Not a Pacer in Sight.

Let the fatherhood blogging commence.

Well technically I'm not a father.

Yet. But Pitocin has been administered, although it's application doesn't suggest the beginning to anything except the possibility of labor.

And that's why I'm writing this. I'm not sure what else to do that doesn't involve reassurances, occasional massaging, or incessant pacing around the floors of the Labor and Delivery floor of the hospital. Given that I've eaten two breakfasts, downed 30-odd ounces of coffee, and wouldn't dare suggest selfishly lacing up the trainers for a run to fill the space between the developing contractions, I figured documenting the early stages might be worth doing now--even if just to provide filler--and to revisit later.

It's early. The day is ripe, but we're at 37 weeks into what is often considered a longer process. A blood pressure check at a Tuesday afternoon appointment had us bound for the hospital in Roseville, where, after monitoring in a triage room, we faced the overnight order in the Labor and Delivery wing. A quick trip home for me, and I was back with a belly full of food and a bag full of supplies. By midnight Wednesday we were facing the possibility of inducing, and the procedure for it started early Wednesday morning. After choppy sleep and a 4 AM drive back to Sacramento for more necessities, and the day was off and rolling.

We continued monitoring the blood pressure and the very healthy boy, and moved to increase the "readiness" of Mom's body using various methods along the induction process. We advanced to sporatic and painful contractions through parts of late Wednesday and early Thursday, which platueaud enough for Dad to crash out for a few key hours. Mom maintained contact and felt much, much better thanks to vigilant nurses and an IV.

And here we are. Mom's mom arrived, unprompted, and took over entertaining and easing duties. In fact, I've tried to spell her for a few of the contractions and realized that developing a fatherly mentality does not include any motherly intuition.

More to come, I suspect. News, perhaps, but surely a baby as well.