Chapter One

A behind-the-scenes look at the birth of our first grandchild — Marley Ione

10 a.m. Monday, February 27

Forty-eight hours ago, dog boarded and playing with friends while our cat sulked in the house, my wife and I left on a weekend trip to Chapel Hill for our niece’s engagement party. The traffic goblins that normally haunt I-95 were on our side despite a steady rain that accompanied us from Northern Virginia to the North Carolina border.

Thirty-six hours ago, in an Uber on the way back to the hotel from the party, Jill got the phone call we’ve anticipated for weeks: Kate, our oldest daughter, was going into labor with our first grandchild.

Marley is coming. She’ll be here soon. Or so we thought.

Marley Ione Crawford — February 27, 2023

After a few hours of fitful but necessary sleep, we started the 250-mile trip back to Virginia, making plans to divide and conquer so we could accommodate our daughter, son-in-law, a grandchild planning to leave her utero sublet, a boarded dog, and a bored cat. Again, the traffic goblins were unusually kind, and we were fortunate that no members of Virginia’s law enforcement community chose to delay our return.

Jill is part of Kate’s home birthing plan; she is there to assist the midwife — a wonderful woman named, appropriately enough, Story — and Matt. She’s been with them since early Sunday afternoon.

Of course, there have been twists and turns. I’m writing this while sitting in the cafeteria at Inova Fair Oaks Hospital, in between worrying about Kate and the baby, texting with my other children and mom, and playing random games on my phone. My role, once again, is “tech support,” the person waiting for ways to help, standing on the outside looking in.

The Expectant Parent Q&A

There’s a (mostly) truism about living in a small town: Everyone knows, or seemingly wants to know, your business. And babies are a big deal.

The year Kate was born — four days before 1996 ended — was one of major transitions. At the time, Jill and I lived in Reidsville, N.C., just north of Greensboro. We met a couple of years earlier when I — then the managing editor of the now-defunct Reidsville Review — spoke at the eighth-grade career day that Jill organized.

We married in 1996. That year, I also changed careers, moving from newspapers into school district communications, and we bought a house. As I mentioned, it was a heady time, and inevitably people had questions about our baby’s impending arrival. It was great training in my new professional role as a spokesperson.

One restless night a few weeks before Kate arrived, surrounded by pillows that made reaching my then very pregnant spouse akin to scaling Mount Everest, I came up with the start of my first (and to this date only) musical theatre composition.

Jill with 2-day-old Kate — December 1996.

Is It Born Yet? (Part 1)

(With apologies to every songwriter I’ve ever known, liked, or appreciated)

Husband’s Friends:

Is it born yet?

How’s your wife?

Wife’s Friends:

Want to hear my labor story?

Or the story of my life?

Friends (both):

Is there anything we can do

Before she comes?

You know who…

Wife:

I’m surrounded, distracted,

Contorted, not contracted.

People asking why?

Husband’s Friends:

Is it born yet?

How’s your wife?

Wife’s Friends:

Want to hear my labor story?

Or the story of my life?

As the end of Kate’s pregnancy neared, I started thinking about that song and the year she was born, the year of so many changes. Little did I know then that we would add Ben and Emma to the brood before 1997 ended and that life would become — as oxymoronic as it sounds — a true reality show.

11:30 a.m. Monday, February 27

I’ve been in the room when all four of my children were born, so I had some idea what was taking place inside, but the wait is both boring and agonizing. Focus, always elusive, is almost nonexistent.

On Sunday afternoon, I made the loop from Fairfax to Arlington to Alexandria to pick up the dog and pacify the cat, then drove back to Fairfax, where I sat outside Kate’s and Matt’s condo before taking them to the hospital. After 21 hours of labor with no anesthetic, Kate needed more medical support. Once the epidural was in, I picked up dinner for Jill and Matt and visited Kate briefly before going home to the pets and what would be another short restless nap.

When morning arrived, I dropped off a very happy Penny at daycare, temporarily pacified Sheldon with some wet food, picked up some coffee, drinks, nuts, and a breakfast sandwich for Jill and Matt, and assumed my spot in the cafeteria.

And I started to write, to try and process what was taking place two floors up and a maze of twists and turns away. But I’m stuck, because right now it’s a story without an ending, and asking all the existential questions will only send me down an emotional rabbit hole, something I try to avoid at almost all costs.

Anticipation and I have learned to keep a healthy distance from each other, which means I tend to suffer from a decided lack of giddy, hyper exuberance when confronted with the prospect of exciting news. Even when it’s good news, I’m almost inarticulate.

For the past several months, I’ve gotten lots of questions about being a grandparent, most of the “Are you excited?” variety.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’m excited.”

I’ve also been told repeatedly that being a grandparent is the greatest thing ever.

“Yes, I’ve heard that. Can’t wait.”

Part of this circumspection comes from being a journalist, where you’re trained to be an observer instead of a participant in the story that’s unfolding. Part of it is fear of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Part of it is my inner Eeyore, the notion that reality can never live up to expectations.

Another way of putting it: If you don’t expect too much, sometimes you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the outcome.

Holding baby Marley — February 27, 2023

Is It Born Yet? (Part 2)

(Again, with apologies to every songwriter I’ve ever known, liked, or appreciated)

Friends (both):

Is there anything we can do

Before she comes?

You know who…

Wife:

I’m surrounded, distracted,

Contorted, not contracted.

People asking why?

Husband’s Friends:

Is it born yet?

How’s your wife?

Wife’s Friends:

Want to hear my labor story?

How about the story of my life?

Husband’s Friends:

It’ll be soon, I promise.

Tomorrow, I’ll bet.

Wife’s Friends:

Full moon coming.

Next week, no sweat.

Husband:

I’m swirling, toppling, twirling.

My stomach curling.

People asking why?

Husband’s Friends:

Is it born yet?

How’s your wife?

Want to hear my labor story?

Wife:

That’s the story of my life!

Proud grandma — February 27, 2023

12:45 pm. Monday, February 27

Finally, I have a task, one that briefly rescues me from eating random hospital food and nervously Internet shopping on an unsecure wireless network.

Jill asked me to go to Kate and Matt’s condo to pick up a few things — a change of clothes for him, a pillow for her — and to make sure their cat has food and water.

Their small place is only a couple of miles from the hospital, and they’ve done a wonderful job setting it up for the baby. I look around the empty room and get a little misty eyed, wondering when Marley will get here.

When I get back, Jill greets me in the labor and delivery lobby. She is nervous and exhausted. Kate doesn’t want to get a C-section, but progress is nonexistent. Given that her water broke 40 hours ago, the doctors are worried about the possibility of infection. Jill disappears back inside.

Two hours later, after 43 hours of labor, Kate agrees to the C-section. Jill comes out into the lobby to sit with me and Matt’s parents, Liz and Roy. A few minutes later, we have great news: Marley Ione Crawford arrived at 3:55 p.m., weighing 8 pounds, 9 ounces and measuring 21 inches.

She is, of course, beautiful, just like her mother and grandmother.

Matt and Kate with their firstborn — February 27, 2023

Postscript: 11:30 a.m. Monday, March 6

The day after Marley was born, a Facebook friend wrote, “Say goodbye to February, the longest decade of the century.” I could not agree more.

It’s hard to believe our first grandchild is one week old, or that today is Kate and Matt’s third wedding anniversary. They got married on March 6, 2020 — literally on the cusp of COVID — in a small family ceremony in the courtyard at the Fairfax County Courthouse. A pre-spring storm brought rain, wind, and small pellets of hail down on all of us, but we survived.

At one point, Kate’s cousin Margaret mentioned the hail came from the spirit of their grandmother, Betty McFarland. I preferred to think of it as Betty and my late father having a conversation about what to bring for the ceremony. Not wanting to be too obvious, they chose hail over frogs and crickets. We were just glad they decided to join us on that special day.

Their presence is always felt, especially at times like this, as is the presence of others we’ve lost and those who remain, like my mom. Marley shares her middle name with my mother and my great aunt; it’s a beautiful gesture on the part of Kate and Matt.

For the past week, I’ve been trying to put my thoughts together about an experience I only was tangentially part of. At one point, I thought Marley’s birth would give me the ending I needed to hit “publish,” but it didn’t.

And then I realized this is about a beginning, not an ending. Following a 43-hour preface, Marley is now seven days into Chapter One.