Hello, Ruby Thursday!



Ruby Meg Walker White

Our beautiful girl, Ruby Meg Walker White, entered the world, yesterday, Thursday, 30 September 2010 at 11:57 pm. She weighed 3.42 kilos (for friends and family in the U.S. of A, that's about 7 and a half pounds) and measured 51 centimetres long (20.1 inches). All we know about her right now is that she's wide-eyed and alert, placid, feeding well and healthy—which makes us lucky as hell. Yeah, we know: she's only been with us for less than 24 hours, but first impressions are lasting impressions. For what it's worth, at this point she bears a strong resemblence to her older brother, Cal. When families are fractured, a lot of stock is put in things like this.

Over the past nine months Katie made a serious study of pregnancy, the birthing process, midwifery and all things related to getting a little one into the world. She took an eight-week course that focused on mindful birthing and managing the discomfort. A pile of books grew next to her side of the bed. Her obstetrician and midwife were made aware of her birth plan a couple of months ago, and Katie wanted to have as natural a birth as possible.




We were called into the obstetrician's office on Wednesday afternoon. Katie had seen him the Thursday before and, although she was four days late at that point, he was willing to let her go another week before any interventions would be taken—but in all likelihood he was expecting her to go into labor within a day or two after that last session. Wednesday morning was 10 days overdue and steps had to be taken.




 At 4 pm on Wednesday we were in the hospital and Katie had a gel applied to her cervix. The hope here was that it would coax things along and that she could labor and deliver naturally. Early contractions started almost immediately but progress was slow. At 9 am on Thursday a second application of the gel was made after the obstetrician examined her and found that things had not moved along as he hoped. The image that remains from that scene is a strand of gore hanging from the doctor's hand while he made his pronouncement; childbirth is not for the squeamish. Three hours later a midwife broke her waters with something that looked like a hooked knitting needle.





Serious labour kicked in immediately, and Katie used all sorts of yogic and meditative techniques to deal with the discomfort. We took walks around the hospital, she used exercise balls, yoga mats and window sills for support, all the while chatting with various professionals and staffers between contractions. By 8 pm yesterday she was only 2 cm dilated after 28 hours of various interventions (bear in mind that she was also a week and a half overdue and her body, at some level, was crying out to deliver Ruby), so a syntocinon drip and an epidural were administered. A couple of episodes of fetal distress later and the call was made to perform a Caesarean section.

Katie's efforts, plans and ideals were all in the right place and she put so much work into mapping things out in a way that most harmonized with her beliefs. Each intervention that went counter to those plans... well, in simplest terms, they saddened and disappointed her. When you get right down to it, though, she just wanted what was best for Ruby, and when a C-section (doctor's orders, ultimately) factored in along those lines she was fine with it. For as old school and gruff as the obstetrician was, he praised Katie's efforts as he sutured her incision at the procedure's end.

 



Nature and science had their own ideas the last couple of days, but there's no doubt in my mind that all of Katie's exercise (she did not miss one day during the pregnancy), her admirable dietary habits and other such conscientious lifestyle choices gave Ruby the best start possible. Now that I think about it, just about everything she did during the last nine months had Ruby in mind.

A wonderful woman produced a wonderful girl. It's genetic, I guess.

Magnificent work, Katie. Welcome to the world, Ruby... we'll all learn a few things and have some fun along the way.

The Birthwatch

Katie and her beautiful belly

If you enter "deathwatch" into Google you get 318,000 results, yet "birthwatch" yields a mere 3220. I guess we're a glass-half-empty species by nature, huh?

Anyway, Katie and I are on the birthwatch right now. Last Friday was her last official day of work and she's now on maternity leave. Any twinge below the ribcage might herald the arrival of the Little One, the slightest wave of nausea cause for extra vigilance. 

It does my heart a lot of good to see the woman with the admirable work ethic finally taking a bit of time for herself, though her social calender is full of coffee catch-ups. Honestly, I don't think she has the ability to do nothing.   

"You are definitely going to have to paint my toenails soon," Katie said a moment ago. I made the offer a few days back, and I better make good on it soon, lest she put unadorned tootsies into stirrups. Wonder if she asked the hospital about it's policy regarding bling in the birthing room? It's something she was curious about. 

She's doing a few floor exercises right now... I guess carrying the 3-kilo child plus placenta, amniotic fluid and other such baby-building equipment isn't enough and she had to throw a kilo of ankle weights on each leg. My commando babe is a glutton for punishment, but she claims the exercise is more meditative than anything else at this point. She sits up and rubs her belly, absentmindedly watching the contestants of Deal or No Deal on the screen... she looks fantastic.

Little One, you've won the Mummy Lottery. See you soon.

It's Been a While, I Know

There's really no good excuse for my absence from these pages. Well, May and June were a bit tricky because finishing uni was commanding a monstrous chunk of my attention and then my practical teaching experience commanded a monstrous chunk of everything during the latter month. So much for capturing this important time of transition for posterity! Lazy basstid. I did become a qualified teacher in the meantime, though.

Okay, time to atone for things. As it's the first day of spring in Australia (they base things on the calendar here rather than the celestial event—go figure), it's a good day for it. Spring cleaning, you could say.

The big news is that Katie is wicked pregnant. Having said that, she still seems to have tons of energy, though her sleeping has been shallow and broken for a while. A few weeks back we had our pre-admission meeting at the hospital and the midwife asked her, at the meeting's end, "Do you have any other questions or do you want to tell us anything about your pregnancy?"

"Nothing that I can think of—I've enjoyed it." Wow. 

Anyway, the pic above is from about three weeks ago. My mother had sent us a kit to make a cast of Katie's belly and other bits, and that's what we did that Sunday afternoon. It's no mean feat for a woman who is almost eight months pregnant to sit still for 1.75 hours, but anything in the name of family artifacts.  

It needs to be noted that the baby (working title Ruby Meg, a name that people love in Oz but not so much in New England) is very, very active. If memory serves, much more so than her brothers. Always on the move. Takes after her Mum, I suppose. The little one is slated to make her entry into the outer world in 18 days. Katie feels as though she's had some movement at the station and that things will happen earlier, yet her sister and mother delivered their babies late. At any rate—even if she's really late—she'll be in our arms by the end of this month.  

One of the other big events during the last few months was my cousin Andy's visit back in May. So awesome to see the guy. We last saw each other about a dozen years ago, when he was in his 20s and I was in my early 30s and had no kids. We laughed a lot and sort of caught up on things. Katie was amazed at how quicky we fell into natural rhythms of conversation. I told her that some cousins see each other rarely, but there were a lot of holidays and weekends in the 70s and early 80s down at Gramma White's, down The Cape, at Stock Steet in Dorchester, East Dedham and in Norwell. Lots of major goofiness, childhood bravado and crazy laughs with Frankie, David, Andy and Gregory. Throw in the similar experiences in the Navy and there was no way we weren't going to have a good time. 

On top of that, it was wonderful introducing both Katie and the boys to a family member. Although Cal knows many of the people back home, Andy was the first member of his father's family that Mac met. Six years old. I get really bummed out if I ponder that one too much. Enclosed is the money shot from Andy's visit: someday I hope my sons will say, "Here's that picture of us with cousin Andy when he was in the war." Yeah, I suffer from terminal nostalgia, for sure. 

At some point in another entry I'll write more about Andy and my family in general. I had some notes about how proud I am of the family's tradition of service, in the military and in health care, education and the trades, but I'll get to that later. Suffice it to say I had a huge feeling of pride while hanging with my cousin who's made good on his lifelong passion for aviation and who has served his country so well.

What more can I say? I work full time at Kitchenware Direct now, though I am applying for teaching jobs. Lots of red tape to deal with, like getting a registration number through the Western Australian College of Teaching (done) and another official number of some sort and salary figure from the Department of Education and Training (not so done). A few private schools have me on their lists for relief/substitute teaching, but no calls yet.

Cal and Mac are doing well. Getting so big... Mac's front teeth, which he seemed to lose mere weeks ago, have come in. Cal is putting on a whisper of weight, slowly gearing up for latency and then that big push towards puberty in the next few years. They both love to climb trees, draw, fart and wrestle with each other. Mac recently got a free ice cream at school for receiving nine good conduct tick marks. He needs to exhibit more of that behaviour at 15 Kadina Street, I think. Okay, I'm being a little hard on the kid. He's generally quite good, but can be a bit obstinate from time to time. And he's not exactly nice to Katie. While she'll never be unaffected by his generally cool and sometimes cruel distance, she has a huge amount of patience there. Thanks, Sweetheart. Trust me, things are likely to get better over the years.

Cal, on the other hand, really does make an effort. With everyone. While Mac won't give his Old Man a kiss when he gets dropped off at his mother's house—you really can't blame the conflict he must have over his allegiance there—Cal will give me two. He's also pretty warm towards Katie. Anyway, he can make his own bowl of oatmeal and recently I had asked him to go to the store next door to buy a half gallon of milk. I crept out of the house half a minute after he left, followed him and watched him from the far side of the parking lot, but he completed the mission in fine style. Seems like only yesterday when he could be held in one hand and balanced on a forearm.

Everyone is growin' or growin' up nicely down here.

You Can Be Proud, Little One

I felt my daughter kick this morning! She doesn't make her appearance until mid-September, but she made her presence known through Katie's stomach. "What's happenin', Daddy?!" Bam! While there's a touch of anxiety regarding finances and some of the logistics involved, I'm really looking forward to the arrival of my baby girl. I have no preconceptions about how our relationship will unfold over the decades, and that's kind of liberating.  

You see, if we all have a major theme or issue to deal with in our lives—you know, something preordained by the universe—then I know mine focuses on fathers and sons. I did not know my father... that's not to say that I do not know who my father was or that there's some great mystery there, it's just that Charles Gregory McNeil, Sr. ceased to be a part of my life after my parents divorced in 1969. Everything else in my life has been viewed in the context of his absence. My stepfather loomed larger. Mentors like my Uncle Jim and Lou DeLuca and their teachings became all the more important and appreciated. When my own sons came along I felt I was repairing the damage from the earlier generation. Then the divorce and their having a stepfather... history repeated itself and everyone took their appropriate roles. A slow-starting career and any associated setbacks somehow seemed genetic. And what will my sons think of their father? Will they curse the connection? Have any sort of admiration or think me pathetic? Feel that I wronged them? There are just too many comparisons with the same-sex parent, I guess.

My daughter, though... it seems I can just be a parent without old ghosts floating around. As the late Lou DeLuca would have said (okay, some ghosts are benevolent), I can approach our relationship with an open hand and just let things be; nothing needs to be wrestled into place.

Don't get me wrong: I love my sons dearly and am thankful for them. Cal has the beautiful soul I could only imagine having; he is a kind boy, and I was not nearly as kind as a boy (and not as a man, for that matter). Right now it appears that Mac may harness his piss and vinegar, a trick I have yet to master. In varying measures and proportions they are both soulful and spirited and I could not be prouder. Every moment they are with me feels like a stolen gift, each hour just a bit more assurance that we won't forget each others' expressions, connections, quirks... which should not be the case but, hell... divorce. In the resigned words of Tony Soprano, "What are ya gonna do?"

At this point, all Katie and I really know about our daughter is that she has relatively long toes. Katie was concerned here because her toes are kind of short (well, the last three are wicked short). So, it looks like the girl will have at least something in common with Daddy. And that's another thing... I can call myself "Daddy" in context with her, but I tend to think of myself as "the Old Man" in the context of Cal and Mac. Jesus Christ... rumination always yields more baggage! "More issues than Time magazine, more baggage than Denpasar Aiport."

Anyway, a man looks at his sons and it can be like looking into the mirror—especially if certain family patterns repeat themselves. With a daughter things are just a touch alien and we don't know what to expect.

I can, however, tell you what I hope for my daughter. It would be a blessing if she had her mother's way with people, talent for kindness, generally sunny disposition and amazing work ethic. She'd be lucky if she got my mother's common sense, gift of doing things nicely and reverance for the family's traditions and elders. From Katie's mother she'll hopefully get great senses of curiosity and humor and conscientiousness. Perhaps Auntie Meggie's talents for friendship, conversation and the hard act of bringing equal parts wisdom and great humour into this life. Aunt Martha's hugely warm spirit and gracious soul. Kathy's appreciation and deft practice of a great many arts, from healing to folk. Debbie's sense of community, empathy and sentimental nature. Auntie Sal's entrepreneurial sense wouldn't hurt, that's for sure.

Going back, I know I was blessed with two amazing grandmothers, though I only met my mother's mother. A talented seamstress, she ran her own business out of the cellar, spoke Italian beautifully, loved to dance and play cards and was tough without being harsh.  My paternal grandmother died about six years before I was born, but from all accounts she was a vivacious and glowing soul... the kind of woman who would buy her Godson a puppy. There's no doubt she was the warm heart of that family, and her untimely death had huge repercussions on that family. Huge.

Katie's mother, Louise, describes her mother as formidable and Katie has a long line of wonderful memories that center on her grandmother's warm and protective nature.       

This is all just a long-winded way of saying to my unborn daughter that she has a lot of remarkable women in her bloodline. She can be proud of all the wonderful role models she has in her little community.

Hell... even her ghosts are good ones.

Finding Innocence

There are plenty of stories about the loss of innocence. As a genre, it's pretty stale. When I was a teenager, I figured The Loss was one's virginity, and not too long after that I thought that it must be when one has their heart broken. At any rate, that's what the movies usually depict... the one-two-three punch-kick-slap of getting laid for the first time, falling in love (the order can be changed there) and then heartbreak. You can probably think of five movies or novels that follow that formula—15, if you add a vampire into the mix.

In my later 20s it became clear to me that the real loss of innocence is when you actually do the heartbreaking. Power is being exercised and maybe misused and you're not the innocent party anymore. This is where emotional callouses are really developed. I mean, you can have your heart broken a few times and still be plenty wet behind the ears. Soaking. In fact, retained innocence is likely why you're still getting your heart broken. As far as romance goes, my stepfather was always trying to drill a certain amount of worldliness into me when I was a young man. He might as well have been yelling, "Lose that stupid-ass innocence and wise up, moron!" Most likely he'd punctuate all of that with a "Jesus H. Christ!"

It took me a while, but I eventually wised up, and this was followed by years of guilty shenanigans, reckless romancing, nuptials, fatherhood, grinding through a failing marriage and then divorce. Then came the rebounding and rancid ruminating. Loss of innocence and innodollars and my innocredit rating was horrible, too. Emotional pockets were waaaaay empty. Or "wicked empty," as we'd say back home.

If we're very, very lucky, though, we find innocence again. I did.

This is how I found it—and I can be very specific here. I met Katie on Friday, May 16th 2008 at The Subiaco Hotel. My imagination was nabbed like never before. Label me superficial, but, yes, beauty and style caught my eye. My buddies kept telling me to go over and talk with her or I'd freak her out with all the staring. Must've been that sleek, black hair cut across the brow and that gorgeous coat with the faux fur collar that did it. Maybe the way she really listened to her friends and smiled. There were a lot of things, actually, but I didn't feel I could approach her until I saw that she was kind enough to help a struggling waiter clear off a table. Lust at first sight was then spiced with fondness; that's a potent combo.

All of this is just a quick background to the specific moment. Bear with me. So, I introduced myself, we hung out that evening and I spoke with, texted and emailed her in the week leading up to our first date the following Saturday. I had my kids that night and she came over to my place in Fremantle after I put them to bed. We shared a bottle of red on my back porch, had the obligatory deep and meaningful and, according to Katie, I gave no indication that I was genuinely interested. We moved the conversation inside eventually.

The moment: after talking for a few minutes in my kitchen, Katie leapt up into my arms. I mean she jumped up onto me and latched on with her legs and arms. Wow. Talk about gutsy! My sister Meg would have to agree with me that the "chumpiness potential" is frickin' huge there. Honestly, Katie's move was a very real leap of faith.

That leap went against everything that I had read or heard about in the popular press, in books like The Game or shows like Sex and the City. Here was a woman who had plenty of options and attention—in fact, the night after we met she had a date—yet she was so open, free and generous with her spirit (which is probably why she had the attention and dates to begin with). There was nothing calculated. And Katie wasn't a jump-into-the-arms kind of woman. She just went with the moment, and that allowed me to be open and free with my better self.

Innocence found.

Meeting and sharing my life with Katie has been an enormous blessing. I could go on and on about how Katie is so good to me, but that's not the really wonderful thing. I mean, when I was younger I'd spent time with partners who were, initially, pretty nice to me. There were even times when it seemed like the person was especially nice to me despite having problems with or little time for others. I thought, "Wow, I must be a really wonderful person." Eventually, though, things would turn and the special treatment I'd been receiving disappeared. I'm no martyr and I can be awfully reactive, so things would run a predicatable course.

Here's the thing, though: Katie is kind to everyone. To put it plainly, she's simply kind. Her  being kind to me isn't a case of her knowing which side her bread is buttered on (not that I can afford lots of butter). She's good to her mother, stepfather, sister and friends. It sounds like she's always been a wonderful coworker and colleague. It's a running joke now, but when I look at pictures of her as a child or teenager, she's almost always beaming at the person she's standing with and her expression says, "I just love my Dad/nanna/stepsister/best friend/next-door neighbor!" Katie will also tell a stranger how beautiful a dress looks on her. The woman is as generous with compliments as she is with good deeds and warmth.

Here we need to make the distinction between kind and nice. A good synonym for nice is "unoffensive." I say that because it's just become too much of a cliche to say "nice = boring." Nice can indeed be boring, but that's not always the case, and the term certainly indicates someone who does not offend. Now, my Katie might be offensive to some, because her capacity for swearing can make this former sailor blush. She used to smoke and could drink pretty well, too. As a high school student she was a habitual truant. I guess what I'm trying to say is that she doesn't have a sterling track record of bland niceness. This flawed fellow can relate to that.

Katie will often say that her sensitivity makes her a "pain in the ass," but I find her transparency refreshing. Here's an oxymoronic idea for you to mull over: she's fearless about her insecurities. Yes, we all have them, but many will fight tooth and nail to keep them hidden. What they might do is offer up some idiosyncracy as an insecurity, and that's a pretty good start, but the real worries are locked away. Festering. Katie gets it all out there, though, and that allows this peasant to voice his long-held worries, too (another big no-no according to some popular writings on the man-woman dynamic). Our mission now is to handle each other's fears gently, and I have every confidence that we'll do just that.  

When it comes to affairs of the heart, I tell anyone who will listen that they're enormously lucky if they have a partner who is kind, makes them hot and is easy to talk with. Anything else is gravy. If you have someone in your life with whom you can be your unarmored self, you've got dessert, too. But it takes so much courage to lay down one's arms, drop the guile, and fly in the face of the prevailing wisdom.

My arms, though, will always be there to catch you, Katie.