Double Happiness, Part II

(continued from Double Happiness, Part I)

Midwives are required to stay with the woman for two hours after the birth to monitor vitals and generally ensure everything is OK. Knowing they'd be around for a while, my mother and I prepared food and tea, a small spread of crackers, cheeses, fruits and snacks and fresh baked pizza.

It's funny - everyone said they weren't hungry, but after cajoling them for a bit, they dove into the food with gusto. I split my time between our guests and my wife and new son for a short time, then, once my mother had everything in hand, I quietly shut the door to the bedroom and my wife, son and I had some more quiet time.

Newborns, as I've mentioned before, are not pretty in the conventional sense. In fact, for a few weeks after the birth they still look like wizened and somewhat plump old men ("men" specifically because they look like they're balding). I'm going to assign "Kenshin" as my second son's moniker - it was one of the Japanese names we considered for him and later rejected. Kenshin sometimes reminds me of Churchill. We gazed at Kenshin, the product of our love and nine months of Marli's body protecting and nuturing this tiny new life. Briefly, it felt unreal, like somehow the past few hours of pain and anxiety hadn't really happened, and this bundle of flesh and needs didn't belong to us.

Eventually the midwives interrupted our musings - it was time for another brief status check, and I took the opportunity to fulfill a promise. Six months before, when we had found out that Marli was pregnant, we went to a place called "Fran's" - a 1940s era diner on College west of Yonge - to celebrate. While there, Marli happened upon their famous rice pudding and suggested that when the baby was born, she would love to have a Fran's rice pudding as a special reward.

So it was, at 7:40 on a Monday night, I left the house to go get Fran's rice pudding. Since the midwives are typically supposed to leave two hours after the birth, I said my goodbyes, expecting them all (with the exception of my mother, of course) to be gone when I returned.

I walked into Fran's fifteen minutes later feeling lighter than air. I ordered two rice puddings and a cheeseburger combo (Marli having assured me that she didn’t want anything). I couldn't help telling the server about my good fortune. Two sons! She asked me a few questions - when? Which hospital? At home? Really? How is your wife?

I mentioned that Marli had specifically requested Fran's rice pudding as a treat. She seemed pleased. I tipped her exorbitantly (especially for a take out order - hey, share the happiness, right?) and left for home.

Another quarter of an hour later, I was back home. The midwives were still there - there was a small detail that they were waiting on before they could go. I delivered the pudding to Marli in bed and tucked into my meal, feeling pretty peckish myself.

Once the midwives were satisfied with the situation, they packed up. Another round of thank-yous and goodbyes. I chatted briefly with my mother afterward and then she too packed up her gear to go home. I couldn't (still can't) thank her enough.

So we were left as our own small family (again minus, for the moment, Daigoro, who would return the day following with my parents-in-law). I considered the life experiences that would be lost as the result of not having a daughter, but also all the joy that two brothers could have together.

"A boy should have a brother," Marli said.

Double happiness. A Chinese phrase usually seen at weddings, probably not appropriate for a birth, but it sounds fitting. I've recently been learning Chinese characters while picking names for Kenshin, and I looked up the character used in the "double happiness" character. It's the character for a drum, superimposed over the character for a mouth. Song and drumbeats - music. Happiness. Twice over.

Seems like the blessing of two sons to me.