Introduction

"Uh oh."

These were the first words I remember the doctor muttering during the delivery of my son. It was November 13, 2003, and it was the day we scheduled to have our son delivered via cesarean section. It was recommended to deliver on that day since it was estimated that our son was closing in on 11 pounds, and Kris' doctor was worried that "anatomical restructuring" might be necessary if they delivered our child naturally. How did they figure Jake was going to weigh in at that weight? By the size of his head during the last ultra-sound prior to the delivery. Just like his dear old Dad, they thought our son was going to have a big head. Great, the first thing out of the gate that my son would take after me was having a large cranial unit.

"Shit, this isn't working."

It's not every day you hear a doctor say that, but I do give her credit for being honest. It was clear that the cesarean section wasn't going as planned, and either the doctor didn't remember that we were right there with her or simply didn't care that we were there. She was probably pissed that I was in there asking so many stupid questions. It's not like I broke out with "you know, I always wanted to be an OB/GYN surgeon", but I do love to ask questions. Here she is, her hands inside my wife's abdomen searching for a kid with a big head, and some big bald guy is asking stupid questions. That must have made her day.

OK, so my son has a big head, the doctor's freaking out, my wife got struck six times during the administering of the epidural before it took, and I'm sitting there holding my wife's hand and trying to keep her calm while I'm wondering if we were going to have a son or not.

A minute later, the doctor looked over and asked, "Would you like to see us deliver the baby"? Without saying a word, I stood up and looked. Thinking that I was going to see the moment all parents wait for during delivery, I stare directly into my wife's abdomen and almost faint. As I'm standing there trying to act like a man, the doctor reaches in and pulls out my son, Jake. Like a tourist on vacation, I start snapping pictures with my digital camera while my wife is lying there wondering what the hell is going on.

As the nurse was weighing and cleaning my son, I'm still snapping pictures while my wife is waiting on me to let her know we have a newborn. Finally, the nurse informs me that my wife is asking for me, and I finally walk over and smile. "Well?" she asked, and I said, "His head isn't THAT big, and he has your dimple." Then I turned around to see the official weigh-in—eight pounds and five ounces—far short of the "anatomical restructuring" number necessary for the c-section. Oh well, I was growing impatient anyway not knowing when Jake would arrive. I was glad that he was finally here.

Shortly thereafter, I walked out into the lobby where my sister-in-law was waiting with a few other friends. I walked over and hugged her and said, "We have a son", and then started crying like I never had.

November 13, 2003 is more than my son's birthday—it is the day I started living my life the way I always dreamed. You see, my childhood wasn't good, and I always promised myself that the day I became a father would be the day I would make a child's life the best it could be. It was also the day I learned what a family really was.

Honestly, there was a time I felt that I would never father a child. I didn't want to bring a kid into this world for many reasons. First and foremost was the experience of my childhood seriously damaged my view of growing up. I know there are kids out there that grew up in situations far worse than mine, but still my personal experience was rather lackluster. You see, as I was told so many times I lost count at a very early age, I was a mistake. I wasn't supposed to be here. As the story goes, my mother and father hooked up one night, and eight weeks later they found out that my mother was pregnant. Both had children from previous marriages/relationships, so the news of my arrival in eight or nine months must have gone over like a lead balloon. My father had five daughters from two different women, and my mother had two daughters that were taken from her by the state for whatever reason. Sorry, but I do not know all the details, but as you can see with the basic information provided I wasn't in the plan. Then to add insult to injury in my father's eyes, my mother was carrying twins. Fortunately for my father and unfortunately for me, my brother was stillborn. Years later, he would say to me that God at least took one burden away, and he just wished that He would have completed the job.

My mother was loving but uneducated and unmotivated. She was simple and did little for me. For both of my parents, cigarettes and beer were most important to them. The only difference between the two is that my mother never intentionally tried to hurt me. My father, on the other hand, did everything in his power to destroy me physically, mentally, and emotionally.

To make a long story short, it was those experiences that drove me to become the best father I could ever be. When Jake arrived on that day in November 2003, my life became focused on Jake and his well-being. Nothing else mattered.

Jake was delivered in St. Luke's Hospital in Jacksonville, Florida. The room we were in looked like a den inside an old Windsor mansion, and in no way did it smell like a typical hospital. The walls were a warm brown with hunter green trim. The sun was high in the sky and with the drapes and blinds opened the room was lit brightly. I could have sworn that trumpets would soon begin to blare as if they were announcing the birth of a future king. It was if Jake was born to aristocracy.

After getting Kris settled in, they brought Jake in a few minutes later. He was cleaned up and wearing that God-awful hat they slap on baby's head soon after birth. I immediately picked him up and carried him over to Kris, and the look in her eyes is something I'll never forget. As a wave of incredible warmth traveled through my veins I watched with joy as Kris and Jake got to know each other for the first time. I almost wanted to leave the room to let Kris have alone time with Jake because I was so unaccustomed to having a family. Strangely I still didn't feel totally part of the family—even then. I felt at first that I was intruding on their moment.

Then it was my turn. Kris must have sensed that anticipation as she handed him back to me. Again I started to cry as I held him. Do you know that feeling you get when you get a present that you really wanted but never thought you would get? That's how I felt times ten. I sat down on the sofa, and cradled Jake warmly telling him that I loved him. I forgot that other people were in the room, nor did I care that they were there. I have no idea how much time passed before the nurse said "have you ever changed a diaper, sir?"

"No" I answered, and she then offered to show me. As we lied Jake down on the changing cart, the thought of the many stories I had heard about baby boys urinating on their unprepared parents started going through my mind. As the nurse removed the wet diaper to expose Jake's naked body, I reached for the new diaper while waiting for the instructions. It was then when it happened—the fountain of youth erupted, and Jake's aim was spot on. The nurse got hit on her arm, and she simply laughed as I proudly proclaimed that I survived the event unscathed. "Don't worry, sir, it will happen sooner or later" she said. "I'm sure" I replied kindly, but in my confident mind I knew it would never happen. And it never did.

We left the hospital the following morning, but not before experiencing a night of discomfort and intrigue. First, we hosted quite a few visitors, but the winner of the most compelling guest was awarded to our next door neighbors, who too were also pregnant and do any day. No, we didn't plan it that way; we didn't sync up the love making schedules, it just happened that way. While they were visiting, Kristin (not my Kristen or Kris) started feeling a bit strange, and asked Bryan (her husband) to take her home. When we woke up the next morning, we found out that she went into labor, and by the time we got home, they too were proud parents. The planets must have been aligned that weekend. However, the story of the night was the sleeping arrangements. If you recall earlier I bragged about how great the accommodations were, but due to limited space, they moved us to a different, and far less attractive and accommodating room. Kris, of course, had a bed, but the sofa that I envisioned I would sleep on throughout the night was not to be found in this new tiny room. They graced us with a recliner that came off the set of the Brady Bunch. The problem here is that at the time, I was close to 300 pounds, and being around 6'2" tall, let's just say it wasn't the most comfortable sleeping device one could find. Add the fact that Jake wasn't sleeping (and later we would find out he would suffer with a bad case of colic for the first three months of his life) and did his absolute best to keep us all night, the night wasn't going well at all. Finally the nurses took pity on us and asked if we would like them to Jake into the nursery so Kris could get some sleep, and we hesitantly agreed. Kris passed out immediately, but I couldn't fall asleep if my life depended on it.

I remember walking the hallways trying to get myself tired. Of course I would peak in on our little boy, and there he was screaming as loud as he could. "Great", I thought, we gave birth to an eight pound screamer. I knew babies cried, and I had heard of babies that cried excessively, but Jake wouldn't stop crying. I started asking questions of the nurses if he was alright. "He may be colicky" they would say. It turned out to be true, but we also found out that he was seriously hungry.

When we finally got home, we had two dogs and two cats that had no idea that a new member of the family was about to move in. When we walked in, our alpha-dog Scarlett, a Jack Russell Terrier, immediately jumped up on Kris' lap to check out our new loud bundle of joy. She sniffed and bailed out quickly while our other dog, Maggie, a Border Collie, threw her toy at Jake thinking she had a new playmate. Once Maggie realized Jake wasn't going to throw a toy for her to chase, she had very little interest in him. The screaming didn't help, either. Not only did the dogs think there was a problem, but Kris and I knew something was wrong when Jake seemed to be shrinking. The cats were nowhere to be seen those first few days.

Jake was born Friday morning, and by Sunday, he went from eight pounds five ounces to seven pounds two ounces. Come to find out, he wasn't getting enough breast milk from Kris, so he immediately lost weight. Kris would continue to breast feed, but we had to supplement his feedings with formula from day one. But in the beginning we had no idea. Our little guy was seriously hungry; another trait he took after his father. I was always hungry, too.

When we brought Jake home from the hospital the second time, he gained his weight back, but he continued to cry. Yes, the infamous colic had taken its grip on our little guy. I had taken two weeks off from work, and of course Kris was taking a full 12 weeks off before returning to work. The first two weeks was easier; we would take turns holding Jake while praying he would doze off at some point. He would fall asleep, but not for long. He would sleep 30 to 60 minutes before announcing to the world he was awake. I think the cats lived outside and refused to come back inside during the first three months. Needless to say, Kris and my nerves were shot quickly. Jake, my little buddy, just loved to cry. No matter what we tried, if he was awake, he was crying. Yes, there were times he would be quiet, but for the most part he cried.

When the two weeks ended and I had to return to work, I felt so bad for Kris. Let me sum up our life from week two to week 12. I worked from 8:00AM to 5:00PM, Monday through Friday. I would leave the house at 7:30AM, and when I would come home from work, Kris would hand Jake off like a Quarterback a football to a Running Back, and off to bed she went. She would sleep to about 1:00AM to 2:00AM, and then she would take over while I slept five or six hours; that is, if I could fall asleep. Kris was a trooper; no postpartum depression, but a load of aggravation that was well understood. Friends and family would come over to help, and they would even ask if everyone would be alright. The damn dogs hid, we lost the cats, and Kris and I rarely shared a bed when we slept. Let me tell you, I was not the nicest guy those ten weeks at work.

During this trying time I discovered an internal link between my son and I: The sun.  I think it was around week four that we put Jake in his bouncy chair in front of one of our windows in the game room, and either the heat simply put him to sleep, or he somehow felt relaxed and passed out from all the crying. I'm the same way; when I feel stressed or out of sorts, I go outside and soak in the sun's rays.  Don't get me wrong; there is a big difference between simply sweating your butt off and allowing the sun to warm your inner soul.  The latter is what I rely on to this day, and Jake discovered it during the fourth week of his life.

The early morning sun would rise over our back yard and its rays would penetrate the windows, and we would put Jake in his favorite bouncy chair so he could soak in them.  It was like a gift from God only we didn't know if the gift was bestowed upon Jake so he could rest, or us so we could rest.  Perhaps both.

Thank God glass stops UV rays because Jake would have a serious tan right now. We would have had to soak him in UV70 sun block. Whatever works, right?

Then the month three doctor's appointment. We took Jake to his pediatrician, and when he walked in to the room, he looked at us and asked if we were alright! Yes, we were that bad; truly exhausted. Jake was doing just fine, and all we could ask of the doctor was when he thought Jake would stop crying. "Any day now" he answered, and thinking "great, another educated answer", we went home. When we got there, we put Jake in his crib, and within five minutes he was asleep. Now you have to understand, we were absolutely paranoid. This was unheard of and we freaked out. We took turns going in, and I would stare at his chest to make sure he was breathing. When it was all said and done, Jake slept for almost six hours! When he woke up, I felt like we were the people in the waiting room waiting for a patient to come out of a coma. Yes, we were that scared. We couldn't wait for Jake to sleep like a normal baby, and when he finally did, we couldn't wait for him to wake up. When he did, we both hugged him for five to ten minutes. We were thankful that he was alive, I kid you not.

Then the time came for Kris to return to work. We had chosen the day care Jake would attend, but dreaded that first day we had to drop him off. Kris had spent the last 12 weeks spending 24 hours a day with Jake, and that first day dropping Jake off returning to work was going to be difficult for her. Of course I went with her.

We walked in, and the ladies that ran the day care were terrific. Surely they dealt with the first day with many other Moms and Dads several times, so they were ready. When Kris handed Jake over to the caregiver, she began to cry like I had never seen her do. Then of course I started crying, but had my sunglasses on to keep my macho image intact. She spent a few minutes talking and making sure everything was OK, and off to work we went.

When we entered the call center we worked in, people tried to approach Kris to welcome her back to work. Now you have to understand that she is one of the kindest persons you could ever meet, but this was not the day to talk to her. The infamous hand was raised and she made a bee-line for her boss's office. I walked a few yards behind whispering to people to give her a few minutes, and once we made it to the office, she completely broke down. Then of course I broke down. Her boss was very understanding, and let us get ourselves together for about ten minutes. I remember making it a point to tell people to give her space that morning. She was struggling to deal with leaving Jake with strangers, and honestly I was too.

The next two or three weeks, we would spend our lunch hours at the daycare checking in on Jake. Occasionally he would be sleeping, but most of the time he was wide awake. I would take a few minutes every time to hold Jake.  Sometimes I would talk to him, and sometimes I held him in silence.  I would always look into his eyes and communicate verbally and non-verbally.  I could tell that the bond we now have was established during those times I held him. 

The women that took care of Jake were incredible. They knew of Jake's struggles with sleeping, and did a great job trying to get him to sleep. The colic had for the most part disappeared, but Jake still didn't like to sleep. At about week three of daycare, Kris and I finally felt at ease taking him to daycare. It was during those three weeks that I feel that the bond of our family was forged.