ready for me. I have the camera in hand.
7:32 a.m. I sit next to Michelle’s head. I am avoiding looking beyond the curtain for fear of passing out.
7:45 a.m. The doctors, nurses, and Teravainens are all chatting as if we’re in a coffee shop sipping lattes and exchanging light-hearted small talk—except the wife’s insides are exposed to the world to see. I’m trying not to let on that I’m freaking out inside. The doctors occasionally tug and pull at her belly, which I witness in a shadowy silhouette I wish I could not see.
7:50 a.m. The wife and I squeeze our hands together in anticipation. They say he’s almost here.
7:55 a.m. We hear a squawk, finally! And, we’ve got a dong. “It’s a boy!” they announce officially. “What’s his name?” they ask next.
We happily reply, “AUGUST THOMAS TERAVAINEN!”
Thus, we give you: August in July.