Author's note: With the events of the past week, I felt the need to take a step back from the day-to-day snarkiness and take a little time to celebrate life. The snark-fest, I'm sure, will return come Monday.
All stories have a beginning. Mine starts with a shirt.
Kathryn was born in late July of the year 2000. Our house was clean that day. In fact, our house had been clean for a week. Our house had been clean ever since the morning a week earlier when we returned from the hospital after almost having Kathryn, which, coincidentally, was the morning after we had had over 100 of our closest friends over to mourn celebrate our imminent journey into familyhood. 100 closest friends and their beers, the latter of which were strewn about the house in various states of consumption while we were at the hospital arguing with our obstetrician.
Never before had I argued with a medical professional, much less one whose job description makes my eyes roll back into my head until I can actually see the pain, but there I was, saying "I just don't think inducing labor right now is a good idea," while thinking, "If my mother-in-law sees my house right now, she'll take away our baby before we've even changed diaper one."
But a week later, the house into which Kathryn was born was clean. Steam-cleaned even, which was nice since it was to be the last time any of the carpets were even remotely white. When we sold our house four years later, our realtor looked at our carpets and asked, "How many kids did you say you had?" "Five," we lied.
But none of this is about the shirt. It's not even a shirt, really. More of a smock. A disposable, ink-stained smock.
When Kathryn was born, nurses descended upon her like an Indy 500 pit crew. No, strike that. If anything, they resembled the crew of workers, spray bottles and washcloths in hand, that swarm a car just after it comes out of a touch-free car wash. I half expected to see a little box marked "Tips" next to the exit. One of those nurses, the same one who I swear had just been buffing my new daughter with Turtle Wax, did the most amazing thing. She beckoned me over to Kathryn, who was apparently attempting to turn herself red enough to burst into flames. Another member of the pit crew was smearing black ink over the soles of Kathryn's impossibly small feet, then lifting each one and pressing it against a white sheet of cardboard. The nurse who had called me over told me to get closer. Even closer, she said. Even closer, until I was almost on top of this new, wild, fragile creature. Then she reached around me, grabbed each of Kathryn's skinny legs, and pressed the soles of Kathryn's still blackened feet against my hospital smock.
I was marked. I was marked from that day. This baby. This squirming, screaming, fist-clenching, redder-than-red child, this child was mine.
The shirt is wrinkled now, and faded, which is only appropriate, but I still have it. Even if I didn't, it is not beyond my now dulled abilities of observation to realize that those marks went straight through.
Awww that is so sweet! I've never seen that before - they don't seem to do that in the hospital I gave birth in at least.
Posted by: caramaena | January 26, 2007 at 05:58 AM
So very touching. Beautiful.
Posted by: Lorena | January 26, 2007 at 07:19 AM
This is such a touching story and is very suitable for the past weeks events!
Posted by: Lisa | January 26, 2007 at 08:15 AM
Sob! That's really special. Thanks for the story.
Posted by: Sue | January 26, 2007 at 08:21 AM
Really lovely. Thank you.
Posted by: Liesel Elliott | January 26, 2007 at 08:29 AM
You really are going to have to stop doing this. I don't like having a cry with my morning coffee. Did they do that with the twins? The picture was great. Those little tiny feet....all drat, there I go crying again.
Posted by: Gail Luther | January 26, 2007 at 08:42 AM
Awww! Must not shed tears at work, I'll lose manliness points...but awwwwww!
Posted by: Brian Williams | January 26, 2007 at 09:08 AM
Snarkiness may be funnier, but I think that hearing about loss moves every parent to cherish the tiny feet that have stomped their giant imprints onto our hearts. Big sigh. Small tear. Well done.
Posted by: Sharon with J and N | January 26, 2007 at 09:41 AM
Wow. If anybody reading this didn't feel your words go straight through them the way Kathryn's tiny feet touched your heart, then they need a serious attitude adjustment. Beautiful!
Posted by: Diane | January 26, 2007 at 09:45 AM
I love baby feet. That was a very sweet post and the picture at the end? Too cute.
Posted by: Meredith | January 26, 2007 at 10:12 AM
New reader, love your blog and your sense of humor... i am so sorry for your friend's loss.
this is a beautiful post. absolutely beautiful.
Posted by: Michelle | January 26, 2007 at 10:13 AM
Awesome shirt man! I wish I had one like that from each of my kids' births. I love it!
Posted by: Delton | January 26, 2007 at 10:52 AM
I love it! What a great way to remember the day your child was born. Kudos to that nurse, whoever she was, for doing this for you. Kathryn will love seeing it when she is older.
Posted by: Merry Jennifer | January 26, 2007 at 11:23 AM
That is so cool! I wish that we had special moments like that for our deliveries. When our son was born at 35 weeks, I barely even got to touch him before they took him to the NICU. I wasn't even allowed to hold him until 9 days later when he was taken off the vent. Our girls were 31 weekers, I didn't even get to see them after their delivery because they had to be intubated and taken to the NICU right away. I did get to hold them 4 days later when they were taken off the vent.
Posted by: Tammy from Twinstuff | January 26, 2007 at 11:59 AM
My boyfriend asked me the "so, do you want to have kids" question about three weeks ago. That picture just answered the question for me emphatically: yes.
Posted by: Taylor | January 26, 2007 at 01:02 PM
Great story. Maybe you should frame the shirt.
Posted by: How About Two? | January 26, 2007 at 01:11 PM
OMG, I think I need just one more baby. What's another after you have twins, right?
Posted by: Jess | January 26, 2007 at 02:06 PM
Beautiful post, exactly right in every way. I was just looking at a Lesbian Dad's newborn baby's feet the other day - they are impossibly small, and utterly perfect.
Posted by: Annz | January 26, 2007 at 10:01 PM
I think this is the cutest story and photo evr!
anyway, your entire blog is superfunny! i'm from belgium, have one 3 year old kid that's already quiet a energy bomb, can't imagine having 5! i wish you all the luck, and i'll keep coming to read your funny stories.
my site is cool too, if you have a spare minute, take a glance!
Posted by: inge | January 27, 2007 at 08:31 AM
www.kaloeke.skyblog.com
Posted by: inge | January 27, 2007 at 08:34 AM
i'm sorry! it has to be 3 instead of 5 chldren hahaha.
bye! inge
by the way the twins looke adorable! i loved the pic with the anarchy shirt!
Posted by: inge | January 27, 2007 at 08:41 AM
Beautiful story, thanks TheDad, you are the best.
Posted by: JudieDJ | January 27, 2007 at 01:12 PM
What a sweet story and picture. :) My daughter was born a couple months early and we have her feet stamped into the journal I'd been keeping. It's hard to believe she was ever so tiny.
Posted by: Jen | January 27, 2007 at 07:19 PM
I've been lurking for months, but I had to comment here. This story made me cry, in the girly-I-cry-at-Hallmark-commercials-and-diaper-ads kind of way. It was beautiful, and I have to say, it's always breathtaking to hear sentiments like this from a father.
Posted by: AbbeyLeigh | January 28, 2007 at 03:10 PM
Beautiful story, and picture.
Posted by: thethinker | January 28, 2007 at 09:21 PM