CHAPTER 1
Birth Day
THE ROOM IS pitch black. I wake up to the sound of Lucy breathing. Lamaze breathing.
"The contractions started at five," she tells me. "You looked tired, so I let you sleep."
Three hours of sleep. All I've had is three hours of sleep. Right now the baby decides to come?
"We're getting off to a rough start, kiddo," I mumble aloud.
"You're not supposed to be here for another week."
It doesn't matter. It's six in the morning, and baby is on his way.
It's morning. It's cold: January cold. But not really that cold because we live in LA. I couldn't sleep last night. Not because I'm anxious about the baby or anything like that. I can't sleep because I have so much damn energy. I've put myself through full mental, physical, and spiritual training in preparation for this baby. I've been working out like a Rocky montage, I've fasted and meditated like a Buddhist monk, and I've made some serious changes to my diet, munching on super foods like they're candy. As a result, my body is now super-charged, and I am ready for our first child! However ... My high energy has thrown off my normal sleeping schedule, and last night I stayed awake, watching crappy 2012 doomsday documentaries on Netflix until three in the morning. Now it's six, and I'm lying in our bed, sleep deprived, while my beautiful, well-rested wife calmly informs me that our son is on his way. My plan backfired. Make plans, and God laughs, they say.
We are both surprised the baby is coming this morning. Why would we be surprised? She's in her ninth month of pregnancy, her belly is big and round, and the little guy's been karate-kicking her insides like Bruce Lee. Surprised? Yes. We are still surprised. Why? Because the baby hasn't dropped yet. Her belly is big, round, and high. Everyone has been waiting for the baby to drop into position. Friends and family were guessing two more weeks. Our doctor guessed three weeks. But I guess it doesn't matter. Baby comes when he wants to come. We don't know. This is our first child. We're rookies.
Maybe we are the reason the baby decided to come early. The doctor gave us some tips on how we might be able to speed up the birthing process: "Walking. A lot of walking."
We do that. Lucy hits the gym every day, even in her ninth month. Light weightlifting for ten minutes and then twenty-five minutes on the elliptical. We were there yesterday. Did walking do it?
"And sex," the doctor added. "If you want to help the baby come along, have sex. Sex will stimulate the cervix and help induce labor."
Well, it's been eight hours now since our last romp, and I can tell you, dropped belly or no dropped belly, that sex stuff worked!
"How do you feel?" I ask Lucy.
"Fine. The contractions are constant. They're different from the Braxton-Hicks contractions. These are the real deal, but they're not that bad."
It's early, and it's dark, but I know that outside our bedroom door, my in-laws are already awake. They get up before the sun, just like they did back on the farms in El Salvador. They are no joke. He's in his eighties. She's in her seventies. He has his day off from work today. Yes, he is still working in his eighties. I truly admire their marriage and family.
We are living in their home right now in Highland Park, Los Angeles. It's been a blessing. Lucy and I got married two months after the 2008 financial crisis, the worst economic disaster since the Great Depression of 1929. This new economic depression was based on the subprime mortgage crisis, which economists were hoping would only affect the housing market. They were wrong. It hit globally. I've seen husbands and wives standing outside of supermarkets with their children, asking for money. These have been rough times. Crazy times to start a family.
Lucy and I need to get moving. The contractions have started, which means the clock is now ticking, and we need to get through the plan we set out for ourselves and Baby.
"Are you ready?" I ask Lucy.
"Yes. I'm ready."
"Because the moment I open that door, everything gets moving."
"I'm ready."
"Good. Everything as we planned, okay? Nice and easy. Calm.
No panicking."
"No panicking."
From all of the research we had done, all of the stories we had heard, Lucy and I were both aware of the one factor that devastates the experience and outcome of childbirth: panic. People panic. Family, friends, nurses, doctor, anybody and everybody — they panic. Right now, only Lucy and I are in this experience. We are focused. We are ready to take on everything. We are ready to do it together. But outside this bedroom door, people are going to share this experience with us, and we do not know how they'll approach this miraculous yet frightening experience. It's time to get moving.
I open the bedroom door and see my mother-in-law in the hallway, still wearing her nightgown. She sees me. She already knows what I'm going to say.
"Ya viene el baby," I tell her.
Alejandro Magal lanes
She nods, calmly accepting the news. She tells me she's going to the market with my father-in-law, and she'll be back in an hour.
"Gracias, Mami."
"Okay," she answers. She always answers "okay."
My mother-in-law is unbelievable. She raised seven of her younger siblings in El Salvador. Then she came to the United States to raise six of her own children in a two-bedroom apartment in downtown Los Angeles. Lucy is the youngest of the six. Our son is going to be her first grandchild. I'm looking forward to working with her.
Mom and Dad leave to do their grocery shopping. So far, there are not exuberant reactions. There is no panic either. Lucy and I are happy about that. Right now, we have the house all to ourselves, so we start on the accomplishment of our plan.
It is six thirty in the morning now. It's still cold, and it's still dark. We get moving. First things first — we need to time the contractions. I need a stopwatch. I know where mine is. It's not one of those old-school, sixty-minute, tick-tick-tick stopwatches. If I handed one of those to Lucy, she'd throw it back at me. Most electronic gadgets nowadays come with a stopwatch function or app. My gadget is my iPod Nano.
I don't have many cool toys. We are living in a time of financial crisis, and Lucy and I must live accordingly. But I never complain because I have a sister-in-law who gives me gifts like she's Oprah and I'm some poor housewife in her studio audience. My sister-in-law's name is Patty. She has gifted me with a Gibson acoustic guitar, a Remo djembe drum, and, my favorite of all, a fifth-generation, blue...
