After several long months and brutal hospital rotations, the love of my life and mother of my child finally joins me in parental leave.
I have been anticipating this break on her behalf ever since I finished my own rotations two weeks back. I waited with anxious, bated breath until Friday. For the past two weeks, she battled a head-cold. This usually occurs every fall into winter transition: her asthmatic airways react to the cold, dry air and last week required the use of her inhaler to sleep without coughing fits.
Were I to compare the laboring process to an Iron Man Triathlon, I think my concerns become clearer. One would want peak physical performance leading into such a strenuous and crucible experience. Rather than being drained of energy and emotional reserves, the athlete should feel springy and itching to get started.
As Mackenzi’s head cold worsened through last weekend, I repeatedly insisted that she call out. My nightmare? That she begin labor on the final day of rotations and the first day of her maternity leave, while still sick and unable to breathe nasally. No way to start a 24hr athletic endeavor. She will, I know, handle labor with grace and strength no matter how this first child unfolds, but I would like to stack the cards in her favor.
We have cushion on the back-end. No rotations for her until March of 2019. A planned trip out to California and Nevada in December and early January. So, she could endure the trial without any reserve beforehand, but still enjoy a lengthy recovery afterwards. Not ideal, but at least tolerable.
Now that we are here, that she is about to begin to relax into the time before maternity, I am so happy for her. She gets to nest with me, rather than come home after a day of rotations to see what madness I’ve created. She deserves this time off, before baby arrives, to enjoy this final time with just me and Honey.
She endured 13hr days in the ICU while 7mo pregnant. She has exercised and moved throughout the trimesters. And she had loved me through it all. Now, we have a short time together, in the eye of the storm, to hold each other close before massive change hits us.
Mackenzi, you will be an amazing mother to our child.
I am excited to walk through this door with you.
Let us meet our son.
Long Form Sundays
- On pseudo-paternity leave (or the beginning of Interview Season)
- On laughs and tears (or Hospice and Palliative Medicine: a post-mortem)
- On black, white, and shades of gray