I think everyone sensed Julia was coming. A few days ago, you started throwing more tantrums. It’s been harder to get you to follow your daily routine. You now refuse everything. It’s as if you knew she was coming and you were desperately trying to hold on to being the center of attention.

The night before Julia came, you screamed for a long time. Julia must have heard you and decided to come. Because at midnight, mama said she’s coming tonight. Strange things were happening to her body, even though her water hadn’t broken yet. I took a shower and we left Abu to stay home with you.

We pulled into the E.R., but after getting all of us excited, you decided to sleep, Julia. The over-anxious nurse on duty kept pestering us for some readings to make sure Julia was okay, so she gave mama cold water, and then an IV to perk her up. Nothing worked until mama said, “She always wakes up when I eat something sweet.” A cup of O.J. later, her heart rate shot above 150.

The rest of the labor progressed similar to yours. It was deja-vu for me when certain things started happening all over again. Like in the beginning mama appreciated massages in her lower back with some pressure. But suddenly, she’d say, “Don’t touch me there.”

Then she looked forward to the relief of hot water. A hot shower this time, instead of the hot tub. Then the contractions came in quicker waves. Then, like last time, after the hot shower, she went from 4 to 9 inches dilated. Maybe she got to 10 the last time. Except that last time, she could barely get out of the tub or walk back to the room.

Mom was a beast this time. In contrast, the last time, she was barely keeping it together before the tub, and she had to be wheelchaired to the tub. It had a lot to do with unfamiliar and uncomfortable things happening to her body — the unknown always wrecks your confidence — she wasn’t sure how long it was going to last, if it was going to get worse or if she could bear them. I will never know what it’s like to give birth, but I know the worst demon in situations like this is looking forward to the end, because the end may not come as soon as you like. And nothing is as soul-crushing for the weary soul than having the end you look forward to come and get pulled from under you. The best strategy is to put on the mental blinders and put one foot in front of the other. Take one slow breath at a time.

She knew hot water soothed her migraines, so she looked forward to it like Shangri-la. It made her “pain” tolerable. She spent a lot of time there, and after a while there were white strands of protein floating around. I’m still not sure what they are. By the time it was time to get out, she didn’t want to leave and her body refused to cooperate.

This time, though, she was sitting on a ball in the shower. Standing up to hug me for each contraction, then squatting back down to sit. Over and over again. And in between contractions, she was talking, continuing sentences, even laughing at jokes. Seeing her like this and comparing it to the last time, I knew she had this in the bag. She was mentally and physically ready.

And the last time, she asked for “something” for the pain. Maria brought it out and placed it next to the bed, and didn’t use it. Mama didn’t ask for it again, she had a completely natural birth with J. This time, she asked for it again too. But it was different. It was much later into the labor. Also, I didn’t see the same “pain” in her face, voice or body. I listened as Lin and Param tried to give mama some tips.

They didn’t see it, maybe frustrated that mama wasn’t responding to their suggestions. But then the breakthrough: In protest, she said she was scared. That was it. I knew it wasn’t “pain” that was holding your mama back. But fear. I remembered her saying that the first time, she was afraid her body would explode, fall apart or “break”. It was stretching in ways that didn’t feel right.

Now, the contractions were coming close together. Mama was groaning on every exhale like whale song; along with the waves of contractions. She asked for “something for the pain” again.

I remembered mama’s hero Ina May’s analogy about how it’s like pooping or peeing in public. And how a man seizes up mid-stream if someone swings the door open.

So I did everything I could to make her feel safe, private, comfortable. I listened as Lin the midwife gave her things to try. Mama kept saying she was trying but she felt they weren’t working. I knew your mom well enough to know that asking her to “try harder” would bring up counter-productive feelings. So change of plans. I told her to stop trying. But just keep breathing. And to take one breath at a time. I told her to let go. That her body knew what to do. That Julia knew what to do. Just breathe. I reminded her she was safe.

She became silent. The midwife took it as a cue to give her quiet time, space, and maybe she went to stretch to get ready for a long night. But I guess you woke up, teamed up with mama and decided now’s the time, “I’m ready mama!”

Because Mama suddenly grabbed my skin, ripped my shirt like Hulk Hogan and roared like a lion. Your head popped out.

Param the doula was surprised and Lin the midwife came back in and her eyes popped out too and she yelled with both arms in front of her, “Slow down!” Mama said, “I can’t help it!”

Then mama roared again and you zoomed out, did not pass go and were stopping for no one. On the 3rd roar, we heard you cry.

You were placed on mama’s chest. This is the second time, but everything feels new. Mama was euphoric. She looked in your eyes and held you close to her chest. Nothing else mattered. Slowly, you sniffed your way to her breast. You grabbed our fingers.

They said I could cut the cord. It was clamped and Lin handed me the scissors. It was tough like tendon. Like trying to cut through leather. On my first try, the cord slipped as the scissor closed. So I pushed forward and applied more pressure. Snip – cord cut and I almost stabbed Lin.

The placenta came out later. They gave mama a few stitches. It was supposed to hurt but mama just stared at you smiling.

Mama later said she wasn’t trying to push, and she couldn’t help it. J wanted to come out. She said her pelvis opened like an electric gate.

It rained that day. Just like on Joshua’s birthday. Both of you are morning babies.

Later that night mama asked me if I was scared. I said I wasn’t the one who pushed a baby out of my body. She said still — what about being there, the uncertainty, etc. I said the advantage of the 2nd time is the 1st one is proof you can do it. Everything went the same way as the 1st time, so I had no reason to believe the outcome would be different.

Well, I was wrong. Julia, you’re prettier than Joshua. Based on the lunar calendar, you’re a Snake lady. When J was born, he had darker skin than both of us. You on the other hand, have fair skin. You turn pink when you cry.

And you’re so strong. You can peck and turn and toss… and almost do push ups. Changing your diaper is difficult because you kick and roll. Sometimes, you scream instead of cry. And unlike J1, it’s high-pitched and like a girl.

Funny moments

At the hospital, you sat on a chair at the foot of the bed and asked what’s mama doing on the bed. I looked and saw mama holding Julia with her head tilted to the side and I said Mama’s sleeping. Then I said “like this” and tiled my head and closed my eyes. Then I saw you copy me. Then I repeated, “Like this!” and closed my eyes again and tilted. When I opened my eyes I saw you sideways with your arms like a starfish, almost falling cartwheeling over the chair, surprising yourself when you opened your eyes. Good thing I opened my eyes in time.

We say Hospital, you say Hosapout.

This happened earlier, but I just remembered it. You love singing, and you love making up your own songs. Like…
Old MacDonald had a dog and bingo was his name-o.. B-I-N-G-O.. B-I-N-G-O …
Old MacDonald had a tractor – EIEIO… and on his tractor he had a cow… EIEIO

Changes at home

You’re trying to get used to the idea of having a sister. You’ve been throwing more tantrums, getting more frustrated, and asking to be picked up more. When we got ready to return to the hospital for a test today, you protested and then later said, “Take me with you?” You thought we were going to leave you again. We left you for 2 days and 1 night — with abu — and it became clear it bothered you. Now that it’s the 2nd day with Julia, you’ve become more positive and helpful, trying to make us happy and cooperating and helping with things around the house. And also, trying to show off to mama more than usual: “I want to show mama?”

I’ve been spending more time alone with you Joshua, since mama is resting up and has Julia. It’s just been you and me going to the park in the evenings. I enjoy it. Kimi hasn’t given me much trouble. Julia’s hormones have mellowed her out again just like she was when you arrived. On the way back from the park today, you stopped pedaling and said, “Daddy pick me up?” I picked you up and you dug your head into my neck and shoulder.

I’m going to be writing to both of you Js now. Joshua, you’re going to be J1 and she’ll be J2.

Mama’s been feeling bad she hasn’t been able to interact with you much too, since she’s been glued to Julie. So when mama left J2 with me to put you to bed, I was rocking her and you were the happiest you were today because you got to sit in mama’s lap and you could read with her. You gave her your special best, trying to win her over with your charm. You missed her because you couldn’t get as many hugs or kisses with J2 in her arms, or have mama pick you up.

J2: now my neck hurts from craning down to stare at you. You’re gorgeous. And you seem to be getting more beautiful every day. In the dark, you open your eyes to stare at us. Peacefully and lovingly.

Coincidence?: When Abu called great grandma, she said, “STOP. Don’t tell me. She’s long, right? She’s fair, right? I know. She visited me last night.”

By the way, I understand now why girls are close to dad and dads feel protective over them.

I was telling mom while we were in bed the post-partum room: you’re just a baby girl. No curves. A little bit of hair. A strong voice. You claw and crawl. You pecking mama’s chest to find milk.

I know you will grow up. And yo’ll be as perfect then as you are now.

And you’ll get married. And before you get married, you’ll spend lots of time defending yourself from men who think you’re beautiful. You’ll be gorgeous and intelligent.

After they hit puberty, many men will claim to love you. Many men will deceive you. Many will break your heart. They will tell you things you want to hear, try to use you, and try to take what they want.

After all, attraction is sexual. Love happens by design. Take away the Hollywood glitter of love and what you get is animal physiology.

And I’ll know that these men only noticed you because of their penis. They didn’t know you before that.

They don’t know you before you could talk. They didn’t teach you how to ride a bike, or help you walk. They didn’t calm you when you screamed and cried. They didn’t change your diapers. They weren’t by your mom’s side when you nuzzled at her breast for the first time.

They couldn’t see this. puffy eyes. Your chest on my chest. Skin to skin. You’re perfect since you were born.

The world threatens to take away your innocence. Especially since you’re a girl. The world is more vicious than ever before.

I can keep a shotgun at home and mama will break their noses with a broom, but the situations you end up with will ultimately be a result of the decisions you make. So we know the only way to keep you safe is to give you a safe mind. That’s what scares us.

And that’s why I think you’ll always be daddy’s girl. Because I imagine me walking you down the aisle when you’re older. For a man to say he loves you more than anyone is an insult to a dad’s love. No other man could know what it means to love you like a father. It’s impossible. Don’t believe their lies.

Love,
Dad

P.S. J1: It’s Monday and I’m going to pick you up from daycare in a few minutes. I dropped you off and you weren’t happy to be there. It’s the first day back at daycare since you’ve been with us from Julia’s birthday on Thursday. I said Abu was going to pick you up, and you pleaded, “Abu AND DADDY!” So I’m going to pick you up instead to make it easier today. I guided you through the morning routine they were doing to help you transition. Then Ms Ditte picked you up and I said goodbye. You didn’t like it but you didn’t cry. You had your red doggy hat on today. (You wore it all day yesterday and all night too.)

P.P.S. Julia – I’ll be home soon.