I know you probably don’t remember me due to the combination of what was likely alcohol, drugs and God-only-knows-what-else in your system, but I was the L&D nurse with your girlfriend last night when she delivered her 9th child. If you do have anything resembling a fleeting memory of me, it probably looks something like this:
On second thought, I think the above image would be giving your brain function at the time a bit too much credit. Perhaps the image below would ring a bell.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It had been a pretty decent shift to that point. We were pushing, the doctor was on the way, and baby was tolerating the chaos very nicely.
It was all a piece of L&D cake. That is, it was until you walked in.
Verbose as you’d ever be, you made your entrance into the delivery room just ahead of the doctor. Your girlfriend, apparently used to this, was about as impressed as I was.
However, it seemed that even her sharp remarks and desperate attempts to prevent you from making a fool of yourself were doomed to fail.
Indeed. Where would we be without you.
At any rate, the baby delivered easily as one would expect for baby #9 and was happy and snug with mom for a good 30 minutes while we got her cleaned up. You wandered around the room, raving like the lunatic you are about how blissfully (sloppily) happy you were, bumping into the surgical techs, babbling about your “gangsta” status, and making a general fool of yourself.
When your girlfriend eventually asked me to get baby’s weight, measurements and footprints, I happily obliged.
Happily, that is, until I realized that with baby away from mom, you felt compelled to join us.
You spent about five minutes taking countless selfies with your newborn daughter that included suggestive facial expressions, gang signs, sexually explicit hand gestures and more babble about how “fly”, “gangsta” and “fo’ real” you are.
As I found myself actively resisting the growing urge to reach across the bassinet and give you the sucker punch you deserve, you realized what I was up to as I finished up the footprinting process. And that’s when you asked the crowning question of the night:
To your negligible credit, you did have the presence of mind to inform me as I finished up footprinting the baby that you probably shouldn’t hold her….at least, not yet. Bravo for your introspection.
As I see it, the score goes about like this: you, sir, have a girlfriend, a new baby, and about 10 other children (and that is no exaggeration) that don’t need you drunk, high and acting a fool. They need a father and they will only ever have one.
Good luck to you, sir, and moreover, to your girlfriend and children. They’re going to need it.
An Unimpressed RN
PS: Proper storage of your first photos with your daughter is important. I suggest:
1. A blazing campfire
2. An industrial-strength shredder
3. The bottom of a very deep ocean/lake
Trust me. One day when she’s old enough to understand, she’ll thank you for destroying the evidence.