Today is Sophie’s birthday – She is nine. Every year I like to remember moments of the day I gave birth to her. I will spare you the details of the labor and delivery. They are equal parts, gross and mind-bogglingly painful and miraculous.
I was thinking today about the cheeseburger I ate right after Sophie was born.
You see, once you are admitted to the hospital you cannot eat anything. They don’t allow you to. From the time I was admitted to showtime it was some eighteen hours later. When all was said and done, I was ravenous. To my great relief and joy, the hospital was equipped with room service.
I ordered my afterbirth meal. It consisted of a cheeseburger, Mac & Cheese, chocolate cake and a coke.
Within minutes – no kidding – manna from heaven appeared right in the delivery room. The nurses took Sophie to do their routine new baby check. I was left to savor the greatest, juiciest, most satisfying burger I ever had the pleasure of devouring. I was making love to this cheeseburger, and the nurses came back with a minutes-old Sophie.
“Ma’am, your baby!” The nurse beamed at me.
I sat in bed chowing a mouthful of burger, and I stopped and looked at her quizzically. “My baby?” I thought. “She must have the wrong room. I don’t have a baby.” And then it dawned on me, “That’s my baby!! Holy cow – I have a baby!” I had a moment where I panicked, “I don’t think I can do this. Maybe I don’t have to. If I just keep eating she may just leave me alone. Baby? I just want to eat. How am I going to eat?”
I took Sophie from the nurse and I proceeded to successfully eat my first of many one-handed meals, one arm wrapped around Sophie, the other feeding myself. I knew that something inside of me had fundamentally changed. My DNA was rearranged. I crossed across the chasm and stepped onto the other side.