Lincoln's Birth Day

My grandson Lincoln’s arrival into the world Sept. 19th was much the same as my experience arriving in Jacksonville – not on schedule, some heart-in-my-throat moments and eternal gratitude when it was over and everything was okay.

It was apparently a popular day to give birth at Winn Army Community Hospital at Ft. Stewart, GA. Amanda received a call the night before her scheduled Cesarean date to inform her that things were not going according to schedule and her surgery time would most likely be pushed back. She was instructed to call back at 7am on Monday morning (or 0700 hours, since it’s the Army) to find out if surgery was on track.

Monday morning arrived and she called in as instructed only to be told that there had been some emergency deliveries that in turn, pushed her delivery time back. She was told to call back at 0900 for an update. There’s a reason they have the saying in the Army “hurry up and wait.”

I cooked Avery some breakfast while Amanda puttered around the house just trying to stay busy so she could ignore the rumbling in her stomach since she was unable to eat or drink anything after midnight the evening before. Lincoln was making his displeasure known by being especially active. I imagine it’s tough to go from a round-the-clock continuous eating schedule to having nothing. And I’m sure Lincoln was hungry too.

Amanda called back at 0900 and was told to come in at 1000, which would have been possible if we didn’t have a stubborn toddler to get ready, a 30-minute drive to post, and a 15-minute daycare drop-off. Luckily, they were understanding and moved it back to 1030, which was still going to be tight. Off we went in two separate cars so I’d be able to have Amanda’s car so I could get around and be able to get Avery back and forth to daycare.

Amanda’s lead foot got us there in record time, although I’m sure if we’d been stopped by a police officer all he would have needed to do was take a look at her huge belly to know that an excuse of ‘I’m having a baby’ wasn’t a lie. Luckily we made it to the post daycare center without incident and Patrick’s mother, father and sister, who had driven down from Maryland for the birth, were waiting at the daycare center to say good-by to Avery, as it was their plan to get back on the road north again in the early afternoon.  Well, we all know the saying about the best laid plans….

Amanda and I got Avery to his classroom and said goodbye with just a few tears (on our part, not Avery’s) and then it was on to the hospital, which is just a stone’s throw from the daycare center. Parking spaces were scarcer than the non-sweaty parts of my body (it’s hard to tell what was menopause sweats or Georgia humidity) and I ended up making two loops of the parking lot before I finally decided that I was going to park in the “Staff Only” parking area and take my chances. Really, who was going to know? 

Our band of six crowded into the elevator and headed to the fourth floor Labor and Delivery area, where Amanda and Patrick gained entrance, while the rest of us took our seats in the waiting area. For me, this experience was going to be much different than Avery’s birth three years ago (in the very same hospital). To put it in Emmy terms (since we just had the Emmy’s and I didn’t get to watch them), for Avery’s birth, while Amanda had the role of Best Lead Actress, I had the Best Supporting Actress role since I was her major champion at the time. It was an intimate, terrifying and exhilarating experience to see my grandson Avery make his way into the world and it was one I will never forget. This time, however, I had been relegated to the role of Extra, waiting to make my brief appearance, say a few lines and then fade back into the scenery. Patrick had the role of Lead Actor this time around and rightly so. But it was tough to know all I could was wait for things to happen. And wait we did.

Since I don’t do well with waiting, despite living for 23 years under the Army’s “hurry up and wait” philosophy, I decided to go for a walk around the hospital and eventually found myself in the hospital cafeteria. It was lunchtime so I figured I’d get a bite to eat, although I really had no appetite. My mind was more focused on what was going on without me upstairs on the fourth floor than it was with selecting something for lunch. I ended up with a slice of meatloaf, rice pilaf, steamed veggies and chocolate pudding (okay, maybe I didn’t need the pudding) all for a grand total of $3.78. That’s why I love the Army. Where else can you get a complete meal for less than the cost of a Happy Meal?

Sitting in the cafeteria surrounded by soldiers and “civilians” caused a moment of nostalgia for the days when all I had to do was put on a uniform and go do what someone else told me to do. From the sounds of the conversations I was eavesdropping on around me, not much had changed in the Army since I last wore a uniform in 2006. Soldiers continued to gripe about their NCOs and the stupid things they were asked to do, everyone was planning for the weekend and who was going to bring the beer to the barbecue. It was reassuring to know it was business as usual in the Army.

Back up on the fourth floor things were starting to move along, and quickly, and we were all able to go wait in Amanda’s room while she was being prepped for the surgery. According to the labor and delivery nurse who came in to fetch Patrick to the OR, the procedure itself would be relatively quick and would probably be no longer than a half hour from the time he left the room. I settled myself into a chair facing the hallway while the Adcocks stood anxiously awaiting the arrival of Patrick and baby Lincoln into the room, while Amanda was being put back together in the OR.

“Ooh, here they come,” Cindi exclaimed, as she heard the sound of a cart in the hallway. I peered out the door. “That’s a pallet jack and a pallet of medical supplies,” I said, bursting her bubble.

Five minutes later another set of wheels could be heard in the hallway. “Oh, there they are,” Cindi said, excitedly. “That’s a trash can,” I told her, feeling like I was raining on her parade.

We all settled back to wait and then suddenly Patrick burst into the room pushing baby Lincoln in a bassinet. The ear-to-ear grin on his face told us all we needed to know about how the procedure went.

Everyone crowded around the bassinet to get the first glimpse of the newest member of the Hart/Adcock families. It’s hard to describe all the emotions that were swirling around inside me as I looked at that sweet little face – joy, hope and love being the top three contenders.

Patrick got the honors of doing “skin-to-skin” with Lincoln, since it would be a while before Amanda was able to come back into the room. “Skin-to-skin” seems to be the new buzz-phrase for holding a baby against your naked skin to give them that warmth and contact to foster bonding. Of course, those of us who gave birth in the dark ages knew what that was all about. It was simply called ‘holding your baby,’ but today’s generation needs to give everything a self-important title. It was certainly interesting (and slightly awkward from a mother-in-law standpoint) to see Patrick shed his shirt and put that little tiny bundle on his chest. I thought to myself “I hope Lincoln doesn’t think his mother has a hairy chest” as he settled in against Patrick’s skin.

Not too much longer after that Amanda made her entrance into the room, smiling exhaustedly from the hospital bed. There was so much I wanted to say to her but I settled for a quick hug and kiss to her forehead and then Lincoln was placed in her arms so she could hold him for the first time.

I stepped back and grabbed my camera and started talking photos using my telephoto lens so I could just stay in the background. I felt much like that Japanese photographer in the movie “Rosemary’s Baby” as he photographed the devil’s baby while everyone milled around the bassinet oohing and aahing. I have no idea why I have such weird thoughts and the blank looks I got from family when I said the whole “Rosemary’s Baby” thing out loud told me I should have just kept that to myself.  

Patrick and his family then went to fetch Avery from daycare so he could meet his new brother. When he entered the room he approached the hospital bed cautiously while Amanda held Lincoln in her arms. It wasn’t long before Avery decided he needed to hold the baby and Patrick placed him in Avery’s arms. The look on Avery’s face was like he had just received the best Christmas present ever and he started inspecting Lincoln’s toes, fingers and eyes, smiling adoringly at his little brother. I have plenty of photos documenting this moment that Amanda can pull out and show him in the future when he’s sitting on his brother’s head and needs a reminder of how much he loved him when he was born.  

After about a half hour of cuddling, Avery and I headed
home, leaving Amanda and Patrick to try to relax and recover from the excitement of the day. Avery and I did some cuddling of our own as I tried to convince an overly-excited 3-year-old it was time to go to sleep. Amanda uses iTunes lullabies to help him nod off, but I tried the old-fashioned way of singing to him, which seemed to be pretty effective, although I do need to expand my lullaby repertoire because I was singing Christmas songs by the end (not that Avery cared the least bit, I’m sure).

I could have used someone singing me to sleep as I fell into bed, totally exhausted but totally wired from the day’s activities, but I had to settle for watching episodes of “Veep” on HBO.