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Rob's Diary Entries Diary Navigation: Choose A Diary Entry -------------------- Latest Entry: 11/15/00 -------------------- 11/7/00 11/1/00 10/25/00 10/10/00 10/4/00 9/25/00 9/19/00 9/13/00 9/6/00 8/29/00 8/23/00 8/16/00 8/8/00 8/7/00 8/1/00 7/26/00 7/19/00 7/12/00 7/5/00 6/26/00 6/15/00 6/8/00 5/25/00 5/22/00 -------------------- Rob's Introduction

May 22, 2000

I first met my daughter on the morning of her birth. Of course, she had been a big part of my life for nine months before that, but I had not yet met her. I had seen ultrasound pictures, but had been unable to ascertain her gender. I had sung to her and told her stories while she grew in her mother’s womb, but I had not known what name to call her (she was just "it" at the time). I had studied the science of her development, and Jenny and I had rehearsed nightly for her eventual arrival.

The labor and birth were a three-day adventure which Jenny and I endured together, but until I saw Rowan in the flesh, the entire experience had really centered around my wife. Now here she was. A girl, I was finally able to see clearly, who we would call Rowan Clara Barrie. My daughter.

The midwife cut the umbilical cord and placed Rowan on Jenny’s breast. "Hi sweetheart," I said. "Hello, little Miss Mouse." She looked up at the sound of my voice, her eyes found mine, and love at first sight fails to describe the emotional transaction that took place. I can only say that we recognized each other.

I gave Rowan her first bath, and held her tiny hand while the nurses performed the required tests. I put a diaper on her and learned how to swaddle her in the blanket. And then she slept for the rest of the day. Jenny and I slept fitfully on either side of the bassinet, she in the same bed she had labored in with a change of sheets and dressings while I unfolded a single-bed from a small lounge chair.

When I sat on the foot of the fold-away, I fell through the springs, and when I sat at its head, it tried to fold itself away with me inside. I finally found a position in the bed’s center that allowed me a small amount of comfort and was beginning to drift toward sleep when Jenny’s voice brought me to my feet. "Rob, she’s not breathing!"

I hit the floor without thinking and reached Rowan’s side as my conscious mind was just beginning to understand the significance of the words. Fortunately, they were entirely false. Jenny had awakened from anxious sleep and had confused dream fragments with the waking moment; she couldn’t hear Rowan’s breathing and assumed the worst.

I don’t know for certain exactly how long it was before I slept soundly again. Certainly, it wasn’t that night when Rowan, rested from a full eighteen hours of sleep, elected to spend her first night in the world screaming. I sang to her, and she quieted. I put her into the bassinet and she screamed. Jenny held her and she quieted. I tried to avoid being folded up in my chair-bed. Jenny put Rowan in her bassinet and she screamed. The air in the hospital was dry and hot and my sinuses were burning. I hated the hospital and I just wanted to take my wife and baby home. We left the next morning, and while they refused to allow Jenny or me to carry Rowan down from the OB ward, they left us at the door with a simple "You do have a car seat, right?"

"Of course," I said. But we might as well have tossed her into the bed of a pick-up for all they knew. As we drove home I thought, "That’s it? Now it’s all up to us?" Suddenly I was the papa, and I had no idea how to wear that hat. The hugeness of what we had undertaken fogged my brain. I was in love with Rowan, and amazed by her, but terrified that I was not capable of caring for her. That feeling lasted for about two days, until my mother-in-law arrived to ease some of the pressure and help us get the hang of things.

Rowan has had nineteen months to train me now, and I am getting much better at this papa thing.