Tuesday, July 31, 2012

April 28th, 2012 is a day that will go down in famy. It was the day I went from being only a son and having a father to having a son and being a father... along with still being the son and having the father. It was arguably the most exciting and scary experience of my life. And it wouldn't be a difficult argument to win.
My son was born at 3:55 am on Saturday, April 28th, but the excitement and drama all began a little more than 8 hours earlier.
It started off as a normal Friday. I arrived home from school and was looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend. I had a round of golf on the schedule for Saturday and was really happy to be getting out on the course for the first time of the year. Little did I know, golf was soon going to be knocked off my to do list for quite some time.
Alyssa was feeling very pregnant and was not looking forward to another month of gaining more weight and feeling even more uncomfortable as the weather became hotter. More than once she expressed relief in not being pregnant through the summer months, but April had already approached temperatures that didn't agree with her.
It had been a few weeks now that Alyssa wasn't able to carry anything of any considerable weight up or down stairs and it was my job to move things to wherever she wanted them moved. Fulfilling my job as the caring and considerate hubby, I took it quite personally when Alyssa would not bother asking me to lift something and did it herself. I became stern with her more than once because she continuously tried to do too much.
And it was while in this mood that I took it upon myself, without the slightest provocation from Alyssa, that I decided to do a little laundry. Heading down the basement stairs, I felt like a man on a mission. Throw the wash in, turn a few knobs and dials, head back upstairs and think about all that the rest of the day could hold.
What a plan!
Upon reaching the base of the basement stairs, I noticed water on the floor by a couple pipes. In my mind, I hear, "Crap!"
I wasn't too concerned at this point because our water was flowing fine upstairs and toilets flushed with glee.
I made my way over the the washer and dryer to discover more water, a lot more water.
Again, there was a voice in my mind, however, this time words much more colorful that "Crap" were being shouted.
I informed Alyssa of the predicament in the basement and phoned my father, he would know what to do. He arranged for his plumber to send a guy over. But the damage was done, MY WATER HAD BROKE IN THE BASEMENT.

The plumber arrived and made short work of the mess in the basement while Alyssa made herself comfortable on the couch and we began the pre-discussion about our plan for dinner for the evening. As the plumber came up from the bowels of the house, which I really consider bowels now, since I saw inside a few choice pipes and got up close and personal to the cause of the clog, I turned toward Alyssa to see her make a strange face.
"What's wrong?" I asked her.
"Something weird just happened in me," she replied.
"What'd it feel like?" I asked.
"Kind of like a water balloon popping inside of me."
"That could be your water breaking."
"No, it's too early for that," she said still calmly.
"Have you ever felt something like that before?.
"I think it might be your water breaking."

To be continued...