Whenever anyone asks about the baby for the first time, I feel compelled to not simply tell them that he’s doing well, but also that Jaclyn is doing well. And then I tell them about how smoothly the entire birthing process went for her.
Maybe I’m speaking a little out of turn when I talk about this, but it’s hard for me to see any way in which the birth could’ve been easier. Yes, Jaclyn had to carry the growing child with her to term; yes, she had to then push the watermelon-sized human through a typically small opening. I’ll never know what that was like in a first-person sense. But what I can speak to is how I felt during the whole thing.
Jaclyn was a hard-ass throughout the pregnancy. She worked out, substantially, until the eighth month, when I practically had to assume the role of hostage negotiator to convince her that it was probably time to give up her gym membership for a couple months. She never had morning sickness, never had any concerns emerging from her frequent doctor visits. Aside from the cold she contracted during the last couple weeks of the pregnancy, everything was relatively uneventful (in fact, most of the pain she complained of during labor had less to do with the labor itself and more to do with her frequent coughing fits). Jaclyn was in active labor for a few hours, pushed for ten minutes, then out came Miles, who gave us only the tiniest of whimpers as he entered the world. Two hours later, despite a considerable epidural injection, Jaclyn was back on her feet. I had joked just before the baby was born that Jaclyn might still be able to make it to kickboxing that night; I didn’t realize it was ACTUALLY possible.