On January 9, 2008 at 5pm we got in the car and headed into the hospital. It was go time. Our first baby was starting to make his move into this world. We got checked in, hunkered down in the room ready to become parents. Being our first child I had a lot of ideas about how this was going to go: we would show up at the hospital, my wife would sweat a lot, let out random yells that said something like “MARC YOU HAVE NO IDEA….JUST GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME,” squeeze my hand until my metacarpals broke, I’d tell her to breathe “kee kee whooooooo,” she’d yell some more and then 5 minutes later we would gaze lovingly at each other, cheek to cheek, holding a peaceful child in our arms.

At least that’s what the movies seem show.

Turns out our oldest didn’t arrive in 5 minutes.

We got into the maternity ward, they broke Marielle’s water and instead of the baby coming in the next 5 minutes…we waited. Then we waited some more. Mar would stop talking in mid sentence to have a contraction and I would get all jazzed up, “This is it!!!!! Get the doctor STAT” (I think that’s what “they” say)….and then it would pass. And we waited another 8 minutes until the next one. She got the epidural and I thought, “This is it!!”….and then we waited some more.

We were up for about 20 hours straight at this point. Pretty sure I hadn’t done that since college. The nurse came in again and reported that there was progress – 5 centimeters dilated. I have no idea what it means but it seems like some kind of measurement? But of what? I’m not sure at this point but progress sounded good. An hour or so later and the nurse came back in and said, “Here’s what is going to happen: you guys can take a nap. We’ll wake you up in an hour or two when it’s time to start pushing.” Take a nap?!?!?!?

Sure enough an hour and a half later she came back in, “You’re 10 centimeters (again with the measurements – how do you even know it’s 10 centimeters? I didn’t see any measuring device? And what are you measuring….nevermind. I probably don’t want to know.) It’s time to start pushing.”

I have no idea what I am supposed to do. Do I stand next to bed? Do I hold her hand for her to squeeze? Do I leave the room? Do I look at her? Do I look for the baby? We probably should have gone to those birthing classes….

The nurse tells me to hold a leg. “Let her foot dig into your shoulder.” And so I position myself accordingly. I’m going to be a dad!

Marielle pushes. The nurse counts. Wow, Marielle can really drive hard with her leg. I wonder why she hasn’t joined the gym yet? I think she would be good…..

And then she stopped pushing. But there was no baby. And I let go of her leg. I stood up. And something was off. I was not feeling well. I’m someone that needs the 7-8 hours of recommended sleep or else I don’t do so well. This is not the time to feel nauseous. I better recover quickly because it’s time to push again…do your job.

I grab the leg. She pushes again. She stops pushing. I stand up. Oh the nausea is worse. I’m not sure what to do. After a few quick calculations I do what I feel is the right thing. I lean over to my wife’s ear and tell her, “Hey, you’re doing great. I’m so proud of you…..Downside is, I’m not doing nearly as great. I am definitely not feeling so well.”

Hindsight is a bit of a doozy often times. My wife is trying to push out a child. I mean, let that sentence sink in. She’s been in hard labor for the last 10 hours and I’m feeling…a little sick to my stomach?!?! After my “calculations” I thought the best thing to do was tell my wife?!?!?? Sure did.

I couldn’t unring the bell. I couldn’t return those words. But she looks at me, with sorrow more than anything else, and then looks at the nurse and says, “Is there any chance I could get some ginger ale and crackers?”

Grace – receiving undeserved merit without an expectation of anything in return.

Crackers and ginger ale arrive. I eat and drink. Stand back up. Let’s have this baby. (We are so glad that you are doing better Marc…..not sure how we could have this baby without you….said no one in that room.)

For two straight HOURS my rockstar wife pushes. Two hours gives a lot of opportunity to relay false hope and say dumb things like, “There he is!!! I see the top of his head!!! He’s here…..oh wait, he went back in” and “You need to push through your heels more when you are pushing. I only feel your toes. Whole foot, Marielle. You’ll get more leverage” (I wish both of those were lies. But they actually came out of my mouth. In a dead serious manner.)

At the two hour mark the word “vacuum” came out of the nurse’s mouth to the doctor about giving Marielle a little assistance on getting this child out of her. That’s all she needed to hear. This otherworldly look came on my wife’s face. I also told everyone to step back. Mainly because I was scared of that look. I hadn’t seen it before but it looked very…aggressive. She told me to get my shoulder over here, she told the nurse to grab the other end of the towel (she was using this tug of war “technique” with Marielle…another story for another time) and pushed with everything she had (it’s about time you started pushing through your whole foot. If you only listened to me an hour ago…..nevermind).

And there was Brady.

Grit: firmness of character; indomitable spirit

In all of my almost 20 years, 15 of them married, with my wife I can’t think of 2 better words to describe her. And wow do I wish I had both grace and grit like she does. This world would be a better place if we all could have the grace to extend to others – giving something without expectation of getting anything back – and at the same time an indomitable spirit – a will that in unconquerable. It’s what makes her a great mom, a great athlete, a great wife, a great person, a great nurse, a great sister, a great friend.

Happy birthday to you, Marielle. May we all try on just a little bit of grit and grace to celebrate this day of YOUR birth.