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Pique'n'yer interest

Life with Eleanor

First of all, I would like to thank all the other young parents in Whistler for some of the advice and stories they’ve shared with my wife and I leading up to the birth of my daughter Eleanor on Feb. 6.

I say “some” because a lot of the information that people have shared — however well intentioned — didn’t do much to calm our nerves leading up to the birth, or reassure us afterwards.

Let’s face it, human childbirth is a violent and sometimes bloody experience. The term “labour” doesn’t really cover it — it’s kind of like calling torture “enhanced interrogation techniques”.

We knew going in to the hospital that it would be at least a little traumatic, but we didn’t need to know all the dirty and horrific details — 40 hour labour sessions, broken pelvises and tailbones from strong pushes and contractions, tissues tearing and emergency episiotomies, waters breaking in the car on the way to the hospital, wives being bumped from one hospital to another because of complications, or giving birth in hospital hallways because of crowds, the arrival of sick or injured babies, and colicky infants that won’t eat or sleep or stop crying for the first three months.

All of these stories were definitely on our minds throughout the whole ordeal, and would probably be better to hear after Eleanor was born.

One strange piece of advice we often heard was to “sleep now, because after the baby comes…” I really can’t tell you how many people shared that nugget of wisdom, but here’s the thing: you can’t bank sleep. You can’t stay in bed an extra hour in December and January, and use those stored ZZZs to feel better on a February morning after waking up at midnight, 2:30 a.m., 4:30 a.m. and 6 a.m. the night before.

I think people were trying to tell us to enjoy our sleep while we still could, because we were going to miss it when the baby arrived. I did, and I do — but not nearly as much as I expected.

That’s because I know that this lack of sleep is an all too temporary situation. In a matter of months Eleanor will most likely be sleeping for 12-hour stretches while her body grows and her brain takes shape, and when that happens I know I’m going to miss holding and comforting my tiny, squirming, and sometimes howling little girl in the wee hours of the morning. I know I’ve lost a lot of sleep over the years for far worse reasons than spending time with Eleanor.

The best moments are right after she’s been fed, and Eleanor is wide-awake and happy. She might cry a little later as gas bubbles percolate through her tiny innards, but for a little while I can play with her, pumping her legs and arms, putting her on her tummy, tickling her little feet, and showing her our reflections in the mirror. Experts aren’t really sure exactly what and when babies see, how well they hear, or when they start smiling, but I’m relatively sure that Eleanor at least knows my face by now, that she likes it when I talk and sing nonsense lullabies to her, and that at least some of the smiles we get from her during playtime aren’t just a byproduct of gas.

I don’t know what Eleanor dreams about, but she often wakes up with a start, arms flailing out and eyes open, as if she’s reliving the exact moment she was born. She looks like she’s testifying in a church, or doing jazz hands in a Fosse production.

Eleanor snores when she sleeps, yawns when she’s tired, and sneezes after her naps. Sometimes she wants to be held for comfort, and sometimes she wants to be left alone. She prefers to have the diaper off when she relieves herself. Her nails always need to be cut or she leaves scratches on her face when she’s sleeping. She burps and passes wind loudly and honestly, lacking the sense of shame or propriety that has ruined the rest of us.

I won’t go into details about the birth itself, but suffice it to say that $800 for snow tires was money well spent, and there are a lot of lunatics on the road at 3:30 a.m. during a blizzard. I was driving to Squamish at about 65 km/h, about as fast as the conditions would safely allow, but still had to pull over every few minutes to let faster vehicles pass. One limo even tried to go by me on the right-hand shoulder after tailgating for a few kilometres, and nearly caused an accident when I tried to pull over at the same moment to let him pass. The visibility was poor, and there was no indication where the highway lines might be — when your wife is having contractions in the seat next to you it’s the last thing you need to deal with.

Let me also say that the staff and care at Squamish General Hospital were nothing short of excellent, and made our extended (and unexpected four-night stay as pleasant as possible.

Thanks also go to Janis and Arthur, Tami’s parents, for being there for us in those first few weeks while we were adjusting to life with Eleanor. They fed us, did errands, changed diapers, and took turns watching the baby while we snuck in a few naps.

Lastly, thanks to everyone for their well wishes, gifts, cards, emails, drop-by visits and phone calls. At a time when you can feel like life as you know it is coming to an end, it’s nice to know that it’s really just another beginning.