Some things are worth the wait.
Our little girl was born over the weekend, almost a full week after her due date. Her name is Valencia Soleil Olsen (pronounced so-LAY), and she was born on August 15th at 1:10 in the afternoon. She is, as her name suggests, our Sunshine Angel.
The night before it happened, Celeste could sense she was on the brink. She warned me to get a good night's rest and to save all the energy I could. For the first time all week, we fell asleep together.
We also woke up together. It was about 5:30 in the morning, and while I was waking up to go to work, Celeste was waking up with contractions.
Real contractions. They were coming in consistent waves like the ebb and flow of the ocean's tide. They were still mild enough that I was able to go to work for an hour to tie up some loose ends, but by the time I got back home around 8:30, she was really starting to feel it. She lay in our recliner, breathing deeply and tracking her contractions with an app. Her mother was in the bathroom getting ready to leave. Merlin was a hot mess. He could tell something was going on with Celeste, so he made himself useful by practically sitting on top of her and looking deeply at her with wanting eyes.
We took Merlin to a friend's house (Thanks, Dave & Em!) and made haste. I moved quickly throughout the house, ensuring that we weren't leaving any essentials behind. Cindy did the same. Celeste remained in the chair, her contractions now accompanied by soft moans, until we put her in the car and headed to the hospital.
By the time we arrived at Duke Regional Hospital in Durham, NC, Celeste had completely retreated into a mental state of feminine solitude. It was a strange thing to witness this woman go totally inside herself. Celeste has always reached out to me when in pain, but in that moment she was withdrawn from the world around her and hunkered into her world of breathing, contracting, and the miracle of childbirth. I was not hurt by this retreat. I was prepared for it. As a result, Cindy and I found any way possible to make her laboring more comfortable. Fetching water, laying cool towels on her neck and forehead.
Celeste's progressed at an almost inexplicable pace. At her first examination, she was already dilated to 8 centimeters. After only 7 hours of labor, she was ready to push. (I admit I didn't know what any of that meant until recently. Childless people out there will just have to take my word for it. She was cruising.)
For the sake of everyone reading, I am going to edit the final hour of the story for content, but I do think it important to share two facts about that time: first, Celeste showed more grit and strength than any woman I have ever seen. She was relentless and fearless and powerful. And it wasn't just in that last hour. And it wasn't just during labor. Truth be told, it wasn't just during her nine month pregnancy. Celeste is strong by nature, and she lives it everyday. She wouldn't take a wheel chair to the delivery room. She wouldn't take an epidural or an IV. Like a stalwart pioneer, she braved the pain and tribulation of labor with a fierce delicacy. If her life is her crown, then that final hour of labor, and the subsequent miracle named Valencia that came at the end of it, was her crown jewel.
The other thing that happened during that last hour was that right before the heavy pushing began, our midwife assigned Cindy to hold Celeste's right leg and foot, and assigned me to hold her left leg and foot. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. I was to be in the middle of the action.
Anyone who knows me knows I have a well-documented queasiness for blood, surgery, and broken things. Prior to the pregnancy, Celeste and I had had serious discussions about whether or not I could even handle being in the delivery room. Eventually, I came around and agreed to be present, near Celeste's head, showering her with encouragement from a safe distance from the birth canal. But it was not meant to be. I was given an assignment, and I was in no position to refuse. Sparing you the messy details, I will say that I was present and in the line of fire for the entire delivery, and never once did I feel nauseous or uneasy. Not even once. Not even a little bit. All I could think about was my baby girl and my beloved wife. Something inside me changed in that delivery room, if only temporarily, to be there for the women in my life.
At approximately 1:10 p.m. Valencia (aka "Vali") came into our lives. She weighed 7 pounds 14 ounces and stretched 21 inches long. She is healthy strong, and for the most part very cooperative. Since the moment she came into the world, we can hardly stop snapping pictures of her. Can you blame us?
Now we are in recovery. We came home from the hospital Sunday and have been trying to ease our daughter into this new world. For the last three days, we have been overwhelmed with phone calls, text messages, and the like from family and friends across the country. As we have tried to recover from this dramatic event, we have felt the presence of their prayers, and give thanks daily for the love of such a wonderful supporting cast. Mom is strong and recovering quickly. Baby is pleasant and adjusting to her new world with relative grace. Dad is sitting here on his computer, typing the family's story, and trying to wrap his head around how blessed they all are.
