Category: Modern Dad

A Tuna Casserole To Remember

David Pierre   ·  

Do you know those meals that bring you back to childhood? You know, the ones that as soon as you even smell the dish cooking, you’re transported back in time. You remember standing in the kitchen, patiently waiting for your parents to serve it to you? 

In partnership with Ocean’s Tuna I’d like to share one of my favourite childhood meals. The mighty tuna casserole. 

Now, I know that some of the ingredients in a tuna casserole are as hotly debated as Star Wars versus Star Trek. For the record, the force would blow those one-piece unitards into a galaxy far far away. Anyway, some people like to add peas, and some don’t. Then there’s the question of using egg noodles or regular pasta, chips, or no chips. You get the idea.  

However, regardless of what you put in your tuna casserole, one ingredient is kind of essential. Any guesses? I know, a lame attempt at a joke. It’s tuna. And I’d like to talk about tuna for one second because after all, the good people at Ocean’s are the sponsors of this post. Oceans Tuna is a company that is committed to using their business as a force for good, as is evident with their B Corp certification. 

Don’t worry if you’ve never heard of B Corp Certification. I’ll give you details, and once you know what it is, you’ll love supporting B Corp companies. In 2019 Ocean’s became B Corp Certified and joined a group of companies that are committed to using their business as a force for good—balancing profit with purpose. B Corp companies are committed to creating a positive impact on their employees, customers, the communities they operate, and the environment. For Ocean’s, this means that they only use sustainable fishing methods and protect vulnerable species. They also work with local authorities to reduce bycatch and consider the impact of their decisions on employees, customers, suppliers, and the community. To learn even more please visit this link .

Okay, time for the tuna casserole. Here is a list of the things you’ll need:

  • 2 Cans of Ocean’s Solid White Tuna
  • 3 Cups Penne or Fusilli Pasta
  • 1 Tablespoon butter
  • 1 small onion
  • 2/3 cups of frozen corn
  • 1 can of cream of mushroom soup
  • 1/3 cup of milk
  • 1 cup of cheese
  • 1 teaspoon of dill
  • A squeeze of lemon to taste
  • Salt to taste
  • Pepper to taste

Topping:

  • 1 cup salt and vinegar chips (crumbled), or however many you want, because you’re an adult! 

Instructions

  • Preheat oven to 425°F if you’re in the USA, or 218°C if you live everywhere else. Combine topping ingredients and set aside.
  • Boil the pasta according to package directions. Drain and rinse under cold water.
  • Cook onion in butter until tender, about 5-7 minutes.
  • In a large bowl, combine pasta, onion mixture, corn, soup, milk, cheese, and tuna. Make sure this is evenly mixed!
  • Spread into a casserole dish and top with the crumbled up chips.
  • Bake 18-20 minutes or until bubbly.


Once it comes out of the oven, set it aside for 5-10 minutes. Then you can serve it right away, or freeze it for later. The great thing about this meal is that it’s enough for dinner and a light lunch the next day. Perfect for a stay at home parent, that doesn’t want to spend their days, preparing endless meals! 

One final note, if you enjoyed this recipe using Ocean’s Solid White tuna, please visit oceans.ca to learn more about Ocean’s products and see more healthy recipes.

The Great Mittens Battle

David Pierre   ·  

When Timothy’s approached me to share a “You Can Handle It” victory, so many moments came to mind. I mean, as a parent, where do you even start? Any parent knows daily life with a child is filled with moments where you pause, take a deep breath, sip coffee, and move forward. These are the little moments that Timothy’s wants to celebrate and remind you that Timothy’s coffee is the honest and the supportive sidekick in your life.

Okay, so what is my moment? Well, with the weather changing rapidly in the past month, I am quickly reminded of a struggle that pops up every year — “The Great Mittens Battle.” 

You know, the kind of approach most toddlers are known for. (Side Note: did you roll your eyes like I did?)

My son, Benjamin, is three and a half now and is just starting to understand how the seasons change and how we need to dress differently depending on the weather. However, in Calgary, we don’t get the luxury of a drawn-out temperature change. Often, the weather goes from plus fifteen to minus fifteen, and back to plus fifteen in only a few days.

It’s these sorts of rapid weather changes that require an easy-going and fluid approach to wardrobe changes. You know, the kind of approach most toddlers are known for. (Side Note: did you roll your eyes like I did?)

Benjamin is really happy to be wearing his mittens!

I mean, I get it. In Benjamin’s mind, it must be baffling how one day our indoor and outdoor clothes are the same, and the next day, it’s jackets, pants, toques, and of course, the dreaded mittens.

Now you’re probably wondering, what’s the big deal with the mittens anyway? For the most part, I’d agree with you. What IS the big deal with them? You put them on, and they keep your hands warm. But, that’s not how a toddler sees them. 

To a toddler, mittens are a very unique form of prison. They take time to put on, require some coordination to line up the thumb. They make it harder to grab toys outside and harder to navigate the play structures at the playground. 

Thankfully Canada has eight months of winter a year, so I’ve started to recognize some predictable stages of “The Great Mittens Battle.” 

So now, I’d like to share these stages with you and highlight the key moments where taking a moment to enjoy a good-tasting sip of Timothy’s coffee will remind you that #YouCanHandleIt.

Stage One: The preemptive warning

When dealing with a toddler, it’s essential to warn them of what’s to come. The comments usually start in the morning. “Hey, Benjamin. The weather is pretty cold today. If we are going to the park, we better wear our mittens.” And, “our mittens keep our hands warm, so we don’t get frostbite.”

Benjamin usually follows up with a valid rebuttal of why he doesn’t want to wear his mittens, such as, “I don’t want to wear my mittens,” or, “I won’t get frostbite.”

At this point, stage one is complete. It’s tempting to continue down the endless back and forth about frostbite and mittens. However, your time is better served by simply leaving the conversation and having your first cup of Timothy’s coffee. 

Stage Two: Getting the mittens on

As soon as you try and get the mittens on, his hands turn into over cooked spaghetti.

Now that you’ve preemptively warned your child that you’ll need mittens to go to the park, it’s time to get those mittens on. 

I like to model the behaviours that I’d like Benjamin to have. So that means, I will put on all my warm, outside, clothes so that Benjamin sees they are necessary. Of course, the downside of this is that I will be wearing these blistering hot clothes inside the house for the next 15 minutes. 

With my outside clothes on, I will say, “alright, Benjamin, let’s put our mittens on and go to the park.” To which he’ll reply, “I don’t want to wear my mittens.” To which I’ll answer, “I’m not going to ask you again, if you don’t put them on, we’re not going to the park.” This is an empty threat because the thought of being inside all day with a hyper toddler is unbearable. 

If he still refuses to wear the mittens after the empty threat. I’ll encourage him to walk onto the porch and touch the railing to see that it is cold on his hands. And, six times out of ten, this is enough to convince him that the mittens are necessary. 

Stage Three: The park struggle

With the mittens on and thermos full of Timothy’s coffee, we’ll head to the park. 

After playing for a while, mitten frustration starts setting in. Benjamin will try to do his usual park things. Like, pick up sticks, climb the structures, and play with the toys. But he soon realizes that these things are difficult with mittens on. 

He’ll ask, “can I take my mittens off?” I’ll answer, “if you take them off, your hands will be cold and get itchy from frostbite.” Benjamin will now say something undeniably logical, like, “no they won’t.”

As Benjamin takes his mittens off, the countdown begins. It’s only a matter of time until Benjamin tells me that he wants to go home because his hands are cold. So, I sit back, take a sip of my Timothy’s coffee, and enjoy the last few minutes.

Stage Four: I want to go home

Don’t act surprised; we all knew it was coming. Benjamin plays without his mittens for a few minutes and then says, “my hands are cold; let’s go home.”

He’s had enough of the mittens and is throwing them at me

I, of course, agree to go. Because it is cold, and I’ve run out of coffee so, we walk home. While we walk, I take joy in knowing that it might have taken 20 minutes to convince Benjamin to put his mittens on, but we spent 45 minutes at the park. And to me, that is a significant parent victory.


I also know that when we get home. I’ll refill my cup again with more Timothy’s Coffee, warm my hands and spirit and get ready for the same battles tomorrow. But I know that I’ll succeed again, because with Timothy’s as your trusted parenting sidekick #YouCanHandleIt.

If you want to see what Timothy’s blends I’ve been brewing see here. They are available in K-Cup pods, so I can brew them at home in my Keurig coffee maker and avoid putting on mittens to go outside and buy a coffee.

My Life’s Decisions Made Me the Father I am

David Pierre   ·  

When Dove Men+Care approached me to help them champion paternity leave, part of their global commitment to expanding men’s opportunities to care, I felt extremely proud to get involved. It’s not just important to push for better policies around paternity leave, but also challenge the stigmas that hold fathers back from taking it. 

My personal experience tells me that when men have an expanded opportunity to care for their families through paternity leave, it has positive impacts on the man, his family and society as a whole.

It also got me thinking about the decisions that I made in my life, and how I was never going to be the type of father my dad was. And that’s a good thing. 

Throughout my life, I haven’t done what’s expected of me. 

For instance, when I was a teen and deciding which university to attend, I didn’t bother myself with petty details such as the school’s reputation or which social clubs they offered. My entire goal was to maximize the distance between the university I chose and the small town in which I grew up. I didn’t know at the time, but this decision led me down the path to one of the most important moments in my life; becoming the type of father I want to be for my amazing son, Benjamin. 

Okay, so there wasn’t anything particularly bad about the town I grew up in. It had its own “small town Alberta charm”. But the people there accepted the status quo while I’ve always questioned why things are done a certain way. I wanted to get away and figure things out for myself. 

I needed to ponder the important questions in life. For example, “Is Canadian bacon just ham?” And why do Americans go around calling their toques “beanies”? So weird. Anyway, being in a new city, Calgary, and around new people opened my eyes to a lot of the things I’d been exposed to, and naturally absorbed, during my formative years. 

If Bacon is Ham, Then What’s a Man?

It was during this time of self-discovery that I started to question the stereotypes I’d grown up with of what men and fathers should be. You see, I grew up with a very traditional father. He wasn’t a mean man and I knew that I was loved but he did lack emotional availability. Sure, he would show emotion if he was trying to fix something around the house and it wasn’t going well. If I’d done something wrong, I’d get an angry glare.Other than that, he didn’t show much emotion. I didn’t think much  of this when I was growing up because, well, that’s just how fathers are, right? That’s how my friend’s fathers were and that’s just how it was. 

It wasn’t until I’d moved away from home that I looked back and wondered why my dad discouraged the feelings I had as a boy: “Don’t cry”, and “Don’t let your feelings get in the way” are phrases I heard often from my father. I’m sure he didn’t say those things to be hurtful. He was just trying his best to make me a “man” as he understood it.

The Two-Headed Home

My father also spent a lot of time working away from home. This meant that he was away all week and home primarily on the weekends. To me, this was one of the hardest parts of growing up. During the week, our home had a certain rhythm that my mom and I were used to. But, on the weekends, it was a whole different scene. But when my dad was home, we did things his way. 

I Have More To Give

By the time I was expecting my first child, I knew the type of father I wanted to be. I wanted to emulate some characteristics of my own dad, like his patience when teaching me new skills and how he would trust me with large responsibilities. However, I also wanted to allow my son the freedom to feel and, most importantly, I wanted to be present for Benjamin and my wife on a daily basis.  

Having a newborn is difficult, and creates a whole new dynamic in the day-to-day of family life. I’ve seen many cases of well-meaning fathers try to integrate themselves into the new routines and rhythms their partners have established, while working full-time. The problem is that the routine changes so fast with a new baby that the father often ends up holding the bottle wrong or not rocking the baby well enough, leaving all parties upset and unsatisfied.  

I wanted to know all the details and be a part of my family’s new rhythm. I wanted them to know that I could bounce properly on the yoga ball (so much bouncing, blah!). These goals were best achieved by me being fully available; away from work, on a paternity leave. 

The truth is that most new or expecting fathers I talk to feel the exact same way I did. They want to be available for their families through paternity leave. Unfortunately, the stigma of what it is to be a man still exists in our society and they worry that their careers will be tarnished or that their colleagues will think less of them. 

The Stigma Ends With Me

Which is why I’m so excited to partner with Dove Men+Care to champion paternity leave and help fight the stigma holding men back from taking the time to care. 

I will never know what might have happened had I not left the small town in which I grew up. I do know, however, that my father upheld his views of fatherhood because that’s what he knew. My hope is that, by working with Dove Men+Care, we will challenge the stigma that holds fathers back from taking precious time to spend with their children and, ultimately, end these stigmas entirely for the next generation of fathers. Everyone benefits when dads take the time to care.

Check out Dove.com for resources on paternity leave.

The Frugal Father

David Pierre   ·  

Frugal is Different Than Cheap

Okay, first things first, before I even get into this I have to clear something up. I am a frugal person, not a cheap person. I have this debate with my friends all the time. Both frugal and cheap people love to save money. However, a frugal person won’t save money at the expense of someone else.

An example, say you are out to dinner with some friends. The bill arrives. A cheap person will simply add up the things they got and pay that, maybe even try and “forget” the drink they had.  This, of course, is all at the expense of their friends, leaving them to make up the difference for tax, tip, and the “forgotten” drink.

Continuing with this example. A frugal person would never forget the drink they had with their meal, they would simply wouldn’t order a drink. They know that the same drink can be purchased at the store for a fraction of the price and if they really want to enjoy a drink like that, they will just go to the store tomorrow and get it at the reduced price!

Okay? Does that clear it up? I hope so because this is how my mind works.

How Do You Live Like This?

So how does this translate into my everyday life? It means every purchase is an opportunity to investigate details such as quality, warranty, and of course price. This isn’t restricted to just large purchases, this is also how I approach things as basic as grocery shopping … in case you’re wondering, the answer is no, my wife doesn’t go shopping with me anymore. 

Now before you think to yourself, “how can you live like that”, remember, this is how my mind works and I actually enjoy the investigative process of it all.

About Those Large Purchases

Obviously, the financial stakes are higher for purchases over others, such as buying a house over buying a loaf of bread. So when it came to buying our first home, many of my friends believed I would never be able to make such a financial commitment.

For months, I investigated different homes, neighbourhoods, and financial models of how long we would have to own under normal market conditions until owning made more sense than renting … 17 years, in case your wondering. During this phase, I relied heavily on online calculators for things like payments, amortization schedules, and interest saving by altering mortgage terms.

Many different banking sites that offer these free calculators, however, the one that I kept coming back to time and time again was the TrueNorthMortgage.ca calculator. For one, they’re Canadian. Second, I like orange. And finally, banks hate them and I hate banks.

These days, banks are just part of life and for the majority of my life, I’ve dealt with banks. I say majority because I tried the whole money under the mattress thing once, but putting 10000 pennies under my mattress made it uncomfortable. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have taken all my money out in pennies, lesson learned.

Anyway, I’m sure the people that work at banks are trained to be nice to people with millions of dollars. However, they were never that nice to me. Now, I don’t mean that they told me off at the counter or anything, I am talking about small devious type things. You know, high fee chequing accounts and student credit cards that had insanely high credit limits and low-interest rates (until you graduate). Those types of things. Turns out I wasn’t the only one either, BIG BANKS DUPE CUSTOMERS.

So, What About That House?

Okay, so I got off track there. Back to the house hunt. As I said, I spent months pouring over the details of buying a home. Calculating numbers, looking at different homes … More calculations. Then it happened!

We found a place we wanted to buy. Inner city, close to work, close to a grocery store, close to parks, and within our price range. We just needed to be approved for a mortgage.

Despite how terrible the banks usually treat me, I still checked their interest rates and compared them against one another. For the most part their rates didn’t differ much. I also got the sense that choosing a bank for a mortgage is about as technical as throwing a dart at a board. They all seem about the same. However, during this whole process we also learned something about mortgages.

Remember That Online Calculator?

All those months spent on the True North Mortgage website I learned something else besides how much I could save on interest by adding 5 dollars to every payment. I learned that I had more options for getting a mortgage than the old idea of going to your bank.

True North Mortgage is a mortgage broker, meaning, they work to find competitive rates for individuals seeking a loan. This also meant that when my wife and I decided to visit one of their stores in Calgary, we got the sense their agents were working for us to secure the best rates. Not simply, trying to trick us into something that would benefit their shareholders.

Fun Fact! I was once told by a bank manager at one of the major banks, that their only concern was making sure their clients were happy. And who are their clients? Shareholders! Not me. While technically correct, I thought it was an absolute terrible mindset.

This wasn’t the attitude we received from our True North Mortgage agent. She was down to earth, clear, and at no point made us feel like we were tricked or duped into a product that we didn’t need or want. It was simply a conversation about the process and paperwork that was needed to secure a mortgage.

A Frugal Father’s Final Thought

Alright, if you’ve come this far you’ve likely learned two things about me. One, I am a frugal person, NOT CHEAP! Two, I dislike banks because I always feel like someone is trying to trick me into spending more money than I have to,  a frugal and cheap persons worst nightmare.

And now that you know that, it should come as no surprise to you that when I needed a mortgage I ended up at True North Mortgage instead of a traditional bank. Because, as their CEO said, “Saving you money is what we do. That is what our clients love about us, and our competitors’ hate .”

Enough said!

My Birth Story … The Dad’s Version – The Final Push

David Pierre   ·  

Here it is, the final part to the thrilling three-part story of my birth story. If you missed parts 1 and 2, check them out HERE and HERE.

So Where were we?

Labor had started at 2 am Wednesday and had gone on all day and night with absolutely no cervical progress. Exhausted and frustrated, after 28 hours of labor, we made a trip to the hospital to get a small dose of painkillers, hoping they would allow my wife, Krista, to finally get some rest. The painkillers helped a bit, allowing us to rest between contractions. The little bit of rest lifted our spirits and we woke up Thursday mid-morning ready to deliver our baby.

Daytime is the Best Time

There is something comforting about the daytime to me. The sun comes up, people move about, and birds fight in the alley over a piece of old bread. This all just feels nice. The new day also brought a burst of energy to our spirits. After a refreshing breakfast of eggs on toast, we got right back to what we had learned in birthing class for progressing labor: walk the stairs; roll your hips on the yoga ball, deep knee squats.

We went outside for some fresh air. I even started counting the contractions again on the terrible app that had done nothing more than terrify me over the last 36 hours. The app wasn’t telling me to call 911 anymore and the handy chart showed me that we were well on our way to having a baby!

This went on and on and, still, nothing to report.

The hours clicked by, the afternoon turned into evening, and the evening turned into late evening. By this time, we realized that our baby wasn’t as close to arriving as we had thought and we were about to face another long, dark night of no sleep.

This is when things got intense.

Everyone told us there would be peaks and troughs during labor. After riding a peak all day Thursday, we had nowhere to go but down… depths of Mordor joke? Nah. So, unfortunately, down we went.

The mood got quite tense and it only took another couple hours of night labor before Krista was back in the bathroom. She was hunched over the counter, a familiar and unwelcome pose from the night before.

Krista was frazzled and so was I. By this time, the only help I could provide was a special water concoction.

About a week earlier, I read the book “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougall. Chris visits the Tarahumara, a Native Mexican tribe in the Mexican Copper Canyons. These people can run for hundreds of kilometers. On their runs, they take a mixture of water, chia seeds, lime and sugar. This supposedly gives them the nutrition to run forever. For whatever reason, this super drink stuck in my head.

So, as I grew worried that Krista wasn’t eating enough, the only thing that came to mind was this Tarahumara drink. Just to make sure it was the best drink possible, I also mixed in some Emergen-C. I’m not sure what I was thinking but I just kept bringing them. Krista would drink them, throw up, and I would bring another one. Come to think of it, maybe the drink was making her throw up and not the labor?

Anyway, it didn’t take long before we were calling the midwives asking them to come back, mostly to calm us down.

Midwives are Angels

By the time the midwives arrived at our house, it was around 2 am Friday morning, 48 hours into labor. I didn’t have to meet them at the door or show them where Krista was. They just appeared in our bedroom.

The first thing they did was assure us that there was no need to panic. They talked to Krista in a calm, encouraging voice, telling her this was all part of the process and that she was doing great. The comfort was meant for Krista but I drew comfort from them as well. Obviously, they are the experts, having attended hundreds of births, so their calm confidence gave me the strength to feel calm as well.

The next thing they wanted to do was check the baby and Krista’s cervix again. Did I mention that I hated these checks?

First, Nicole checked the baby. He was content, doing whatever babies do in the womb. Next, Carol checked Krista’s cervix… and… it had softened and was a half-centimeter dilated. I did a quick calculation. Given our progress thus far we would be having a baby in 960 hours!

Frankly, we had had enough so we asked the midwives what we should do next.

Business of Being Born

Here’s the thing: midwives will never tell you what you should do. Unless it is a medical emergency, which this wasn’t, they leave the decisions about your birth up to you.

That said, we knew that, if we went back to the hospital, we would be heading down the path of Ricki Lake’s “Business of Being Born”. Krista was exhausted, though, and, by this time, pleading with the midwives to take her to the hospital to receive an epidural.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new path. Part of me bought into the hype of natural home births; the whole incense, and tribal chanting… You know, the National Geographic birth. However, I knew that I didn’t have the emotional capacity to continue with what we had been doing for another 960 hours. Ultimately, I knew that I wasn’t entitled to an opinion about this. While I had been there beside Krista the entire time, she was the one laboring, not me.

With our bags packed, we headed to the hospital, knowing we would return home with our baby.

Room with a View

We arrived at the hospital around 9 am Friday morning, 55-hours into labor. When people are laboring at home, the midwives always have a room ready at the hospital for transfers. However, we couldn’t go to the room assigned to us.

Why?

We couldn’t get into the room because, incredulously, after 55 hours, Krista wasn’t in so called “active labor” defined as 4 cm dilation. Krista was still only a ½ cm dilated. It also meant that Krista didn’t meet the hospital requirements to administer an epidural. So, at first, the admitting nurse told the midwives we should go home and come back when Krista was 4 cm dilated. That wasn’t going to happen.

We waited in triage until Carol explained to us that the only way we could stay was if we were coming to the hospital to have our labor induced. Pitocin. Ricki Lake.

We agreed to the induced labor. The room was ours. Just as Krista got up from the bed in triage, she must have spilled a water bottle she was carrying in her pocket because, suddenly, there was water everywhere! So clumsy! Just kidding. Her water had broken! Another signal that we might be able to shave a few hours off my 960-hour estimate.

The room we had was nice. It had a single bed for the mom and a small nook for a coaching partner. The room also happened to overlook the parking lot we had parked in. This reminded me that I had parked in short-term parking. Forever frugal, I ran down to move our car to somewhere more affordable.

When I arrived back to the room, things had become a lot more medical.

“I Sound Like a Man”

When I got back to the room, Krista was hooked up to all sorts of monitors, doodads and an IV. It made me feel sad to know we had now handed over the responsibility of delivering our baby to the hospital. I know that Krista is a strong and capable woman so seeing her hooked up to everything and being treated as a “patient” was hard for me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that I wish we hadn’t gone to the hospital. I’m simply saying that seeing her in this state was in stark contrast to what we had envisioned for our birth and that made me sad.

The Pitocin drip had started, which made contractions longer and stronger. To more effectively endure the contractions, Krista spent time in the room’s bathtub and taking puffs of laughing gas.

I’ve never had laughing gas so I don’t know what it’s like. However, when Krista would take a puff of it, the gas making her voice sound like a man entertained her. The only problem was, she was the only person who thought her voice sounded like a man. She would go on and on, laughing and saying, “I sound like a man, I sound like a man”. We all just smiled and nodded. She did not sound like a man.

You’re Next

Apparently, it was a busy day for births at the hospital. This meant that it took a long time for the anesthesiologist to make it to us to administer the epidural. By the time we were told we were next on the list, 5 hours had passed since we arrived at the hospital. This put us at 60 hours of labor. Krista had made progress with the Pitocin, though. She was now 4 cm dilated and that meant active labor had begun.

It was around this time I noticed that people somehow got the news of our lengthy labor and where relentlessly texting me to ask what was going on. I appreciated their concern and support but I wasn’t in the mood to go through all the details of our journey. Those of you who have read this far, could you imagine receiving this three part blog post as a text message? No, thank you!

After writing out the same message a few times, I decided to simply copy and paste from then on to anyone who messaged. It read,

“We are at the hospital now, laboring. Krista and the baby are doing well and baby should arrive today. It’s been a long journey and I will fill you in on the details later.”

Finally, the anesthesiologist arrived and went through explaining all the red tape regarding an epidural. Sign this, do you understand that, the risks are these. It reminded me of those drug commercials on American television. Side effects may include diarrhea, paralysis, infection and death. If you’ve had a history of heart failure or death, consult your doctor before starting the epidural.

After the epidural was administered, things got pretty boring.

We Waited

Krista was immediately impressed by how much better she felt. She was laughing, smiling, eating food and constantly saying, “Epidurals are amazing”. Honestly, I also found the epidural to be amazing. The emotional stress of childbirth vanished with the epidural on board.

Krista and I had a normal conversation that didn’t contain a series of grunts or scowls. We talked about how much we had been through and how grateful we were for our midwives and doula taking care of us. For us, this was the quiet period before the storm. Krista was smiling and acting like herself again. The constant baby monitoring gave me comfort because I knew our baby was doing well. It was that constant monitoring, however, that would soon bring my stress level to a new all time high.

The Final Push

About 5 pm Friday, 63-hours into labor, a third midwife, Wendy, checked Krista’s cervix once again and, holy moly, the baby’s head was coming through! A full 10 cm dilated.

It was almost time to push!

Wendy, Nicole, and Carol began coaching Krista through the process of pushing. Deep, hard pushes, timed with contractions like you are taking a huge dump… real life here, people.

The midwives quickly discounted the first couple of pushes as not good enough. Further complicating the process was Krista’s inability to feel her lower half. Oh, and that fetal monitor? That thing started really stressing me out.

Beep, Beep … Beep

I knew from birthing class and from “The Business of Being Born” that the baby’s heart rate decreases during a contraction. Ricki told me this was normal. What I didn’t know was that the medical professionals expected the heart rate to bounce back to a baseline shortly after a contraction. After awhile, this wasn’t happening for us.

With the fetal monitor loud enough to drown out an ACDC concert, I couldn’t help but hear the obvious decrease in heart rate during a contraction. But, like I said, I knew this was normal. What I didn’t think was normal was the new medical people showing up in our room. Our midwives and all these medical people gathered around the fetal monitoring chart whispering with concerned looks on their faces.

This is a stress I had never before experienced in my life. I was filled with panic and anxiety. My heart was pounding, my eyes were watering, and my fight or flight response was at level maximum. I felt helpless, lost, and uncomfortable in my own skin. I didn’t know what to do.

The midwives gathered around Krista and said, “We need to get your baby out now. You need to push with everything you have to get your baby out”.

Completely clueless as to what to do, I found myself simply repeating what the midwives were saying. If they said, “Push harder”, I said, “Push harder”.

The baby monitor was still showing that our baby wasn’t bouncing back to baseline after contractions but Krista was making progress. Our baby was far enough down that we could start to see his head but also too far down for the fetal monitor to work. It was at this time that a baby resuscitation team showed up in our room. As you can imagine, this only caused more panic and more stress.

So close, Benny’s head was right there. Nicole asked me if I would like to catch our baby, with her help. I gladly agreed. With one final push, Benny was out; alert, good color and crying.

Then, like a shadow at night, the resuscitation team and new medical people vanished along with all the panic, the anxiety and the worry we had experienced over the course of those several days, leaving us with our beautiful Benjamin, born March 4th, 2016 at 7 pm, weighing 7lbs, 15oz.

Full of gratitude for the all the concern and support we had been shown and for the beauty of having come through such a difficult process, nothing could have been more perfect as that moment when I first held Benjamin in my arms.

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