Birth Day

THE ROOM IS pitch black. I wake up to the sound of Lucy breathing. Lamaze breathing.

"The contractions started at five," she tells me. "You looked tired, so I let you sleep."

Three hours of sleep. All I've had is three hours of sleep. Right now the baby decides to come?

"We're getting off to a rough start, kiddo," I mumble aloud.

"You're not supposed to be here for another week."

It doesn't matter. It's six in the morning, and baby is on his way.

It's morning. It's cold: January cold. But not really that cold because we live in LA. I couldn't sleep last night. Not because I'm anxious about the baby or anything like that. I can't sleep because I have so much damn energy. I've put myself through full mental, physical, and spiritual training in preparation for this baby. I've been working out like a Rocky montage, I've fasted and meditated like a Buddhist monk, and I've made some serious changes to my diet, munching on super foods like they're candy. As a result, my body is now super-charged, and I am ready for our first child! However ... My high energy has thrown off my normal sleeping schedule, and last night I stayed awake, watching crappy 2012 doomsday documentaries on Netflix until three in the morning. Now it's six, and I'm lying in our bed, sleep deprived, while my beautiful, well-rested wife calmly informs me that our son is on his way. My plan backfired. Make plans, and God laughs, they say.

We are both surprised the baby is coming this morning. Why would we be surprised? She's in her ninth month of pregnancy, her belly is big and round, and the little guy's been karate-kicking her insides like Bruce Lee. Surprised? Yes. We are still surprised. Why? Because the baby hasn't dropped yet. Her belly is big, round, and high. Everyone has been waiting for the baby to drop into position. Friends and family were guessing two more weeks. Our doctor guessed three weeks. But I guess it doesn't matter. Baby comes when he wants to come. We don't know. This is our first child. We're rookies.

Maybe we are the reason the baby decided to come early. The doctor gave us some tips on how we might be able to speed up the birthing process: "Walking. A lot of walking."

We do that. Lucy hits the gym every day, even in her ninth month. Light weightlifting for ten minutes and then twenty-five minutes on the elliptical. We were there yesterday. Did walking do it?

"And sex," the doctor added. "If you want to help the baby come along, have sex. Sex will stimulate the cervix and help induce labor."

Well, it's been eight hours now since our last romp, and I can tell you, dropped belly or no dropped belly, that sex stuff worked!

"How do you feel?" I ask Lucy.

"Fine. The contractions are constant. They're different from the Braxton-Hicks contractions. These are the real deal, but they're not that bad."

It's early, and it's dark, but I know that outside our bedroom door, my in-laws are already awake. They get up before the sun, just like they did back on the farms in El Salvador. They are no joke. He's in his eighties. She's in her seventies. He has his day off from work today. Yes, he is still working in his eighties. I truly admire their marriage and family.

We are living in their home right now in Highland Park, Los Angeles. It's been a blessing. Lucy and I got married two months after the 2008 financial crisis, the worst economic disaster since the Great Depression of 1929. This new economic depression was based on the subprime mortgage crisis, which economists were hoping would only affect the housing market. They were wrong. It hit globally. I've seen husbands and wives standing outside of supermarkets with their children, asking for money. These have been rough times. Crazy times to start a family.

Lucy and I need to get moving. The contractions have started, which means the clock is now ticking, and we need to get through the plan we set out for ourselves and Baby.

"Are you ready?" I ask Lucy.

"Yes. I'm ready."

"Because the moment I open that door, everything gets moving."

"I'm ready."

"Good. Everything as we planned, okay? Nice and easy. Calm.

No panicking."

"No panicking."

From all of the research we had done, all of the stories we had heard, Lucy and I were both aware of the one factor that devastates the experience and outcome of childbirth: panic. People panic. Family, friends, nurses, doctor, anybody and everybody — they panic. Right now, only Lucy and I are in this experience. We are focused. We are ready to take on everything. We are ready to do it together. But outside this bedroom door, people are going to share this experience with us, and we do not know how they'll approach this miraculous yet frightening experience. It's time to get moving.

I open the bedroom door and see my mother-in-law in the hallway, still wearing her nightgown. She sees me. She already knows what I'm going to say.

"Ya viene el baby," I tell her.

Alejandro Magal lanes

She nods, calmly accepting the news. She tells me she's going to the market with my father-in-law, and she'll be back in an hour.

"Gracias, Mami."

"Okay," she answers. She always answers "okay."

My mother-in-law is unbelievable. She raised seven of her younger siblings in El Salvador. Then she came to the United States to raise six of her own children in a two-bedroom apartment in downtown Los Angeles. Lucy is the youngest of the six. Our son is going to be her first grandchild. I'm looking forward to working with her.

Mom and Dad leave to do their grocery shopping. So far, there are not exuberant reactions. There is no panic either. Lucy and I are happy about that. Right now, we have the house all to ourselves, so we start on the accomplishment of our plan.

It is six thirty in the morning now. It's still cold, and it's still dark. We get moving. First things first — we need to time the contractions. I need a stopwatch. I know where mine is. It's not one of those old-school, sixty-minute, tick-tick-tick stopwatches. If I handed one of those to Lucy, she'd throw it back at me. Most electronic gadgets nowadays come with a stopwatch function or app. My gadget is my iPod Nano.

I don't have many cool toys. We are living in a time of financial crisis, and Lucy and I must live accordingly. But I never complain because I have a sister-in-law who gives me gifts like she's Oprah and I'm some poor housewife in her studio audience. My sister-in-law's name is Patty. She has gifted me with a Gibson acoustic guitar, a Remo djembe drum, and, my favorite of all, a fifth-generation, blue iPod Nano. Stopwatch included! Thank you, Patty. The best wedding gift I received was a new sister in Patty.

I put the Nano on stopwatch function and hand it to Lucy, telling her to hit the center button every time a contraction starts and ends. While she does that, I get everything ready to go to the hospital, only to find that everything is ready to go to the hospital. We have been preparing for this day for quite some time, so I'm not too surprised or unprepared. So what do I do in the meantime? I attend to my wife.

Holy Jesus, my wife is beautiful. She's handling this like a pro. She calmly breathes in and out during the contractions. I comfort her. I massage her. She describes the contractions to me. We breathe together. I ask her if I can take some photos. She's fine with it.

For a woman's first time giving birth, the duration of labor averages twenty-four hours. There are three phases. Lucy and I were taught this in all of the classes we took at the hospital. We were told not to come to the hospital upon the onset of contractions: phase one. I know women who had contractions, went to the hospital, and then were sent back home. Therefore, Lucy and I are taking our time. Who knows? His birthday might be tomorrow.

Furthermore, we don't want to arrive at the hospital with Lucy dilated only three centimeters just to have everyone constantly pestering her. "Do you want an epidural? Do you want the epidural now? How about now? Are you sure you don't want an epidural? Epidural, epidural, epidural?" Lucy has fought for a natural childbirth for the last five months. Everyone thinks she's crazy. Even I thought she was for a while. But after reading up on the topic, talking to mommies, and discussing it with our doctor, we decided to have a labor without drugs or body-numbing agents. She can do it. I know she can — with a little help from Daddy.

I ask Lucy for permission to get ready. She says okay. So far, this seems pretty smooth. We just have to time the contractions for an hour, like we were told, so that we can see what stage of labor Lucy is in.

Labor

I'VE SHAVED AND showered. I check on Lucy. We have one hour and twenty minutes of stopwatch records.

"How far along are they?" she asks.

She hands me my Nano. The contractions are coming within two minutes of each other.

"Is this right? This can't be right. You're not supposed to be in this phase of labor for another twelve hours."

I ask her if she's been hitting the button at the right times. She nods. I sit through a few contractions with her. Sure enough, the contractions are coming within two minutes of each other.

This is when reality kicks in for me. She's in the second phase of labor. Can this be right? I saw it on my Nano. I sat through the contractions with her. Yes. We are in the second phase. That means she's coming up on ...

"Holy shit! The third phase of labor."

The third phase of labor. This is the stage we've been warned about. I can see it in my head now. In our classes at the hospital, we were given line-graph diagrams showing the intensity of the three phases of labor.

It's 8:00 a.m.; we haven't left the house, and Lucy is already in the second phase of labor. I think it's time to light that fire under my ass now. First phone calls go out. Who should I call?

Don't call Mom! I don't need panic.

I call my older sister. Throughout Lucy's pregnancy, she's been telling me she wants a phone call as soon as Lucy goes into labor.

Now, she answers to tell me she's on her way to work.

I call Lucy's friend. She's on her way to work too.

I call Lucy's other friend. I get a text saying she'll stop by later.

I'm starting to realize that I would really like some company right now because every time a phone call goes straight to voice mail, I feel a bit more alone in this situation.

My fingers automatically dial the one person I didn't want to call.

She's the one who bails me out of every problem. She's better than 911. That's my sister-in-law, Patty. I call. She answers.

"Let me get ready! I'll be right over!"

Patty probably slept less than I did last night, but she sounds wide-awake when I tell her that the baby is on the way. I didn't want to lean on Patty again, only because we always lean on Patty. Always. She has played a significant role in Lucy's and my marriage. She was my best friend before I started dating Lucy. Since Lucy and I got married, I've been trying to keep her at a safe distance. Not because I don't love her, but because this marriage stuff is a little "too real" to a single woman who works at a bar and isn't too big on marriage and kids. But our help always seems to come through Patty. And I accept. You don't ask God for help, and then reject that help because it doesn't come in the way you want.

* * *

It's about eight thirty when Patty arrives. She can get a bit nervous, especially when it comes to her family, so I update her on everything, but I keep her away from Lucy at the moment. Patty helps me pack our overnight bags into the car.

"I have to call the doctor," I tell Patty.

Mom and Dad are back from the market. No panicking. Patty is on Mom and Dad duty next. I call the doctor. I think I woke her up.

"Lucy's contractions started at 5:00 a.m. It is now eight forty-five and they're coming within two minutes of each other. She's in the second stage of labor. She'll be entering the third stage soon, possibly before we get to the hospital."

I guess our doctor is not a morning person. She takes a hapless sigh and tells us she'll meet us at the hospital.

I grab Patty and take her upstairs with me. She can finally see her sister. When I left Lucy, I was massaging her through the second stage. She was lying on our bed, relaxed, breathing through the contractions. Now, I open the door, and she is dressed and ready to go, standing up, leaning over our dresser.

I caress her arm.

"Don't touch me!" she warns, smacking my hand away.

We are now in the third stage of labor.

"Sorry," Lucy says to me. "This just really fucking hurts right now."

I nod my head, "It's okay, babe. It's okay."

A contraction hits. Lucy clutches her dresser, breathing harder and harder through the pain. The pain wins for a moment, as she buries her face in her arms and moans. The contraction ends. She sighs out a cleansing breath.

Patty's eyes bug out of her nerdy glasses. Her mouth is dropped open. She stands frozen. She's never seen her sister like this. For a sensitive older sister, she's gonna have a tough time in the coming hours. Meanwhile, I strategize on how to be polite and considerate to my wife right now because we need to get to the hospital, and another contraction will be here in less than two minutes.

"I called the doctor. Our bags are packed. It's time to go."

Lucy acknowledges with a nod. She gathers her strength, stands straight up, and takes my hand. I tell Patty: "Get to the car."

You don't have to tell her twice. She's out of that room, lickety-split. I have to remain on "panic control." I tell Lucy: "Listen, babe. Mom and Dad are gonna shit if they see you like this. They're gonna freak-out, and they're gonna panic."

"No panicking," she says.

"That's right." I nod. "No panicking. So, you're gonna have to hold it together until we get in the car, okay? Just until we get to the car. Then you can scream and kick and do whatever the hell you want, okay?"

"Okay."

We're ready to go. Another contraction doesn't let us. I help her breathe through it. It ends, and we move.

We make it downstairs. Dad is reading his newspaper at the kitchen table. Mom is slapping together fresh tortillas in the kitchen. Lucy casually walks through, like it's any ordinary day.

"Hola, Mami. Hola, Papi. Estamos listos a ir al hospital."

"Okay," says Mom.

Goddam, I love my wife. This is the toughest I've ever seen her. All for our son, who will be born sooner than we think.

Mom and Dad tell us they'll take the metro rail to the hospital and meet us there later. She reminds Lucy to say her prayers to Jesus for everything to be okay. Lucy and I say, "Okay. Gracias," then it is out the back door and into the car we go.

"Good job, honey! Good job!" I say. Lucy cracks a smile.

We are finally in the car, ready to roll. Another contraction hits. I tell her to hold on. Something is wrong. The parking gate is still closed and locked. I look around. Where's Patty? From outside the kitchen window, I ask: "Mami, donde esta la Patty?"

"Esta en el baño!" Mom shouts from the kitchen window.

In the bathroom? Now?

Dad walks out of the house to open the gate for us. Mom looks out the kitchen window to see Lucy in the car, struggling through her contractions. I try to block her view. It doesn't work. She makes her way out the back door, tortilla masa still in her hands. She's making tortillas, asking me: "How are the contractions?" "They're getting stronger," I calmly tell her.

Dad sneaks his way over to the passenger door and squats down next to Lucy. Mom keeps asking me questions.

"Patty!" I call out.

"How much time between contractions?" she asks in Spanish.

"A couple minutes, maybe? I don't know, Mami. Patty!" I scream.

"You should get to the hospital!" she says, still molding tortillas.

I can see Lucy getting annoyed with her father. He's down beside her at the car door, giving her a serious "talking to." There is a level of respect that must be upheld with my eighty-year-old father-in-law. In other words, I can't exactly tell him to get away from his baby of the family. So, in this situation, all I do is scream out for the person we're waiting on:

"Patty!"

I see Lucy talking back to her dad, upset.

"Patty!"

Patty finally runs out the door.

"Sorry, guys!"

"Get in the car!" I tell her.

Patty jumps in. We don't even say good-bye. We just drive away.

"Goddam!" says Lucy.

Patty feels pretty bad. We don't tell her anything. We know she's here to help us. She's always here to help us.

"What was Dad telling you?" I ask Lucy.

Lucy shakes her head. "He was telling me not to let anyone take video of my vagina."