... we had finally given up. Christina' head just wasn't coming out the natural way, so we were resigned to a C-section after hours and hours of labor. So after a few hours of sleep, we were set to go to the operating room for the big birthday. At the time I was recently graduated from residency and we were living in Bay Minette, AL where I was making the first of my two futile attempts at being a family physician, doing full spectrum family medicine including obstetrics and nursery. So the staff in labor and delivery (L&D), the OR and the nursery all knew me reasonably well, well enough to let me go places other fathers couldn't go and do things other fathers couldn't do. And so it was that at 6:18am (her mother and I were married on 6/18) when my little Scooterbug was finally cut out of her home of the last nine months, I was right there watching over her and making sure everything was exactly right. And it was. She was absolutely beautiful, with an oblong head from hours of trying to find a way out and a thin sheen of bright red/orange hair like her mother (it was several weeks before her blond hair came out).
Back in those days at North Baldwin Medical Center (now North Baldwin Infirmary) L&D was on the second floor, and the OR was on the first, so after a C-section the nursery staff put the baby in the warmer and rolled it to the elevator for the trip up to L&D, where the anxious family would all be waiting to see the new arrival. Invoking my special privilege as an attending in the nursery, I insisted on carrying my beautiful new daughter for the trip upstairs, so that when the elevator doors opened I walked out carrying my baby girl. Darla and I had told everyone we had a girl on the way, but we wanted a little suspense so we withheld her name until she was born. And so, with tears in my eyes and a huge smile on my face, surrounded by friends and family I announced "I would like you all to meet my daughter, Christina Leigh Williams!" It was probably the greatest moment of my life, and I still tear up when I think about it.
Christina had had a busy first half hour of life, and the nurses in the nursery were anxious to get on with their work, so we didn't linger long. But before I gave my baby up to all the poking and prodding that goes along with being newly born in a hospital in the 21st century, I had a little something planned for our first father/daughter time. We sneaked away from the nurses, friends and family into our post-partum room for some quiet time together. I had brought a CD player, and had Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" ready to play, and we just sat, and listened, and sang quietly, and cried. Well, I did. She didn't. She just laid there, squirming a little, staring and blinking at me and stealing my heart just like she's done every time she looks at me ever since.
Aside from those first, truly precious minutes, I have one other memory from that first day that really stands out as special to me. The night of Christina's first day of life, Darla was still pretty tired and needed to rest. So when all the family left and the nurses settled down for the night, I got comfortable in the big green leather overstuffed recliner in our post-partum suite, and put Christina on the left side of my chest and we slept all night, there in that big green chair with her lying as close to my heart as you can get. And now, ten years later, she's still there. She never left.
Happy birthday, my little Scooterbug! I love you.
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