First Date

Tick.  The clock was ticking.  Alone at the Christmas Party, I did not want to be at.   I was tired.  My feet were swelling through my heels and I wanted to go home.  Home to my pajamas, watching a repeat of Saturday Night Live, wrapping the Christmas presents strewn on my kitchen table.

Tick.  It wasn’t crazy cold for December.  Five days before Christmas. I was wearing a bright yellow Rachel Zoe coat. It felt like a comfy blanket.  It protected me.  Hid me. I had gained a lot of weight.

Tick.  Everyone wanted to catch my ear at the party, after all it’s hard to hide in a bright yellow jacket.

Tick.Lisa. She spared no expense telling me the gory details of herfirst date.  I started to turn green. Her sister, Jess tried to call her off. This girl sat behind me in home room in the 6^thgrade. She was able to tell me what hairspray I wore, yet wasn’t observant enough to notice I was about to puke on her shoes. 

Tick.I was about to put baked ziti in my mouth but quickly the fork went down without a speck of mozzarella touching my mouth.  Did I mention, Lisa was still talking? 

Tick.  The party came to an end.  Thank God. Lisa finally stopped talking.  However, she was a no show. I survived the past 36 years without “Mister Right”. What’s another night?  

Tick.I couldn’t wait to go home and get my pajamas on. I grabbed my purse, when my mom pulled me over to the side. Yup. She was there too and noticed I did not eat.  She asked me back to her house to have Christmas cookies and milk.  

Tick. I went. She’s relentless.  I drove to her house begrudgingly.  The heartburn of middle age dancing in my throat. All I wanted to do was go home, get into pajamas, and wrap gifts.  I hate leaving the table a mess.

Tick.  Still in that bright yellow coat, cramped on my mother’s couch.  

Tick.  She puts cookies in front of me.  I bit into one of them. An Italian cookie, the one with the jelly in it.

Tick. The bottom fell out of the tub.  I ran past everyone and slam the bathroom door.  My water broke.  

Tick, Tick.He was coming after all.  He’s early.  To make it worse, I was bleeding.

Tick, Tick.  My husband met me at my mom’s house.  He was working and had missed the party.  

Tick, Tick.  I calmly cleaned myself up, while my family looked like something out of an I love Lucyepisode.  My husband called 911 and hung up in a panic.  My mom called my doctor, while 911, of course, called my husband back.  To this day, I’m shocked they didn’t jump in the car and leave for the hospital without me.

Tick, Tick.  I walked down the stairs to wait for the ambulance.  I apologized for leaving the bathroom looking like Carrie. 

Tick, Tick.  The ambulance arrived.  It was driven by my 4^thgrade softball coach.  “Hi Mr. Friesendorf.  How’s the family?”  At this point, I had no idea where my coat went. 

Tick, Tick.  They let my husband sit in the front of the ambulance as they threw the lights.  I stared ahead and watch us speed pass the traffic. The headlights of the cars looked like fireflies as we passed them on this abnormally warm December night. 

Tick, Tick.  I remember being terrified of being lowered from the ambulance.  Seems silly in comparison to everything else happening that night. We bust through the ER doors.  Ushered into an elevator, the EMTs were chatting with us, keeping it light.  What were the odds that I knew their boss?  

Tick, Tick.  We stopped at the maternity ward admissions desk.  The nurses ironically were watchingSaturday Night Live.  I remember saying “Maybe he’ll be born by ‘The Weekend Update’?”  My husband laughed nervously.

Tick, Tick.They gave me a gown.  I slowly shuffled to the bathroom, because you know, the whole bleeding thing. I came out slowly.  A nurse was there to help me back into bed.   My husband, in a full panic, kept busy putting all my clothes into the standard issue hospital bag as the nurse started to put monitors all over my body.

Tick, Tick.  My doctor came into the room.   He looked like the Wizard from Wicked. He walked straight to the machine that was giving readings.  I asked what it said, to which he responded assuredly… “The baby is fine.  You’re not, so we’re going now.”  Come again?  

Tick, Tick, Tick.  “Can my husband be in the room?”  I was terrified of going under.  If my doctor said he could be there, then I knew I wasn’t going totally under the anesthesia.  Silly in comparison to what he just freaking said to me but the doctor responded, “If we go now, he can stay.”  It’s not like my husband was such a rock of support.  It’s just that if he were there, then the situation wasn’t serious enough. Right? 

Tick, Tick, Tick.I rolled into the Operating Room. The technician began to explain the epidural.  Before he could finish his sentence, I was drooling and talking gibberish about electric cars, the Prius and Teslas.  You should see me when I’m actually drunk.  My husband appeared.  He rolled in on a chair by my head.  He was in a hospital gown with the hat thing and the mask.  He was taking pictures with my iPad mini.  First, how did that get there?  Second, was this sterile?  Details get sketchy when you’re looped.

Tick, Tick, Tick.A curtain like the one in Cloverfieldis put up.  You know, where the people who are bitten by the aliens explode behind.  My Doctor, in an attempt to distract, announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, what we have here is a comedian!  Trish, do your act!”  Feeling no pain, I launch into my standup act as I watch blood splatter against the curtain. Just like in Cloverfield…

Tick, Tick, Tick.Henry, my son, was held up.  My husband looked up confused, never taking a picture and said, “What’s that?”  Idiot. 

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick.Henry was silent. He shouldn’t be.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick.The nurses rush out with the baby.  My husband rolled out with them.  I was still drooling, doing my act in survival mode.  My body was paralyzed, but in my brain, I was screaming.

Tock.  An epilogue. It wasn’t love at first sight on that first date.  It was more like fight or flight.  He was too small, too orange.  He failed the Apgar test and had seizures.  I was tired and desperately wanted to quit.  My marriage was frayed and I was in over my head.

Tock. But he began to grow.

Tock.  And he was reading by 3 and a half years old.

Tock.He’s now ¾ of my height already and he’s only five.

Tock.  He thinks he’s Taika Waititi (I never said he wasn’t a weirdo).

Tock.  And that was the story of the awful first date when I met the love of my life. Henry.