Shit… Just… Got… Real.
The labor started. Well, the contraction started. I guess he actual labor came later.
Hell, I don’t now. I have a penis. I’m really good with those mechanics. But in this arena, I am outta my league.
Luckily, we have a doula. Yeah, I had to look it up too.
A doula is a woman who helps with the birthing process. And we had an excellent one, Ghia.
Thank God for Ghia. Once the contractions started, I called her. And I called the production company.
Ghia came over to help. The production company had to wait.
You see, when my wife, Kim, decided that giving birth on a TV show would be a good idea, she was not writhing in pain, about to shoot a human out of her nether regions.
So, the production company was not going to be present during the hardest part. Which was to last about 24 hours.
Many of the early hours were to be done in our apartment. The birthing center was fully informed and on standby, but they were waiting for a certain dilation number before we needed to make the drive over.
This didn’t concern me much. They knew what they were doing. And I was of no use in the meantime. So Ghia told me to get some sleep. I did my best to comply.
May I just say, my wife is a frickin champ. A superhero. Wonder Woman for reals.
That 24 hours was done with ZERO drugs, painkillers, or anything else to make it easier on her. And the only thing that seemed to take away the pain somewhat was to do squats.
So not only was she in labor, she was also working out the whole time. Side note - at the birthing center, there were posts around the birthing tub. She held onto one of those to steady her squats. Strangest pole dance ever…
As I said, the early stages of labor were in our apartment. When you watch the show, there is very little of our apartment featured, if any. So it looks like we live in that big house. That is Kim’s parents house, where Kim grew up in Burbank.
When viewing anything you see on TV, please take it with a grain of salt that there may be some production value thrown in.
Our apartment was in Koreatown, where I lived for 14 years, 6 with Kim. It was a great old building built in the 30s. It was also 20 minutes away from the Birthing Center in Beverly Hills.
For those of you that think anything other than a birth in a hospital is dangerous, no need for concern. Cedars-Sinai was right across the street. But there was no need.
The Birthing Center was perfect. Quiet. Calm. With professional mid-wives at the top of their game. They were amazing. We will go back there for #2 when the time comes.
They had 2 birthing rooms - 1) a nice quiet room with a tub, a bed, and just a really nice ambience. 2) a room befitting the arrival of a Roman Gladiator. That one was a bit much for us.
We figured the arrival of our first born son should not be graced by the spirit of Russel Crowe’s Maximus screaming “Are you not entertained?!?” So we chose the quiet one.
During the birthing process, there can be a lot of waiting. In this case there most definitely was.
My role in all of this was to pretty much sit quietly in the corner and be ready to help in any way possible. I could not do any work on the computer. The constant clackity clacking would irritate and possibly enrage the woman concentrating on her preggers striptease show.
Reading was out, as that seemed disrespectful to the focus going on in the room. And making jokes to lighten the situation only poked the bear with a bigger stick.
I desperately wanted to help my beautiful soulmate during her time of need. But I had no idea how to be of service.
Kim had not had anything to eat during the labor, as it would only come back up. She was in pain, hungry, and exhausted.
It seemed that the only thing that might help was some honey. The mid-wife said I should get some for my hard working wife. So I sprang into action.
Luckily there was a Trader Joe’s across the street. But when I say across the street, the route to get there is the longest path imaginable. the intersection is ridiculously curvy, so what is right across the street takes 10-15 minutes to get there and back. Like that frickin scene in poltergeist where she is running down the hall and it keeps getting longer.
Dammit, Spike, you had ONE JOB. Hurry!
I’m not exactly sure why, to my recollection that TJs didn’t have the honey I needed. I knew I needed those honey sticks, but they must have only had the jars. And telling a pregnant woman to lap up spoonfuls of honey like Winnie the Pooh would probably not garner me any husband points at this particular juncture.
So back across the LA’s longest crosswalk nightmare, to find a local coffee shop and hope they have some. A couple blocks later, and hussaaaahhh!!!! Victory!
I race back with a handful of honey sticks like a sweet bouquet to present my hard laboring wife with sustenance, sweetness, and the fact that I had value, by gum!
She still says it was one of the sweetest gestures I have ever made. I just wanted to help her in her time of need. I honestly don’t think she ever had any of the honey.
And that’s okay, cause when the going got tough, the tough stayed there and did pregger squats like a champ.
And we’ll always remember that moment when I ran into the room triumphantly, breathlessly, with outstretched hands, saying,
“Honey…I…”