This Method Writers blog posting comes to you from the hands of Marty Pitchford, one of the characters in the book “The Method Writers”. The fictitious characters from the book continue to work on final edits of their own book – “Fictitious Fiction”.
I realize the writer who created me, Michael Ray King, wrote his own book on fatherhood. Heck, he should! He only has six children! For me, fatherhood came as a shock-wave that did not settle down until Annabelle turned two-years-old.
The midnight feedings I heard so much about were actually midnight, three-in-the-morning and six-in-the-morning. Jessica did not want to get up in the middle of the night much. I didn’t either, don’t get me wrong, but this was our precious daughter. I cannot tell you how many times I fell asleep in the easy chair with her on my chest.
The sleep I got ended up very shallow, as I feared she might roll off. I placed couch pillows on the floor around the chair just in case.
I nearly got fired from my VP job because I dragged into work sloppy and half out of my mind. If my boss hadn’t been a woman, I’m not sure I would have received the benefit of the doubt. She knew Jessica, and she knew me, of course. Not long after Annabelle’s birth, my boss sat me down and gave me a boatload of tips. Most I didn’t remember, but I was thankful that she understood what I was going through.
The diapers seemed to fall my way most of the time. I suppose I’m grateful for that as well. Whenever I changed a diaper Jessica had put on our daughter, I noted the carelessness. I should have begun adding all these signs up, but life had me running its gauntlet. There were many times I asked for more help, but Jessica felt I needed to carry my fair share of the load.
Yeah, I go to work, come home and Jess hands Anabelle off to me and disappears for five or six hours. The upside to this, of course, is Annabelle and I developed a strong bond. My little girl would smile and giggle at me and I knew there could be nothing more beautiful.
Oh yeah! I was supposed to talk about the delivery room a bit. So I’m in there, right? Jess is cussing enough to make Poseidon blush. I’m sure the nurses are going to boot us out, but they simply ignore her. I’m helping helplessly with the Lamaze breathing.
The doctor walks in, exhorts Jess to push after he inspects the situation, and the next thing I know, this purple creature is being held up to me. Scissors somehow get placed in my right hand, and I cut the chord to the most beautiful purple being on earth.
I soon note Annabelle’s skin changes to a much more normal looking pink. I’m glad I didn’t ask. I would have felt stupid. Since my baby was not exposed to air those forty weeks, of course she would come out some strange color. Once the light and air did their thing, poof! Normal baby.
Except nothing was normal about this girl. She was/is perfect. I believe I cried more than she did. Maybe not as loud, but I wept. Birth is one of the most amazing experiences we ever get to witness. I’ve been there for my girl ever since, and that will never change as long as I live and breathe.
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