Roman Xavier Finlinson

Day by day passed. We wondered when. Every plan we made had to have a contingency. From two weeks before his due date we knew it could happen at any time. Without regard for time of day or day of week. We were guessing at the days with some numeric significance 8-8 or 8-9-10. We were guessing at those days with no significance at all - "How about Today?" we would say on a Tuesday or Thursday. Four months ago we were robbed of the chance to be surprised by the sex of our child at birth. The ultrasound and our show off son made sure of that. So, not knowing the day of his arrival was a source of joyous anticipation for us.

Sharon especially, likes surprises.

The baby, it turns out, does not.

The only date we knew for sure was the due date - August 13th - we've known that since the beginning. And of all the possible days to choose from, that was day our son hit the eject button.

This morning was calm and peaceful. The sky clear and bright. The ocean still and vibrant. Sharon awoke to stirrings within - contractions that were fast and frequent. We readied ourselves - made the necessary calls - prepared for the day, our son's zero-th birthday. Our preparations were marked by the staccato pains and deep breathing of Sharon's contractions. Her morning preparations halted every three to four minutes - brush teeth, stop for a contraction, floss teeth, stop for a contraction. . . Just before 9am we were out the door. Me excited and happy; Sharon burrowed down in the intensity of the overwhelming task at hand. At times she cursed my smile and exuberance. At other times it gave her confidence.

The drive over the causeway and down 125th street to the Miami Maternity Center reminded me of the last time we did this - with Samuel's birth. The drive was not with such urgency as with his, but I could tell Sharon's contraction were getting stronger. When she would squeeze my hand to pass on to me a tiny fraction of those labor pains, I could tell she was getting close.

Our walk from the car to the center was halted for two contractions. Sharon leaning on me, head down, breathing through it as the sun poured down on us. The receptionist with a big smile asked if today was the day. "It sure looks that way," I replied. And then in robot-mode - not sensing the urgency of the moment - she told Sharon to go in the bathroom and provide a urine sample. Sharon obediently followed although I could hear the thoughts in her mind. . . "You want me to go pee in a cup? I'm probably going to have the baby in this cup if we don't hurry!"

When Sharon returned a few minutes later, the head midwife, Carol, showed up saw the look on Sharon's face and knew immediately that we needed to hurry to the delivery room. The time was 9:30am. Sharon was having a hard time walking now. We paused for another contraction. Sharon's biggest fear at this point was that this labor was still going to last hours - that the midwife would check her and discover she was only half-way dilated. That wasn't the case though. She was complete - her water hadn't broken but once it did the baby would be coming.

The birthing tub sat there in the corner of the room. Empty. Sharon was determined to birth in water just as she had done with all our children. Carol wasn't convinced we would have enough time to fill the tub but started the water anyway. It was like a little race against time. I kept looking over at the water level of the tub as it inched further and further up. Meanwhile our son continued his journey down the birthing canal, further and further. The student midwives were busily scrambling around us, getting everything ready for an event that was moments away.

When the tub was up to an acceptable level Sharon forced herself to climb into the warm water. I followed, taking my usual position behind her. It's not always clear what my role is supposed to be during these times - but I try to be supportive. I tell her she's doing good - and she is. I tell her everything is going to be alright and that our baby will be here soon - and it will.

Sharon is very good at birthing and within minutes the head was out followed by the body and suddenly our son was peacefully resting on Sharon's chest taking his first breaths - crying his first cry - getting cozy and cuddling with his mother. Everything else around us faded out of existence. For those few moments it was just the three of us there at the center of the Universe. Me, Sharon and our son, Roman Xavier Finlinson. There were latex-gloved hands moving in and out of existence around us. There were voices beyond that immediate circle that perhaps were understood at the time but are already blurred and fuzzy to our memory. Roman's eyes peeked open and shared in the experience with us, his first view of the outside world. He seemed to look up at his mother's face with such affection - and with an unspoken understanding of the shared struggle they had both endured. The time of birth: 9:48am.

We spent the next few hours in awe, admiring his scrunched up features, his light brown hair, his pink lips and slight overbite, the wrinkles in his hands, the folds of his ears, the shape of his nose. We are not sure what someone with the name "Roman" is supposed to look like, but he definitely has it. He'll carry the name well.

Postscript:  Oh yes and let's not forget all his most important characteristics:

Weight: 7 lbs 4 oz; Height: 21 inches; Head circumference: 14 inches; Apgar score: 9-10; Shoe size: not applicable; Magical powers: to be determined; Cuteness lever: off the charts.