It was fifteen years ago today. Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play. They’ve been going in and out of style. But they’re guaranteed to make you smile. What’s also guaranteed to make me smile is that today marks the 15th birthday of my middle little dude, Zippy the Monkey Boy.
Zippy is really the only one of our three little dudes that got born on his own. Sarcasmo had to be induced and then brought into the world via Cesarean section. Speed Racer had to be induced and then pulled out by a very unready, trembling dad. Zippy, though, Zippy was different. Very different.
Zippy told us he wanted to come into this world by sending his mother into contractions at about 3 a.m. Which means we had to pack the bags, head to the hospital and start doing all the fun stuff after we dropped Sarcasmo off with his grandmother. The thing I remember most about Zippy is before we headed to the hospital. My wife, known to me as She With The Quick Hand, would have me time her contractions. She’d let me know when one was beginning and I’d look at my watch. I’d then close my eyes and go back to sleep until She With The Quick Hand said the contraction ended. Then I’d open my eyes, look at the watch and tell her how long the contraction lasted.
My mini-naps lasted all of about six minutes. That’s when she saw what I was doing. I got a nice dope slap to the back of the head. Let me tell you, that really wakes a man up. Nothing like a little brain rattling to get you going in the morning.
We got to the hospital without too much incident. I’d had practice, you know. I didn’t panic. Much. We got into a birthing room and settled down to wait. We didn’t have to wait long. Round about 2 p.m. it was time for Zippy to come into the world. The wife pushed and pushed and pushed. I was helping on one side. The nurse was helping on the other. The doctor was down in the middle, helping Zippy to get his head out. The doctor looked up and gave us some advice.
“All right, he’s almost ready to come out. Now, on this next contraction, don’t push too hard.”
My wife, known to some as She Who Only Hears What She Wants To Hear, actually heard this: “Now, on this next contraction, . . . push . . . hard.”
She did.
Zippy squirted out like a watermelon seed. Fortunately, the doctor used to play infield in college and he managed to snag Zippy as he shot past and the little boy was soon snuggled in his mother’s arms.
Now he’s almost an adult, all of 15 years old and he will only rarely let us snuggle and give him a kiss. It’s been a long road, filled with love and despair, but it’s a road I would never give up walking.
Happy birthday, son. I’m glad you’re in the world. I love you.
– Richard
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