Hello Friends! Let me start by apologizing for being a little behind. The perpetual three ring circus that is my life has kept me a bit occupied recently. In fact, to put it in perspective, I’ve had more proverbial balls in the air lately than the Army Golden Knights. If you’re not familiar, that is the Army’s exhibition parachute team (I’m pretty sure they’re all male).
When last we chatted, I had told you the story of how we had an amazing dinner at Adolfo’s the night before the birth of our second daughter. And the mystical labor inducing powers of the seafood Alfredo. Just a shade over a year later, my beautiful bride was expecting again. We were getting down to the home stretch and were already planning our traditional visit to our favorite eatery. This child however, having a genetic predisposition for impatience, had other plans. Our due date was June 23, but on June 11, the 2012 model of my offspring decided it was time to climb out of the amniotic jacuzzi that had been home for 8 months or so. At exactly 2:00 a.m. on June 12 we were happily holding another precious little girl. She had the cutest, dimpled chubby little cheeks, and eyes as blue as the Caribbean. I had just fallen in love again, and briefly forgot that I didn’t get to eat at Adolfo’s.
If you are keeping your score card up to date, that brings our roster up to one boy and 3 girls. My son was now a grown man and living on his own because he had the luxury of NOT living with us. He opted to leave me grossly outnumbered in a house with a wife, three daughters, and a female cat. As of writing this piece, I’ve not stood up to pee in about five years. When you are the sole owner of a man wand in a house of five people, you learn to pick your battles.
A few years later, my wife and I had a discussion. We both secretly wanted another baby and couldn’t talk each other out of it. We didn’t want to wake up 10 years down the road wishing that we had tried for one more. So we decided that we weren’t going to “try”, but we weren’t going to “not try”. If it was meant to be, than we would be blessed yet again, and if not, we were perfectly happy with what we had. Contrary to popular opinion (and everyone seemed to have one) we were not on a mission to roll the dice until we had a boy. We simply wanted one more healthy baby. We decided on a window to “not try” and once that window was closed it would be slammed shut, sealed, boarded up, and covered with concrete, never to be opened again.
Well, whatever cosmic powers were at work smiled on us once again, and on Christmas Day, 2014, a magnificent seed was planted. Don’t judge us! When your living situation is like ours, it sometimes requires an illuminated tree, a crap load of wrapping paper, and a whole room full of brand new toys to serve as a distraction for a little bit of grown up alone time. We also thought we might boost our odds by playing the holiday miracle card.
In the nine months that followed it seemed that almost everyone had an opinion on our decision to add another family member, and almost none of them were tactful with their clever little quips. I could have the new baby’s college paid for in advance if I had gotten a dollar for every time someone said; “you know how that happens right?” Another favorite was; “I sure hope you guys are finished after this one.” Nothing warms your heart about expanding your family like everyone around you making you feel like your spawning is some kind of pestilence. We’re not starting a Taliban training facility, we are no one’s tax dollars at work other than our own, and we most certainly are not Kim and Kanye. We are a loving family who wanted to have another child. We’re only one generation removed from being able to justify a family in double digits simply by saying “we’re Catholic”. My own Mother was one of 12, but I’m an asshole for introducing five bright, attractive and articulate children into a rapidly decaying human race.
Truth be told, we really never cared what anyone else had to say. If you don’t approve of the number of people in my home, then don’t offer to babysit. There is more love in my house than most people could ever hope for in their most wonderful dreams.
As summer wound down to an end, and my bride was starting to look as if she were trying to smuggle a dirigeable, the time was drawing near. Being a bartender in a seasonal resort town, I said many times to my better half that we just needed to get past “Labor Day” before we could have “Labor Day”. I needed every quality shift I could get to finance the project.
In the week prior to the holiday, Mommy sensed that the time was near and wanted to make sure we didn’t miss out on our traditional family expanding meal. We were both painfully aware that a date night was pretty much out of the question, nor did we care to burden our friends at Adolfo’s with our three daughters. (Not that they would misbehave, it’s just easier to feed everyone at home.) My wife was working a long shift at the hospital and sent me a text suggesting that she pick up a carryout order from Adolfo’s on her way home. True to form, we ordered far more food than we needed but didn’t care. When she waddled in there in her blue scrubs, barely holding back the human beach ball, the staff immediately knew who she was and why she was there. As always, they were incredibly welcoming and even carried out her to go box which was not only completely full, but big enough to have transported a Fiat in.
She arrived home and was greeted like a conquering hero. The five of us gorged ourselves as if we knew that the world was going to end the next day. We found a few sweet little notes written on some of the boxes, and even a few surprise cannoli. It was a great night. We all went to bed, half anticipating having to wake up in a few hours for go time. Fortunately, the powers that be let us get through the holiday weekend.
It was Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, and the very first day of school. Time to get back into our routine for the year. The day started with a 5:00 a.m. phone call informing us that there would be a fog delay and we got a welcome extra hour of sleep. My wife was prepared to place the eviction notice on the uterine apartment which housed our fetus. She was back into walking mode. The day before we had walked the entire length of the Boardwalk, up and back. Sampling the finest in Boardwalk fare along the way. If that doesn’t trigger the flood gates, I don’t know what will. We did a couple of laps around the neighborhood through the course of the day. Around the time our 10-year-old was to get home, my wife decided to walk the half mile or so and greet her at the bus stop. She had been gone nearly a half hour and I started to get concerned, especially when I realized that she hadn’t taken her phone with her. I stood up and looked out the front window just in time to see her running, yes, RUNNING down our driveway with tears in her eyes. I had to blink a couple of times because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She had on a bright red tee shirt, and for a brief moment I was genuinely afraid that the Kool Aid guy was about to burst through my wall. She entered the house frantically and announced that our daughter’s bus had been involved in an accident.
She grabbed her keys and phone and darted out of the house to go to the scene of the accident leaving me behind with our other two daughters. I instinctively knew at that point that the combination of a 9 month pregnant woman running, and the emotional roller coaster that was our day was going to more than likely move us into “go for launch” mode. She arrived home a while later with our daughter who was checked out by EMS and was perfectly fine (there were no injuries by the way). About an hour later, I reticently got dressed and went to work. I quickly briefed all of my coworkers, and most of my customers that I didn’t think I was going to make it through my shift. We worked out a contingency plan, had a bartender on call, and my prophecy came to fruition. At 10:10 P.M. I received the following text message; “no contractions yet, but my water just broke.” I’ve ridden this train enough to know that things were happening in the wrong order, but I had to go NOW!
I began trembling convulsively as I gathered my things with eyes as big as saucers. I stuttered through my announcement to the bar which was followed by a rousing cheer from all of my customers. I grabbed my keys and bolted arriving home at 10:23. As always, she was cool as a cucumber, and I was a train wreck.
I won’t belabor (pun intended) you with the ensuing events of the next several hours. It’s been said that you can’t definitively measure happiness. I now wholeheartedly disagree with that. I learned at 3:18 A.M. on the morning of September 9, 2015 that true happiness measures out to 8 pounds 7 ounces and 21 inches long. Those were the dimensions of our handsome, healthy, and damned near perfect baby boy. At 3:18 A.M., I fell head over heels in LOVE again, and for the final time. I thought I was relegated to strictly X chromosomes at this point in my life, but apparently I still had one Y left in the chamber. The final piece to the extraordinary puzzle that is my life was finally in place. I am now complete.
Thanks for playing along, and thanks for all the well wishes. Everyone is healthy, happy and full of love. I am the luckiest and happiest man alive. Until next week, Syd Nichols
Share your thoughts with me at sydnichols@yahoo.com
