Weekend Addition

Most of you know by now that our little girl, Emily Michelle Clark, was born on Saturday morning. Faithful readers of the Forbidden Donut, however, get special access to the details of our fateful weekend:

Friday Night

• 6:50 p.m. Jared squeals in delight as we make our way into the movie theater for Cars. We battled with whether we should wait until Saturday afternoon and save a few dollars with the matinee, but I was too impatient. Good thing.


• 7:05 p.m. Emily starts kicking Michelle as the movie opens (likely thanks to Sheryl Crow). She seems to have good taste in either movies or music (or both?)


• 8:00 p.m. Nearly all my peanut M&Ms mysteriously disappear from my previously unopened 14 oz bag within an hour. Sheepishly, I take comfort in the fact that I still have 18 bags left.


• 10:00 p.m. With the movie over and Jared down (and realizing I’ve eaten three 14 oz. bags of Peanut M&Ms in the past week) I tell Michelle I’m hoping to play basketball Saturday morning.

Saturday

• 2:00 a.m. Michelle can’t sleep, so she gets up and goes out to the living room. She’s done this the past few nights. Meanwhile I’m regretting having eaten the whole bag of M&Ms. I also realize sadly that Michelle will probably be too tired to let me play basketball a few hours later.


• 2:30 a.m. Michelle comes in the bedroom and says “Aaron, I think I’m in labor.” A few moments of panic overtake me and the thought comes “I’m not ready”. That feeling would give way slightly after a few moments of prayer.


• 3:15 a.m. Yep! She’s having contractions. Three minutes apart?! Michelle calls the doctor, Jared’s sitter arrives, and we try to race gently to the hospital. Michelle curses each and every speed bump we encounter, and I spend the entire drive trying to remember what Cliff Huxtable used to tell his patients about when to come in: was it five minutes apart or two?


• 3:45 a.m. The nurse ushers us into a room, and I try to set up shop – expecting another 18 hour marathon. I’m also really regretting having eaten the whole bag of M&Ms. Michelle is in enough pain that she almost immediately asks for an epidural. This seems to alarm the nurse and sends her into a mild panic. I find this slightly amusing.


• 4:52 a.m. Well that was fast. Two or three pushes and there she was! Emily Michelle Clark, 19 inches, 7 lbs. 13 oz. (i.e. just over 8 bags of M&Ms). Probably the 2nd fastest birth ever since the improbable 30 second labor & delivery at the end of “Saturday’s Warrior”.
  
• 5:05 a.m. The sun hasn’t even come up yet, and I’m wondering if there’s a chance I can swing by a local donut shop for some celebratory donuts.


• 5:15 a.m. For the first time since we picked the name, I remember that awful song on the Book of Mormon Seminary Soundtrack (“Emily, my friend…”). I try to figure out if we’re too far into things to change the name. Ultimately, though, I decide I’ll just pretend like that song never existed – as I try to do with just about anything Michael McLean wrote (and even if he didn’t write that song, it’s the kind of song he probably wishes he’d written). Michelle makes that harder to do by singing the refrain mockingly a few times.


• 6:30 a.m. Basketball starts…without me. Lucky for them I guess.


• 1:30ish p.m. A nurse recommends the cafeteria for lunch, so I put of my urge to find a Carl’s Jr. or something similar. Turns out to be a bad move on my part. I’ve never paid more for worse tasting food (chicken teriyaki and pizza). When I got back to Michelle’s room, the same nurse asked if I found something edible. Feeling like I’d been cheated out of a decent meal (and $9) I couldn’t entirely let things go: “Well, I found something…” I said, as I let my words taper off, noticeably refusing to include the word “edible.” The nurse takes notice and says “Hey…don’t be too harsh. We nurses have to eat there everyday.” I spend the next 15 minutes feeling guilty.


• 3:40 p.m. A quick visit home to send out a mass email with some photos. Can’t…Resist…Peanut…M&Ms. I finish the remaining open bag, secretively enough that Jared has no idea.


• 4:50 p.m. Jared makes his first visit to his baby sister, Emily. He greets her innocently with “Hello, sweetie.” It then quickly becomes apparent that the greatest stress will come from trying to keep Jared from inadvertently injuring Emily with his excessive kindness.
  
• 1:00 a.m.(ish) I elect to spend the night in the hospital with Michelle and Emily, feeling as though it’s the noble thing to do to troop it out with my two girls. I’m very tired. At one point Michelle wakes me to ask me to do something, I get up and look at my little girl and cannot for the life of me remember what I’m supposed to call her. I thereafter decide on the less gallant strategy of ignoring everyone who comes in and out of the room and everything that happens therein (pretending that I am too deep in sleep to notice or be bothered). Cowardly? Yes. The next morning I confess to Michelle, who surprises me by telling me she’d wanted me not to be bothered and to have as good a night’s sleep as possible. Further evidence that I married above my station.

Sunday

• 9:30 a.m. I agonize over whether to make an appearance at Sacrament Meeting and bringing Jared, deciding in the end that I’m too tired to get him ready. I have enough energy, though, to be on the computer on Instant Messenger, giving my 11 year old brother opportunity to chide me for my decision.


• 9:45 a.m. I vow not to eat any Peanut M&Ms today.


• 3:30 p.m. Preliminary indications are Emily is a better sleeper than Jared and even at times is content not to be held!
  
• 3:45 p.m. I give up hope of not eating any M&Ms today and instead decide to find success in having only eaten half a bag.


• 7:00 p.m. Michelle and I enjoy a “celebration dinner” compliments of the hospital that includes Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider. In the end, the cider was the high point of the meal as the meal itself was terribly underwhelming (blasted cafeteria!). Even so, the kindness of the meal and being able to eat it together, alone (with Emily sleeping in her hospital basinet), and as the sun set, made it pleasant.


• 10:45 p.m. Despite agreeing that I’d spent the night at home, I sense that I should stay, though I only have the church clothes I’m wearing. Truly this would be a sacrifice.


• 12:45 a.m. I’m tired, but not enough that I’m not bothered by the constant distractions in the hospital room.


• 1:45 a.m. I realize that, despite trying to sleep in the hospital couch and getting up every 15 minutes, my shirt is not wrinkled in the slightest. I further realize that the shirt is nice enough that I don’t even mind sleeping in it, and that my self-confidence and self-esteem rise dramatically whenever I put it on. How many people can say that about their white dress shirt and at 1:45 a.m.?


• 3:15 a.m. After getting up and trying to go back down for the umpteenth time during the night, my pants split as I try to sit back down. And it’s not even a split at the seam. I try hard to believe that the split has nothing to do with my stash of M&Ms, but the connection is impossible to ignore.


• 3:20 a.m. Michelle agrees that, given the pants, situation, I should go home while there’s less traffic in the halls.


• 3:25 a.m. Our nurse decides its an opportune time to engage us in conversation about living in Boston and having a lawyer husband who is apparently home too much and doesn’t make enough money. She hasn’t seemed to notice my pants though.

Monday

• 9:30 a.m. Jared and I continue the longstanding Clark tradition of bringing the new arrival chocolate milk and donuts for her last day in the hospital. Naturally she didn’t seem to want any, which left more for the two of us.


• 9:35 a.m. Jared also picks out an Elmo balloon from Rip-Off Ralphs that has no price tag. I realize only at the check out counter, after Jared has had time to firmly attach himself to the balloon, that it cost $8.00. I do not even know where to begin in noting how outrageous that price was. (and yes, it bears mentioning that all of the 75% off M&Ms have long since sold out).


• 2:00 p.m. We pack up Emily to head home, but not before Michelle opts to raid the basinet cart for any remaining newborn diapers. She finds an unopened pack, frets for a minute as to whether it’d be wrong to take them, and then stuffs them into our bag. (When asked directly whether I thought it was ok, I only shrug my shoulders, still stinging over the cost of the balloon, and wanting very much for her to take them).


• 2:30 p.m. Michelle, Emily, and I arrive home. Jared and Grandma Arnett are already waiting. On seeing Emily, Jared exclaims “It’s baby Emily, come and play!”