‘Birth’day still vivid after 2 years
My daughter turns 2 this week.
Although I have been call
ing her a 2-year-old for a
while, she officially reaches that age
Thursday.
It’s been two years since she was
born, but it’s a day neither my wife
nor I will forget. _
It started at 8:30 a.m. Sept. 30,
1991.
I was in the shower when my wife
came in and announced that she
thought her water had broke.
I dropped the soap.
After consulting with the doctor,
who confirmed it, we went to the
hospital.
I thought, OK, I can handle this. I
know my brother-in-law fainted when
his son was born, I’ve seen the films,
I’ve been through Lamaze. I know
how to breathe.
After all the waiting, all the wor
ries, all the doctors’ visits, it was time.
After nine months of trying not to
eat Mexican food in front of my wife,
of not turning the truck too fast, of
trying to turn the TV channel quickly
when the Taco Bell commercials came
on before Cathy saw them and got
sick, it was time.
After countless sleepless nightsand
reading up on all the latest in breast
feeding, it was time.
We got to the hospital, got Cathy
into her room, and signed I-don’t
know-how-many forms. We were
ready.
From all indications, the doctor
said delivery would be around mid
night.
Great, we both said. Only I had it
much, much easier. I wasn’t the one in
labor.
But after long hours of “breathe in,
breath out,” and “are you sure you
can’t give her any drugs yet?” it hap
pened!
The doctor told me to get into my
scrubs.
It was only 8:30.
“But you said not ’til midnight.”
“Well,” he said, “OK, but we’re
" I
I mentally prepared myself for
the abuse. I expected it. I mean,
I would want someone to yell at
if I was going through labor. I’d
want to hurt someone.
going to have this baby with or with
out you.”
With that, I got dressed. Realiza
tion struck. With or without me, we
were going to have a baby.
After 10 hours and nine Diet Cokes,
I was ready.
Now the hard part began.
I was ready; we’d been through the
contractions, most of them hard.
Not for me, of course, but for my
wife. Although I was beginning to
have some pain in my stomach.
As I look back at it now, it wasn't
false labor pains, but the chili dog I
had for lunch.
We were beginning to enter the
transition phase.
Childbirth is getting too technical.
With all these phases, it sounds like a
long-term construction project.
Which, 1 guess, is what it really is. For
some women, I think it is a longer
project than they really want.
- The transition phase was the one I
had been told to watch out for.
As a man, it would all be my fault.
I was the one who did this to her. I was
the pig who got her pregnant. I was
going to pay for putting her through
this.
I mentally prepared myself for the
abuse. I expected it. I mean, I would
want someone to yell at if 1 was going
through labor. I'd want to hurt some
one.
Luckily, transition only lasted an
hour.
1 was yelled at once.
Next came the pushing phase. The
real work started then.
Even with three nurses and a doc
tor, the only person that mattered was
Cathy. She was doing the work; the
rest of us were cheerleaders.
It was during this phase that I
screwed up. All that I learned in class,
I forgot.
I counted too fast. I counted too
slow. I almost broke one of the nurse’s
toes because I stepped on it and used
it as a brace to help Cathy push. I
almost soiled my pants because I was
pushing, too.
Luckily, Cathy had her senses with
her.
The biggest thrill of my life hap
pened then when my daughter’s head
crowned. Needless to say, I’ll remem
ber it because of my first words.
“It’s got hair!”
What a thing to say.
But then it was over. Alexandria
Nora Maree Wright was bom at 9:55
p.m. on Sept. 30,1991. She weighed
in at a little more than 7 pounds.
After a long nine months, the most
beautiful thing in the world was here.
Now, two years and another baby
later, she is still beautiful. She has her
papa wrapped around her fingers. She
is papa’s girl.
Alley turns 2 this week. I'm sure I
won’t remembereverything about her
life in the future, but I know that I
won’t ever forget Sept. 30,1991.
Wright li a graduate itudeat la joureal
ism aad a Dally Nebraikaa columaist.
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Crazy critters infest commune
I haven’t had a biology class since
ninth grade, but I would bet I have
an intimate knowledge of most of
this area’s native life forms.
They live in my house. We all get
along pretty well, although an all
human commune might be nice. As
things are, it’s an education.
The largest animal at Isle Broddick
is, of course, the human. Humans
(Homo sapiens) are interesting to
watch and study. The biggest differ
ence between humans and the other
Isle species is that humans don’t jump
all over people. I suppose a few do,
but, generally speaking, not in the
living room.
Next in size would be Loki, the dog
(Canis familiaris). Named after the
mischievous Norse god, Loki is a
frolicking mutt of the Medium Brown
breed. I believe Medium Brown dogs
were frst bred in the tundras of the Far
North where they fertilized cropland
by convert ing Alpo into prcc ious plant
food.
Loki mistakenly takes our base
ment for cropland, performing her
age-old duty again and again. My
roommate and I thought we might
begin spreading Alpo about the base
ment floor ourselves, thereby saving a
step, but then what would Loki have
to do all day?
After Loki, by height, comes the
Thing That Lives on the Dishes (no
fancy name). A mysterious creature,
the Thing generally hunts at night,
stealthily slithering over its prey near
the sink.
Out of the darkness i have heard
the cries escaping from the kitchen. 1
have heard them and turned away. O!
The shame!
After the Dish Creature the ani
mals begin to get much smaller and
more pesky. First in pecking order is
the common house mouse (an aerosol
foam used to help hair stay in place).
During my sophomore year, we
lived on Everett Street with a mouse
named Grummsh. Grummsh was a
cute little guy who used to scurry by
when we were watching television,
sometimes stopping to actually stare
Like the Brazilian rain forest, the
commune is a tight-knit ecologi
cal system, where each creature
depends on the others to sur
vive.
at us, as if daring us to try to catch him.
One night, we finally trapped him in
a cooler and took him out to Antelope
Park.
The mouse in today’s commune
doesn’t seem to be as much fun as
Grummsh was. Mostly wc see him
running around the rafters in the base
ment, late for some mouse appoint
ment. Maybe he’s a mouse doctor or
something. I’ve never noticed a pager
on him, though.
Next in the parade of animals is the
species that has lived in the commune
the longest. A German Cockroach
Headquarters — commanding the
Fifth Mobilized Armor Unit, the Sev
enth Infantry and an Air Wing —
survive in warrens throughout the
commune.
The • German Cockroach
(Cucaracha) is a tough customer.
Three times wc have sprayed. Nu
merous bug bombs have been deto
nated. Still, they survive. In smaller
numbers, perhaps, but there they are.
Lurking. Spitting. Illegally selling
artwork plundered from European
galleries during World War II.
Because German Cockroaches
have lived at the Isle Broddick as long
as I have, there has been ample time to
study their habits. They like to stare at
you, waving their little antennae in
some kind of sick sign language. I
don’t know much sign language ex
cept for part of the alphabet and the
sign for “sunrise.” I’ve never seen a
German Cockroach sign “sunrise.”
For a time I thought wc might be
able to communicate with the Ger
man Cockroaches, to open a dialogue
with a new and exciting life form 1 ike
Capl. Picard does on “Star Trek ”
Unfortunately, the German Cock
roaches spend all their time on that
incomprehensible antennae waving,
never bothering to leam English like
all real aliens are supposed to do.
Perhaps the most disgusting ani
mal in the commune is the Shower
Slug (not yet classified). On several
occasions my communemates and I
have noticed a peculiar, sluggish herd
of objects on the shower curtain. It
hasn’t been determined if these slug
like creatures are animals in them
selves or merely growths of the cur
tain, some type of spore the curtain
uses to reproduce.
Moving along, the next animal is a
result of Loki. Fleas (of the order
Siphonaptera) followed the Medium
Brown dog into the Isle, quickly es
tablishing a circus they charge the
other animals to see. Entrepreneurs,
the fleas are.
We have an active campaign to rid
the commune of fleas. Two bug bombs
were detonated, and Loki has been
subjected to numerous flea baths. The
results of our efforts have not been
favorable, and fleas roam at will.
Along with the normal houseflies
and cobwebs any house can claim,
that about makes up the Isle roster.
Like the Brazilian rain forest, the
commune is a tight-knit ecological
system, where each creature depends
on the others to survive.
It kind of makes me proud, but it
also kind of makes me sick.
Phelps li i senior news-editorial major, a
Dally Nebraskan senior reporter and a col
umnist.
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