Father Chronicles

Father Chronicles: Pregnancy
By Michael Ogrodowicz

Who knew a six-inch plastic stick could be so powerful. In one instant it made me see things completely different. My eyes bulged, my throat gulped, it put a smile on my face. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This was magical. No, it didn’t make a rabbit emerge from a black top hat nor vanish an attractive blond into thin air. But, what that pregnancy test did do was far better. It turned a normal 25 year old man into a father-to-be. Voila!

“A baby is God’s opinion that life should go on.” — Carl Sandburg
So, I have been blessed. Well, that is what they say. Blessed with what exactly? I saw visions of a life where a night out for a dinner and a movie is Chucky Cheese and a flick starring that adorable, yet annoying, talking/singing animal that Hollywood felt could evaporate the wallets of every parent in America. A home life of DVD, XBOX and ESPN, replaced by the ABC’s. I could feel my head tingle as the pre-mature grey started to prepare its launch sequence. What am I going to do? Am I ready for this? These questions rung in my head as if the hunchback himself was swinging from ear to ear. I always wanted to be a dad, but with the realization that my house will be filled with the distinct smell of baby powder and expired diapers I started to be unsure of myself. This, I guess, is where fate comes in. I mean, God would have not put such a huge task in my hands if he didn’t feel I could do it right? I have full-time job, the love of my life by my side, and a small home, what else do I need?

“Life is tough enough without having someone kick you from the inside.” — Rita Rudner
Fast-forward three months and two and a half doctor visits, it still did not sink in. I had experienced hearing the heartbeat and took another ten double-takes at the pregnancy test but, other than the occasional puke fest and strange craving for beef jerky, my wife showed barely a sign of having something growing inside of her. Despite any proof, it was all just a dream in my head. She had a doctor appointment that day, and trying to be a good husband joined her, yet again, to be by her side for another session of poking and prodding. Now, for me, the waiting room was always a very uncomfortable thing. I tried not to look at any of the other women and, if I did, I certainly didn’t look at the protruding mound of flesh in their mid-section for the fear of being beat to death by a pregnant mood swing and a heavy purse. And, of course, there was always those couple of women who were so far along they looked as if they were going to explode. They always would give me a dirty look or two as if I was part of the male evil empire who not only got them pregnant but didn’t have to carry or deliver the child. We were excited about this visit because we were going to find out the sex of our child with an ultra-sound. From the very moment my wife and I ever talked about having kids we always wanted three kids, one boy and two girls, with our son coming first. We both had a good feeling going in, and the fact that a local psychic told my wife months earlier that we were going to get what we wanted, we felt pretty confidant. Actually, he was the one who knew she was pregnant before we did.

As the strange silhouette danced on the small screen, it finally hit me that this was not a dream and, in fact, was quickly becoming one of the best experiences of my life. “It’s a boy,” the nurse said as she pointed out the definitive proof. I always imagined how I would have reacted to those words. Would I jump up and down in euphoria knowing that I got my son? Would I call all my friends and brag as soon as I found out? No. I did neither. I just sat quietly smiling. My mind wandered off to visions of me and him playing basketball together or throwing a baseball back and forth and completely zoned out everything else the nurse was saying.

In what seemed like an eternity, but was really about a minute, I snapped out of my day dream and quickly focused on the rest of the exam. Finding out the sex was just the bonus, we were really there to see how he was doing. The nurse proceeded to begin check every inch of him. From brain size to heart beat and growth, she checked to see if he was growing properly. Here is the funny thing, as much as I wanted a boy, once I found out I didn’t care. All I wanted was for him to be perfect. It was then it finally hit me like a right hand from George Foreman. “I really am a dad.”

“Think of stretch marks as pregnancy service stripes.” — Joyce Armor
Let me take this small opportunity to acknowledge my wife for all she has gone through in this process. Despite the constant complaints about nausea, back pains, feet soreness, being fat, always tired, having to pee every ten minutes and the baby kicking her lungs, kidneys, bladder, heart and stomach, she has really been a soldier. Who am I kidding, she was completely annoying to live with at times. But, I still love her very much and it never stopped me from poking a little fun at her.

Some of her nicknames I gave her while being pregnant:
Butterball – during Thanksgiving
Snow woman – during Christmas
Bug – laying down she looked like the car

I know she is going to be a great mother. She took all the trials, pains and my jokes in stride and never let it get her down

“If pregnancy were a book they would cut the last two chapters.” — Nora Ephron
As I write this, my wife and I are t-minus one month. A lot of positive things have come from this experience, but I am ready for it to end. I can’t wait to see my boy’s face for the first time or start molding him into a good human being. I still have fears and questions but I know now that I am ready to be a father. For I have learned, it is not what I have to give that will make me a good father, but how much I can give to him to have forever – love and knowledge.

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Father Chronicles: Birth
By Michael Ogrodowicz

Wednesday, March 3 – 1:15 a.m.
Wife: “Wake up, Mike! Wake up!”
Me: “What?”
Wife: “I think we need to go to the hospital!”
Me: “Are you sure?”
Wife: “I’m pretty sure! My contractions are only 5 minutes apart!”
Me: “Has your water broke?”
Wife: “No, not yet!”
Me: “Well, can’t it wait till the morning?”
Wife: “Uh, NO!”
Me: “I just went to bed at 12:30, so if you could tell our son to wait a few hours so his father could get some sleep would be REALLY nice.”
Wife: “I don’ think he is obeying.”
Me: “Well, call your doctor to make sure please. I’m not driving back and forth to a hospital in the middle of the night.”
She talks to a doctor on the phone for about five or six minutes.
Wife: “The doctor said we should go in.”

“By far the most common craving of pregnant women is not to be pregnant.” — Phyllis Diller
It was another Tuesday morning and, with it came another doctor visit for my wife. This had been a weekly routine for about a month now, and with each one came more and more optimism, hope and frustration. We enjoyed pregnancy but were anxious for it be over and wanted to finally see who had been kicking her from the inside. Her belly was expanding daily as if she had stolen a bite of candy from Willy Wonka himself. I felt the need to tie her down so to not have her float away or to watch her around sharp objects for the fear she would pop. So, needless to say, we both hoped he would be gracing us with his presence soon. But, little did we know that this doctor visit would be her last.

“I realize why women die in child birth – it’s preferable.” — Sherry Glaser
I arrived at home from work that afternoon only to find my wife in pain. Crouched over and breathing heavy, she reminded me of the time my groin met a fastball for the first time playing in little league. Her eyes closed shut and her mouth grimaced from the deep pain focused in her abdomen. She snarled while trying to take deep breaths, her hair dampened by the sweat from her brow. Stomping their feet with their steel-toed boots, the contractions started their journey at noon towards the on-coming battle, and I had walked right into one of their many marches. They came every ten minutes with my wife displaying the same menacing yet constapaded expression. Then, in an instant, she was normal again. It was like watching a Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde movie in fast-forward. It was then we started the waiting game. By midnight her contractions were six minutes apart but her water still had not broken. We agreed, as we settled into bed, that we would try to get some sleep and wait till the morning to call the doctor.

I think I was just starting to doze off when she woke me up. I always imagined how I would react to my wife going into labor. I had seen many men act frantic, nervous and too excited to act very sane in the past and, even though all of my experiences of such events came from television and movies, I always predicted this is how I, as probably all men, would act. This, for me, was certainly not the case. I got dressed and lumbered, dragging my feet towards the car as if I were beyond the dead. At 1:30 in the morning and only twenty minutes of sleep, the last thing I could do was run around like my pants were on fire. So, we were off to have a baby. We made our way down the empty highway in the darkness of night and I remember thinking to myself how this would probably be our last moment as a couple for the rest of our lives.

“Somewhere on this globe, every ten seconds, there is woman giving birth to a child. She must be found and stopped.” — Sam Levenson
The hospital we arrived at was a great place to have a baby. With rooms equipped to not only give birth, but to keep and monitor the baby, they were built to make the mother-to-be as comfortable as can be. They were basically sterilized hotel rooms. But, we were unlucky, for every one of the aforementioned rooms were booked. We were stuck in the triage room and my son was coming fast, too fast. He apparently was really anxious to greet us and thus leaving no time to give my wife any pain medication. So it was there, on a hospital bed not made for child birth, in a room the size of a closet and surrounded by five nurses and a doctor that my son was to be taking his first breath of fresh air.

I always said I was never going to peek below so to not make my wife, and myself for that matter, uncomfortable. I had seen enough in highschool health class and the show A Baby Story to realize that was the last place I needed to be watching. I knelt down on one knee by her left side. Holding her head up and her leg back I focused on doing whatever I could to help my wife get through this as fast and painless as possible.

“If men were to give birth to every second child, there would never be a third.” — Mary Thomas (my mother-in-law)
As my little boy entered this world I happened to take a peek and see a lot more than I could have ever imagined. I saw my son’s face as he appeared for the first time. I witnessed his first gasp for air and first cry. For all the concern and fear I had of seeing too much, I really would not have wanted it any other way. Too be able to visually experience you child being delivered is, I believe, a true miracle. At 3:53 on the third day of March of the year 2004, I was granted my first child.

“Babies are such nice way to start people.” — Don Herrold
I have heard many men say that the birth of their child was the best day of their lives and changed them as a person forever. Now that I have endured it, I would have to completely agree. It’s hard to be upset or depressed when you have a baby that doesn’t know what either of those emotions really are and a wife that went through such trauma and sacrifice. So it begins. A life of heartache and worry, sacrifice and selflessness, and constant molding and shaping. But, through all the trials and tribulations, I will cherish this life and and honor my roll to the best of my ability till I rest in heaven. I am a dad. World, say hello to Roman Jackson Ogrodowicz.

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Father Chronicles: First Month
By Michael Ogrodowicz

The sound was deafening. It drilled it’s way to my brain eating away any reasonable thought. The windows shook and I heard the howl of ear-throbbed canines in the distance. This, I believed, was the end of the world.

“People who say they sleep like babies usually don’t have them.” — Leo J. Burke
It was ironically midnight with a full moon and my son was hungry, or tired, or cranky or had a dirty diaper. To tell you the truth, I had no earthly idea what was wrong with him. He had been crying for an hour and a half straight and if my wife and I had any regrets about being parents it was in that very moment. We had brought him home from the hospital earlier that night and were both very confident about what lied ahead. I mean, come on, he is just a little baby right? Don’t they just sleep all the time? People that have any experience taking care of a baby are probably laughing at such ignorance but I, in my twenty-six years of life, have avoided infants as much as I could. I never had any dislike or fear of babies but feared what would happen if one ended up in my arms. Unlike my cats, if you clumsily drop one it will not land on all fours and I never wanted to take that chance. Add the dread of public humiliation for making funny faces and weird noises, and you can that see me and the little ones never crossed paths that often.

“If your baby is beautiful and perfect, never cries or fusses, sleeps on schedule and burps on demand, an angel all the time, you’re the grandma.” — Theresa Bloomingdale
He cried, got picked up, fed and then rocked back to sleep. It was more than a few time we witnessed this from one of our mothers during our hospital stay and it was no different on this night. My family and mother-in-law joined us as we took him home for the first time and both moms were very willing to do anything to help. Of course, we took advantage and watched as they promptly took care of him every time he cried. What is it about grandmothers and grandchildren? It’s like some hidden genetic code embedded in both to spoil each other and then take it out on the actual parents.

My mother-in-law was the last of our company this night and she cradled my son back to sleep after another feeding. It was then she decided would be a good time to go home and I think she knew something we didn’t. My son, sensing the absence of over-spoiling, screamed at the top of his lungs just as her car vanished into the night. His face turned bright red and his legs kicked. He clearly was not a happy little man. Of course, he started all this as we were just hitting the pillows but were confidant that we could cure whatever that was ailing him and go right back to bed.

Two hours, two and a half diaper changes and a bottle-feeding later he was still howling to the moon and driving my wife and I crazy. We walked him back and forth through the house, swayed him in the rocking chair, sung to him and cursed him. My wife’s eyes flooded as she asked herself if she was a bad mom. I sat on the edge of the bed, covering my ears in disbelief, bashing every thought that we once had of being able to handle all this. There was no end in sight, no light at the end of the winding, drool-filled tunnel. Then, in an instant, we heard the sweet sound of relief. The sound was so innocent but spoke volumes. It instantly made the world a better place. It was the sweet, sweet sound of a dirty diaper. The moment came quick, his britches got heavy and, as his face changed from a red Yoda back to normal, his crying finally subdued.

“Diaper backward spells repaid. Think about it.” — Marshall McLuhan
There comes a time in every man’s life where he must face his fears head on. It’s a barrier which must be conquered in order to truly become a citizen of Testosteronia. A feat so difficult to endure, that once a man does, he will become a better person and feel as if he can accomplish anything. For me, this act was changing a diaper.

I looked at my son in horror. What could be in those pants of his? He looked at me and smirked and I knew he was going to make this into an adventure. I didn’t know if I should run away as if being chased by a giant, rolling rock or to just swing over the pit of lava and save the day. Well, being the brave guy that I am, I slowly began to undo his britches. My eyes grew and my hands trembled as I peeked at the poop pit that sat before me. “Hey this isn’t too bad!” I proclaimed. I breezed through the process without blinking an eye and, as I closed him up, my chest swelled with pride. I made it and he was still alive. I leaned over and smiled. “No more poopie for youee!” I remarked to him relieved as if the weight of world had jumped off my shoulders. And, as soon as my confidence meter was just about to overflow, a horrible sound came from down yonder. He did it again.

Frustrated and annoyed I proceeded with another changing. Everything was going as planned again as I reached over to grab the bottle of baby powder. Then my hand felt oddly warm and I quickly jumped back as if it were sitting on a stove only to reveal a live water fountain in my house. He had urinated on me, officially branding me a dad. It shot up and around like an unsupervised water hose. It reminded me of those strange water spouts that shoot back and forth in the bushes of an amusement park. After cleaning and changing everything on and around him it was finally over. Pooped at and squirted on was more than I ever bargained for, but I glad it happened. It was this moment I finally felt like a father.

“You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.” — Franklin P. Jones
In this first month there have been more sleepless nights, more diaper mishaps and I have been willing to sell him on EBAY more than a few times. It seems sometimes as if the crying has never stopped. I realize there is more chaos in the future but I think I’m ready. Besides, I think that is what parenthood is all about. You endure everything your children can dish out, love them throughout and know that, when you look back at it all, it would not have been quite as fun without it. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to take a long nap.