I married my high school sweetheart. I would after all these years do it again and again. Since November 13, 1987 not a day has gone by that she has not been a significant part of my life. We went away to college together. She went for an education, and I went to play football. After 5 years we decided we had had enough of the college life and decided to graduate. Beth got a job in Cincinnati on total accident. I went along for the ride. What did I care were we lived as long as she was by my side. We spent 6 months in a 2 bedroom apartment that I completely hated. After that we moved into a 2 bedroom condo. We spent the next 5 years in newlywed bliss as we pursued our careers and furthered our friendship. We picked up two cats along the way. Our lives were full and care free. We traveled the country in the summer and enjoyed our winters next to our pathetic fireplace and 19 inch color TV. Eventually, our savings account grew to large and we decided we must waste our savings on a house. 3 bedrooms later we started to feel a bit unfulfilled. Enter the Rimer population explosion.
Unit # 1 came out wide eyed and ready to go. I personally enjoyed the 9 months of incubation. I would go to work in the morning, annoy hospital executives and go home. Once home we cooked for three. I ate for four. Prior to dinner, I would go to the high school I was coaching football for and lift weights with a bunch of genetic mutations. After dinner, Beth and I would head off to the rec center at the hospital so that she could do water aerobics for incubators. I would head off to the weight room. After showering and heading home, we would promptly eat ice cream. That happens when you are carrying an extra person around. I wanted to experience the whole pregnancy so I ate whenever Beth did. Needless to say that when Unit #1 popped out I was carrying around a lot of extra poundage. While it looked good in the weightroom and in the mirror, it did little for my professional career. Not a whole lot of healthcare executives walk around looking like a meathead.
Unit # 1 popped out without any confusion. I however, was a touched shocked when the Doctor said it was a girl. Yikes! It was all the crying that did me in. I had the best kept lawn in the neighborhood that summer. Work, home, play with baby, baby freaks out, yard gets mowed. I call bullshit to any dad out their who can’t claim the same pattern.
3 years pass and things are moving along very well. Mom unit is doing well. Unit #1 is growing. Mom decides, things are going so well we need another unit. I love the whole getting pregnant thing so I was all in. Sure enough, it works.
9 months later Unit # 2 pops out. Sure as shit, it is another girl. At this point, I pack my manly stuff into a bag and store it in the basement.
The years rolled along and we thought our incubation period was over. Yet, a day came that my bride said to me “I do not feel well, will you make me some oatmeal?” Kaaabbbooooooommm. Unit # 3 is in the hopper.
It’s all good, I say to meself. I want to finish the basement before this unit takes a parcel of my property away from me. If I preplan, the unit just might claim a room instead of a whole level of the house. The race is on. Unit # 3 is growing, and the basement is getting finished. It is all going to work out swell. I will have a place to call my own and the new unit has a room all to itself.
Funny thing occurred with this unit. I hit middle age. The muscles that were supporting my 3 herniated disc had had enough. They joined the union and promptly sat on their asses. Needless to say, I now had back pain. I went to the doctor who looked at my back and said “You need surgery”. Really? Are you just saying that because your title is SURGEON? Hmmmmmm…. I decide to go the traditional route. Steroid injections, physical therapy, lots of moaning and groaning. After a while I developed a pattern that would work for me. I would go to work, sit my butt at my desk, and pray that my back would not hurt. When that pattern failed, my doctor had another idea for me to follow.
Solumedrol. For those who have experienced this delight, congratulations. For those of you who have not, god bless you. The thing about a medrol dose pack that I do not like is that one little annoying side effect. Not a big one just well…YOU CAN NOT FUCKING SLEEP WHEN YOU TAKE SOLUMEDROL. Forgive me, for shouting. When you give someone who has ADD and OCD plus a whole bunch of other shit I will not mention that is on the continuum of this diagnosis a stimulant. Well, let me just tell you…Lets just say, I got three speeding tickets just standing still. No car around. No engines. No motors. Just a brain in hyperdrive. Cost an extra $1200 bones just to stand still near a cop.
So month nine rolls around, incubation period is just about up. I get a little fire in my shorts and decide to preplan for the birth. Pack the bags, get the car seat in, paint the walls, put together the crib, trip over a fucking toy and wrench my back, pack some peanuts, throw in some ice chips. Wait, did I just wrench my back? OH GOD not this crap again. The last time I went three weeks without any sleep. I am going to tell the doctor this time.
Doctor: What’s wrong? Me: I hurt my back. Doctor: Take this medrol dose pack. Drink milk and eat your Wheaties you will survive. Me: Hey Doc, last time I took this medicine I could not sleep. Doctor: Take this pill before you go to sleep. Doctor writes a prescription for Ambien. Me: OK Thank you doctor robot. Try not to be so chatty the next time I visit. It is not as if we do not see each other 15 times every day in the hospital, and yet when I come to your office you act like a big dope.
So, long story short. Incubation period is over. Scott is going to bed and takes his medicine just like doctor robot instructed him. Wife unit decides we need to go to the hospital. Ambien is telling her to go fly a kite. By the grace of god, my car was so used to driving to the hospital, I am certain it drove itself this night. Wife unit is really ready to get baby unit out of the coop. Ambien is singing lullaby’s in my head. Wife gets in the hot tub. Big mistake coming right now. “I’m going to take a nap in that chair”. Do you remember the many personalities of Sybil? Sleep my ass. I was going to sit right next to her in that hot tub. I tried and tried to keep my eyes open. I really did. On unit #1, I was counting to ten and hyperventilating right along side my bride. On unit# 2 I had my catchers glove on. But on this day, ambien won the race. The Doctor had to have a nurse come over to the chair to wake me up. By then, the damage was done. I was a deadbeat dad who was more interested in sleeping than watching the birth of his third female unit. Mind you, I did make it to the bed to help with the birth. I cut the cord. I did all the important stuff. But just guess what the mom unit remembers from that night? You would have thought that I brought in a new sleep number bed and paraded the thing around the birthing room showing off how I was going to get some sleep. Almost 5 years have passed. Not one of those years has gone by without a painful rendition of my sleep during birth move.
Spilt Milk 