Swallowing hard, I nod and take the seat next to Melissa. Reaching out, I grab her hand and lace her fingers through mine, mindful of her IV. “Hey, Melissa. So, little man is having some trouble. It’s nothing serious, they tell me, but his vitals are dropping. The doctors think it’s best if they deliver him today. We’re here now in the operating room. I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” I ramble on and on, my nerves getting the best of me.
I continue, telling her about the daily ultrasounds and how he seems to like to suck his thumb. I tell her that my family is here for all three of us, waiting to meet our son. I tell her how great she’s done, doing this all on her own, and how sorry I am that she’s missing this moment.
“He’s out,” the doctor says, but his voice is tense.
The room is quiet, no cries. Aren’t there supposed to be cries? Come on, baby, one breath. One breath at a time.
Then I hear him.
“Is he . . . ?” I’m overwhelmed with the sound of my son’s first cries. I’m a father.
“They’re going to get him cleaned up, run a few newborn tests, and then you can hold him,” the cheery nurse explains.
“She’s doing great, Ridge,” Dr. Ellis assures me. “Just closing up and then we’ll send her to recovery.”
“You hear that, Melissa? Did you hear him? His lungs sound strong and healthy. They’re checking him over really well and then I get to hold him. Open your eyes for me. I hate that you’re missing this. He’s your family.” My voice cracks when the last few words fall from my lips.
His cries suddenly quiet, causing me to whip my head around. There, standing behind me, is the cheery nurse holding him. He’s all bundled up in a blanket. My hands start to shake, and my heart beats wildly in my chest.
“He passed with flying colors. He’s already had his bath, and we even did the swab for the paternity test. He’s ready to eat, Dad. What do you say?”
I look back at Melissa, willing her to wake up. She’s missing this. Turning back to the nurse, I answer with, “I-I don’t know what to do.”
She smiles. “How about I take him to the nursery while you change out of the scrubs, and you can meet me there? Mom will be in recovery for a few hours at least before we can move her back to her room.”
“Okay.” I stand and lean over, kissing Melissa on the forehead. “I’ll take good care of him, and we’ll see you soon. Fight, Melissa. We need you.” Rising to my full height, I wait as the nurse places my son in an incubator-looking contraption and motions for me to follow her.
In the nursery, I’m pulled to the side and told that I need to go to the lab for my part of the paternity test. With directions in hand, I head that way. I’m speed-walking, because I want to get back to him. My hearts tells me he’s mine, so I just want to get this over with so we can get the results and move forward.
The test is a simple swab to the cheek. They get me in and out, confirming that the doctor has requested the test to be performed STAT. I make quick work to get back to the nursery. The same nurse from the OR greets me with a smile. “I’ll be your nurse until the shift change this evening. Have a seat in one of those rockers, and you can hold and feed your son.”
My son.
On shaking legs, I take my place in the rocker, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. I’m scared as hell that I’ll drop him, or hurt him, or . . . I don’t know what, but I’m nervous.
“Here you go, Daddy,” the nurse says. “Cradle your arms. There you go,” she cheers then gently places him in my arms.
He’s sleeping, all wrapped up in a blanket. Suddenly the nerves are gone, the need to make sure he’s okay overtaking me. “Can I unwrap him?” I ask.
“Sure! We actually suggest skin-to-skin contact, especially for those babies who are born early. It helps regulate their breathing,” she explains.
Skin-to-skin contact? “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”
“You take off your shirt, and we unwrap him. You lay him on your chest, skin to skin.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly. However, if it helps him, I’m all in.
“Let’s try to get him to eat first.” She hands me a tiny, odd-shaped bottle. “Hold him up a little, like this,” she demonstrates. “Good, now place the bottle to his lips. It’s instinct for most babies. Some of them can be stubborn, but looks like your little guy is a natural.” She beams down at him.
And he is. As soon as the bottle touches his lips, he knows what to do. “How much does he eat?”
“We’ll start with a few ounces every few hours. You need to make sure you burp him after no more than an ounce at a time. The amount spreads out as he gets older. It’s extremely important during the early stages of life to make sure he burps several times throughout the feeding.”
I mentally catalog everything she’s saying. I wish Melissa were here, or my mom.
Shit! I forgot to call them. I’m sure they’re here by now. I’ll text them once he’s done eating.
“Let’s try that burp now, Dad.”
I pull the bottle from his lips, and he whines. I immediately start to give it back to him.
“No, he has to burp first. You’ll learn his whines and cries. He’s just hungry, but this is an important step in the process.
I nod and listen to instructions as she walks me through how to care for my son. If I weren’t so mesmerized by him, I’d feel like a tool. Who doesn’t know how to take care of their own kid? Maybe someone who didn’t have nine months to prepare like most parents.