The Perfect Hippie

My wife Karen, is the perfect hippie. She’s an environmentalist, she eats vegetarian, does yoga, makes her own clothes, drinks weird beers, and insisted on an all-natural birth for both of our sons.

Our first son was born in Atlanta, Georgia over 9 years ago. The day my wife went into labor, she woke me up at 6am to let me know it was time. Three hours later, the hospital sent her home. While I laid around watching TV, she went for 2-mile walk (in the middle of the Georgia summer), came home and started weeding the garden.

At some point, Karen startled me from my nap with the news that she thinks her “ass has fallen out.”

Around three o’clock, her water broke on my office chair. We called the midwife and our way to the hospital, she practically ripped the seatbelt out of the JEEP, and the glovebox never worked right again either. The experience of driving in Atlanta, Georgia rivals listening to Kenny G while having a cavity filled by a farting dentist.

We checked in, they wheeled her to her room (even though she insisted on walking) and 27 minutes later, my son, Caius, shot out like a champagne cork.

When we were expecting the arrival of our 2nd son, Karen wanted an at-home birth, in an inflatable hot tub. I supported that decision, because what made me most nervous was getting stuck in rush hour traffic in a vehicle with my wife in labor. Not to mention, with her in a hot tub while in labor, would keep my office chair safe.

So, $5000 in supplies and midwives fees later, we’re anxiously expecting The Big Day. Her due date was actually Fathers Day. I took the entire month of June off from performing on the road, so we could be fully prepared with no distractions. We made several dry runs to practice setting up the inflatable hot tub. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

The Saturday before Father’s Day arrives, and that afternoon I was again startled awake from a nap, my a wife in labor. Karen called the Midwife and I immediately went to work setting up the hot tub. Our midwife instructed her to take a hot bath or shower to relax in the meantime. It was then we discovered the hot water heater was out.

I furiously tried to get the pilot light re-lit, with no luck at all. Our landlord was out of town, and I didn’t even know where to start to try to call a repair-man. I caught my downstairs neighbor, Jimmy, on his way out to dinner. I explained the situation and begged to use his hot water. I ran to Home Depot, pick up 150 feet of garden hose, attached it to his shower from 2 flights below, and then waited for the hot tub to fill, which never happened. It seemed like years went by as the water traveled through 150 feet of brand new garden hose with way too many kinks, coils, and twists.

So we started boiling water and pouring it in the tub. A few hours later, the hot tub was barely filled to the MINIMUM line, my wife climbed in, and squeezed out our second son, Quinlan. Who, 14-months later is still nursing… if only I could be so lucky.

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Posted on September 18, 2012, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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