Last Wednesday morning, just before 7am, Dalia returned to bed, woke me up, and whispered: my water has broken. Thanks to countless movies and tv shows, I groggily understood this to mean that our baby, growing in her loins for the past 37 weeks and three days, was on his way. Taking in this gigantic pre-dawn news, I closed my eyes, held her close and responded: let’s just sleep for 45 more minutes.
Our first born son, Aleksander Joseph, arrived into our lives less than a day and a half later, at 1:24pm on Thursday, October 29th, 2020 at the Ottawa Civic Hospital. As I write this, he’s been home with us about five days after spending a few extra ones in the care nursery due to some low blood sugar readings. Dalia and I have been adjusting to our new reality in the frantic, exhausted, absolutely consumed way that seems to be the norm for parents of a newborn. One thing is for sure, I do not regret those extra 45 minutes of sleep!
We found out about our pregnancy the weekend before Canada entered the first nationwide Covid lockdown in mid-March. The timing was not awful for us as our work moved home and we spent out our long lovely days between the office at the dining table and the lounge on the nearby couch. Dalia’s pregnancy was good by all standards, not exactly a cakewalk, but manageable. We followed our baby’s growth using apps and marvelled at our little sesame seed, pea, almond, chickpea, tangerine, avocado, baseball, squash, melon and then full-term human baby. We cried at ultrasound pictures, debated over names, accumulated stuff, worried that the belly was too small, and then quite suddenly, too big, received tips, read books, took online courses, but for the most part our lives remained largely the same, except with no alcohol, caffeine or sushi.
This mostly wonderful period ended quite suddenly with the early morning October surprise. Dalia called the hospital and they casually told her to have breakfast and then pass by. While she did that, I emailed my boss to say that I would be indisposed anywhere from a few hours up to about 20 years and began organizing many of the baby items we’d been putting off organizing, pretending that I had any sense of what was about to come.
Dalia arrived back from the hospital with the order to have lunch – they clearly want you well-fed – and to return by mid-afternoon to be admitted for possible induction. We took the news like two naive schoolgirls, giddy, emotional and feigning confidence. We rolled out of home with our hospital carry-on in tow, favourite pillow underarm and snacks in a zip-lock bag like an elementary school trip to the science museum.
In our room, we danced and texted our family and friends – now deeply unaware of what the next day or so was to bring. After a handful of hours of bouncing on an exercise ball and with mild contractions still only five to ten minutes apart, a parade of nurses, doctors, residents, fellows and students arrived to kick the festivities up a notch. What followed was possibly the most intense 12 hours of our lives, but especially for Dalia. Needless to say, no matter how much you read, learn and research about childbirth, there is no real preparation. It truly must be lived to be understood. That being said, my wife show herself to be intrepid, courageous, powerful, committed and because she is who she is, always kind.
Just after noon, about 20 hours after first landing at the hospital, we began in earnest the homestretch to new life. The brigade of doctors returned to our room to help Aleksander arrive safely into this world. At 1:24pm, October 29, 2020, he joined his family and was immediately put to rest on mommy’s chest.
Seeing your child for the first time is an atomic bomb of love and joy in your world, heart and soul. For as much as you track their growth and movement in the womb, their humanity remains somehow abstract. Something of a science experiment mixed with a practical joke, when you feel their punches and hear their hiccups in mommy’s belly. Stopping for a moment to enjoy the novelty, then getting back to the rhythms of your daily routines. The moment they thunderously arrive into you life leaves no doubt of their reality, tenacity and wholeness. This beautiful little human is yours and here to stay.
Dalia and I gushed like Niagara Falls and I, for one, also whimpered like a puppy. I cut my son’s umbilical cord, acknowledging his absolute dependence on us and our absolute commitment to him. We took our first family picture, Aleks got cleaned up a little bit and within one hour was suckling on his new source of life. A tiny creature who can do almost nothing for himself comes pre-programmed to latch to his mother in his bid for life, strength and growth. Yet another astounding phenomenon that hits completely differently when it’s your own flesh and blood and not just a nature documentary.
Aleksander was born three weeks before his due date and was also on the small side for his developmental milestones. Our little beauty weighed in at just under six pounds, and yes, that’s as tiny as you imagine. Aside from that though, his fingers and toes were in place, vocal chords engaged, face charmingly symmetrical, skin somehow out of a photo shoot, and maybe most satisfying of all for daddy, his family jewels looked ready to propel our clan into the 22nd century.
Within just a few minutes of delivery, most of the dozen or so people in our room thinned out, off to similar nearby rooms, to drop in on other everyday miracles. Dalia, Aleksander and I enjoyed our first moments as a family. We facetimed excited relatives near and far with joyful introductions. We moved into our post-partum room and both mom and baby continued to undergo regular tests.
Aleksander’s blood sugar came in low a few times, due, as we were told, to the fact that his little body didn’t have enough fat stores to last from one feeding to the next. Exhausted, disappointed and lowkey, strung-out worried, he was taken off to the nursery for overnight monitoring. Without much to do on our first night as parents, we crashed like we hadn’t slept in days, even though it had only been one and a half.
We visited Aleksander down the hallway as often as we could and were delighted when he returned to our room mid-afternoon on his second day of life. We did our best as first-time parents to change, feed, coddle, hold, entertain, soothe, admire, rejoice and rest, all while always paying special attention to his beautiful, splotch-free, floppy little head.
During his first night with us, coincidentally Halloween, Aleksander was put under a phototherapy lamp to bring down his jaundice level. Our little superhero put on his protective eyewear (aka superhero mask) and did his best to absorb all the healing light he could. Unfortunately, he became quite fussed, suddenly undressed and sprawled out in the middle of the room, and had to once again be taken back to the nursery.
Although our child wasn’t sick or in any kind of danger, we went through all the feels with him coming back and forth. Of course we were happy that he had all his fingers and toes, but parents crave for so much more for their children, especially in their earliest moments and days (but probably for always). You wish to take any instant of discomfort from them, you pray that their genetic coding has no hidden flaws, you watch for every breath and hope that it is deep, nourishing and easy. We low-grade agonized over Aleksander’s first 72 hours. But he already displayed his courageous and gracious temperament. Rarely crying or fussing for a moment more than necessary. Feeding and resting as if knowing that that was his most important job. And then finally, cleaning up like a champ for his short ride home from the hospital.
Bringing your baby home feels so deeply satisfying that it must be one of the few human experiences that have been enjoyed in our lineage for millenia. It’s truly a proper, formal introduction for him into his life’s context. The smells, vibes, tunes, objects, routines, sounds, touches, tastes that will cradle his growing psyche for years to come. It’s the life that mommy and daddy slowly, lovingly created for themselves and now cheerfully make space to integrate their newest family member into.
Since Aleksander arrived early, and as we typically keep a busy lifestyle, most of his items were not quite in the fully ready state when we got home. I tore through boxes, built, measured, assembled, rearranged and organized as much as possible, as Dalia dove into the new priorities of feeding, changing and constantly waking. With every passing handful of hours, our new highly-altered reality became more and more apparent. Our bedroom had been transformed into a fresh-baby-smelling haven and our living room became partially unrecognizable under the assortment of soft, fluffy accessories required to keep a newborn dry, full and cozy.
I hesitate to summarize these early days in any kind of definitive way because they are constantly changing, evolving and morphing, both for Aleksander and for us. It’s truly awesome to witness his growth in his first few hundred hours of life. From one day to the next, and sometimes even within a few hours, his cheeks become a bit squishier, his voice more assertive, and his tiny onesies slowly smaller and smaller on his frame. He discovered his hands, stops to listen to mommy’s voice, stretches and kicks his little legs into all the space his heart can imagine. Mommy and daddy are on constant stand-by, day and night, to do our best to decipher and satisfy his every need. And I imagine, perhaps with longer periods of sleep in-between, that will never not be the case.
Before closing this early open-ended essay, I just wanted to touch on one other thing. Amongst the myriad of mysteries of newborn life, Dalia and I have been confounded by why our little beauty, already small for his age, decided to join us almost a full three weeks early. Surely life is easier on the inside, always warm, wavey and wonderful. Along with wondering what Aleksander is seeing and thinking, we will never have a satisfying answer to this question. But, after a bunch of time kicking this around, with admittedly a strained mental capacity, I’ve only mustered one theory.
My father died on June 29th, exactly four months to the day before Aleksander was born. I don’t exactly know what I think this means. Maybe a wink from the Heavens. These two colossal Jakubiaks of mine shall never meet, but I like to think their two spirits passed on the same wind in those four months. Maybe even shared a glass of milk and a glass of beer in the airport lounge in the place we come from and eventually end up, somewhere between Final Departures and Arrivals. Maybe they talked about me, shared some laughs, planned some surprises.
I had always heard that my dad had a difficult childhood. In the way of family history, these were hazy half-told tales. A few years ago, I remember seeing, for the first time, a picture of my dad as a toddler, chubby hands and face hanging over a black and white village fence in Poland. I was consumed with love for that little boy, knowing some of the bumps and bruises that he would face along the way.
I’m no Buddhist and don’t believe in reincarnation but I do like the idea, the privilege, the gift of raising Aleksander as though he shares a twinkle in the eye with my own father. Do my best to fill in the gaps, to squeeze him extra hard in the tough moments and create a foundation of love and support that lasts him a lifetime. A place to always safely land, and even more, to comfortably take off from.
It is with these hopeful, positive and grateful feelings that we begin our own journey as parents and moreso as a unique family in our own right.
Dad In The World 