On the Ability of Inanimate Objects to Fly when Sprinkled with Pixie Dust in Disney's Jake and the Neverland Pirates

Objection 1: It would seem that flora, fauna, and inanimate objects should not be able to fly when sprinkled with pixie dust, as the second component of the ability to fly is the requirement to "think happy thoughts". Since these things lack an intellect, they thus lack the ability to think of pleasurable things, and ergo cannot fly.

Objection 2: Moreover, the directionality and speed of inanimate objects, if they could fly, would be random and uncontrolled, since the flyer controls his path by thought. An un-thinking object would not fly in a directed or controlled manner, as portrayed in the children's tales.

Objection 3: Moreover, flying by means of pixie dust is akin to witchcraft and therefore not suitable for portrayal in children's tales.

To the contrary, surely it is written "For his own purposes he opens the storehouse and makes the rain clouds fly like vultures."

I answer that,

A Very Different Raid Night.

This past Friday, July 24th started like any other day. I got up for work, kissed Rie goodbye, and left. Work was uneventfully slow, so I had time to tie up some loose ends that I had been meaning to, such as finally re-arrange my keyboard back to QWERTY from Dvorak, so the guy who was coming from the UK to cover in my abscence would be able to use my computer.

When Rie got up, she showered, did some light housework (watering her plants etc.). Her mom came over that afternoon to help her with stuff.

I left work early (because I was insanely bored) and my co-worker wished me good luck. I told him if I wasn't in on Monday, he'd know where I was.

I got home about 4:30 and signed in to WoW for the raid that night. We were scheduled to tackle 25-man Naxxramas, and since my druid is a bit beyond that, I thought I'd bring my shaman along, to gear him up. At about 5:45, I was flying around Grizzly Hills fishing up Glacial Salmon, waiting for the raid to get started when The Pregnant Murloc came into the den.

"How do you know if your water just broke?"

My first thought was "I'm a guy. I don't have water to break." My next was "...asks the woman who for the past several months has been reading in great detail on pregnancy and labor, and has described to me on several occassions in depth accounts from other women of what it feels like when one's water breaks."

Rather than say what I was thinking, I opted for the more supportive "do you think yours did?"

"I don't know. I felt a splort, so I used the bathroom, then five to ten minutes later, I felt it again."

"Isn't that one of the ways it can feel like when it breaks?"

"I dunno. But it also felt like how it felt when my cervical plug came out."

"Well, what color was it?"

"Pinkish and clear."

"Why don't you call your doctor and ask her what you should do?"

While the Murloc was on the phone, I took the opportunity to use the bathroom, compose myself, and not PANIC. At this point I knew her water had broke—I know her well enough to know that OCD wifey gets confused easily when square pegs don't fit into square holes because you have to turn them sideways—so I also packed my toiletries. When I got out of the bathroom, she was just getting off the phone.

"They want me to go to the hospital to get checked out, just in case."

It's at this point that I feel like I'm forgetting something.

Oh yeah. Raid.

I went back to my computer.

[Raid] [Golyath] Sorry guys, but I got to go. My wife thinks her water my have broke and I have to take her to the hospital.

[Raid] [Celric] OMGOMGOMGOMG

(Celric is our real-life friend David.) I explained that she wasn't sure, so I was just taking her to get checked out. They told me to get going and wished me luck. Meanwhile, The Murloc told her mother (who was, conveniently, still here) and she said she'd follow us to the hospital (she waited in the hospital all night, until the baby was born).

While I was in the bathroom the idea occurred to me for a post, so after a quick search on Transmogrifier.org, I found the Calvin and Hobbes strip, put up a short blurb, and posted. (I didn't tell The Murloc. I knew she didn't want me to say anything in case it turned out to be a false alarm, but I knew it wasn't.)

I spent the next half hour packing my backpack (essentials: laptop, DVDs, camera, books), loading the bags and car seat in the car, and getting The Murloc ready. We left for Hotel Hoag at about 6:30pm.

We arrived at the hospital about 7:00 and Rie was admitted. They did a few checks on her and verified that her water had broke. The long night begun.

* * *

I'd like to point out what incredible timing this baby has. The Murloc went into labor on the eve of his due date, spitting him out exactly on his due date (only 4% of women give birth on their due date). It was also a Friday evening, an hour after I got home from work. It could have been the middle of the night. It could have been while I was in a webmeeting. It could have been while she was driving somewhere. But no, it was in the evening, just before a weekend (which also enabled her sister to drive down from Bakersfield to be there).

It was also the feast of St. Charbel, the patron of Lebanon. The Lebanese Murloc is a quarter Lebanese (which explains her dark features). Saturday was the feast of St. James, the patron of Spain. The Spanish Murloc is also half spanish. Sunday was the feast of Sts. Anne and Joachim, which is grandparents' day in Cuba. St. Anne is also one of The Murloc's patrons. So basically, she had all the forces of heaven watching over her and helping her through her labor.

So Damien has good timing. I'd like to point out that he got that from me, since The Perpetually Late Murloc is late for everything. In fact, I bet she lives to be very, very old, since she'll probably be late for her own funeral.

* * *

The hardest and most painful part of the labor came shortly afterwords when the nurses tried to insert the IV. The Impenitrable Murloc has anti-needle blood veins. Everytime she has blood drawn she has this problem. Firstly, her veins are hard to penetrate and tend to roll out of the way. Secondly, even when the nurses did get the needle in the vein, they would tend to close up and no blood would come out. Eventually by the fifth try, they finally got the IV in, but Rie was left with a wonderful bruise on the inside of her left arm that goes from her wrist up to her elbow.

The nurses at Hoag were wonderful and continually came to check on The Laboring Murloc all through the night. The beginning part of labor was easy for all involved. Rie could hardly feel the contractions, aside from the urge to pee. Her progress was also very slow and by midnight, she was only 4 cm dilated, so they started her on Oxytocin to speed up the process.

Around 3:00am, the contractions got to be too much for her to handle, so the nurse gave her a narcotic to ease the pain. The side effect was that it made her very loopy, which was fun for me. It was supposed to last about two hours, but after 45 minutes, The Pained Murloc was starting to be uncomfortable again. That's when she called for the epidural.

A lotta of people will tell you that epidurals are really painful going in, but the truth is, Rie hardly felt it. They gave her two local anesthesia shots, then inserted the needle, for which she didn't even flinch. The medicine started working within twenty minutes and after a while, The Sleepy Murloc was able to get some sleep. (Sleep! During labor! Women these days have it so easy!) I, of course, had been snoozing since about 12:30, only waking up when the nurses came in.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon continued without much change. At 7am, the nurses changed shifts (Aside: throughout the entire time we were at the hospital, only two men (aside from me) came into the delivery room: the anesthesiologist and the pediatrician. All the nurses and doctors were women, and I think this is a good thing. After watching the entire process, it occurred to me that this was one of those things that women just tend to be better at. They are more empathetic, more understanding of the pain (most of them were mothers themselves), and create a calmer and more relaxed environment for childbirth. In fact, if a hospital were to openly declare a policy of only hiring women nurses, I don't think I would cry foul. This is probably why for thousands of years, women gave birth with the assistance of a midwife. Oh yeah, wasn't I saying something?) and we met the nurse who would be there for delivery.

Around 9am I urged Rie to hurry up, because if she hurried up and got the baby out, I could get home in time for the 10am Ulduar raid. She didn't approve of that idea, and I think she intentionally slowed down to make me miss it. In fact, I'll bet that the group downed Yogg-Saron at 3:34pm. The Spiteful Murloc can be spiteful.

Finally, about 1:00pm, the nurse checked Rie and said she was 10 cm dilated, fully effaced, and the baby was in position for her to push. The nurse got the room ready for delivery and called for the doctor to come to the hospital.

About 1:45, The Laboring Murloc began pushing. She pushed. And pushed. And pushed some more. For two hours. The Oxytocin ran out just about this time, so her contractions became farther apart (about 5-7 minutes). Also, around 2:00 the beeper on the epidural warned that there was only about 30 minutes of medicine left. The nurse didn't think she'd need that much more, and didn't call for more. It actually worked for the better, because as the epidural wore off, Rie was better able to feel the contractions and when to push.

It must have been hard back in the old days, when fathers weren't allowed in the delivery rooms. Not only for the mothers but also for the fathers. I'm sure The Appreciateive Murloc was appreciative that I was there with her the entire time, but I was also glad that I could be there for her. I can't imagine having to wait outside, not knowing what's going on.

I remained by her side during the entire delivery process and (I don't know if this is universal or specific to some hospitals) but the nurses actually involve the fathers in delivery. My job was to hold The Laboring Murloc's left leg back during contractions and count off when to push. (This gave me a unique, new perspective on my wife that I hadn't seen before, namely that of seeing a tiny fuzzy head buried inside her vagina. You tend not to forget these things.) The nurse acted as the cheering squad, constantly giving encouragement and positive feedback. At some point early on, when The Out of Breath Murloc was having trouble pushing for 10 seconds straight, the nurse suggested she do the much more dancer-friendly four counts of 8 (instead of three of 10). Between contractions, I twittered our progress and texted The Murloc's sister with our progress (after an hour and fifteen minutes, she was wondering what was taking so long).

Shortly after 3:00pm the doctor (who looked remarkably like Rie's cousin) came in and helped her through the last few pushes. The baby began to crown shortly before 3:30 (after each push, he'd retreat a little; labor could be described as two steps forward, one step back). Finally, with one great big final effort, a very dazed head popped out. And the crying began. But not from the baby.

* * *

Childbirth made me think about the fundamental disconnect between having fun and being happy. Having fun usually means pursuing some selfish pleasure, begin caught up thinking of yourself and how to increase your personal satisfaction. Being happy is something so much more beyond that. Pleasure and comfort are not requisites for happiness (and in fact, sometimes seem to go against it), and that's why you can find happy people in unpleasant situations, and why some of the saints were happy in spite of horrid situations.

So how do you respond to someone who doesn't want to have children because they want to maximize the pleasure in their life? To me it seems so sad that they spend so much time seeking fun that they completely miss out on happiness.

Only two times in my life have I been so outrageously happy that I was moved to tears, and the first time was at my wedding. The second was seeing my son for the first time. And I really feel sorry for the people who refuse to know that happiness.

* * *

Damien came into the world proper at 3:35pm on July 25th, in the year of Our Lord 2009. He didn't cry, much more than a little yelp. Only his head had emerged at this point—he had a very dazed look on his face—and the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. Not enough to cause him any distress (his heartbeat was strong on the heart monitor the entire time), but just enough to slow him down, and keep him from coming the rest of the way. The doctor acted quickly and suctioned some goop from this throat, just enough to get him breathing, before cutting the umbilical cord and pulling him the rest of the way out. He was wiped down, and briefly place on The Mother Murloc's chest. They left him there for a few seconds, then took him to the baby nurse's station to be weighed, measured, and cleaned. That's where I took this picture of him, at two minutes old. I took a bunch of pictures with my camera, then with The Connected Murloc's new phone, which I sent first to Aunt and Godmother Tine, then uploaded to twitter, then sent to ten random people from Rie's contacts list.

Newborn babies look really funny. His skin was incredibly purple and wrinkled, such that he had the general appearance of a giant, wriggling prune. Eventually his skin turned pinkish, but his hands and feet were purple for a long time afterwards.

I lost track of The Relieved Murloc at this point, so I missed the after birth (lucky me! from what Rie said, the doctor sort of dived in and pulled the placenta out herself), and I only turned back in time to see the doctor stitching Rie up, and let me tell you, I wouldn't want a nasty looking hook like that being stuck where the sun don't shine (her pernium didn't tear; the stitches were internal).

The nurses finished "weighing" and measuring him before The Stitched Murloc was finished having unmentionable things being done around her unmentionables, so the nurse swaddled him and handed him to me.

Over the next hours and days, a flurry of activity would take place. There'd be people to call, paperwork to sign and fill out; a stream of nurses, doctors, and relatives running in and out. But it didn't matter. For ten minutes, nothing else in the world mattered.

* * *

When I was a kid, I sometimes wondered how parents were able to love their children immediately. It seemed that friendships were something built up over time. You met someone, you got to know them, you became more intimate with them. It was a process. Even my own family were people whom I always knew. Sometimes I wondered if I would be able to immediately love my own children.

From my perspective here, I realize what an utterly stupid question that was. I might as well have wondered if I had a soul when I grew up, or if I would take pleasure in kicking puppies or eating babies, or if I would want to destroy the earth, like Skeletor.

A father loves his son because it is the only appropriate response. There is no other conceivable way you could feel about this tiny, helpless person in your arms. You love him because he is your love, incarnate.

* * *

Eventually, the doctor finished patching up The Wincing Murloc and I had to hand over Damien. What followed was something I had been waiting almost a dozen years to see.

The Mother Murloc has never been the particularly motherly sort. She doesn't fawn or swoon over babies the way some women do. She hasn't had a burning desire to have children since she was 15, like some girls do. But yet I've had this vision of her, holding a baby, since about the time we started dating.

Getting that vision to come true has been like pulling teeth. For years, I'd been working on Rie's nesting instinct, trying to get her to settle down and feel comfortable enough to raise a family. She's told me about how some birds are extremely particular about what they use to make their nests, and I think that The Feathery Murloc is clearly partly one of those birds (in addition to being part cat). Every decision I'd made about our family since the day we got married has been for her, to get her to add one more twig to the nest. It's why I decided to move in with a roommate, which was a decision I knew was not going to be pleasant for me. When I saw how The Nesting Murloc reacted to the condo, I knew this could be the place she would make her nest.

About the third year of our marriage, I started to get really frustrated and felt unsatisfied. I'd been spending all this time and energy on making a family and didn't feel like I was getting one in return. But, as always, St. Joseph was watching over me and made sure everything happened in due time. Our third year, and everything going around, would have been too stressful to raise a family. Money would have been too tight. The future wouldn't be quite as assured as it is now.

And finally, my dream came true. It warmed my heart to see Rie clutching her baby close to her heart, rocking him gently, and whispering softly to him. Her Mother Bear instinct has emerged and, like everything about her, there's no stopping it.

* * *

The rest of the hospital stay was uneventful. The nurses continued to be amazing and gracious, taking good care of The Murloc and The Murlocling. Rie could hardly walk for two days (the pushing had given her hemorrhoids) and the nurses made sure she had pain medicine, and helped her with everything she needed (hospital rules are that the mother must call the nurses for help the first two times she gets up to use the bathroom). All four grandparents came to visit, as well as Rie's sister (who came from Bakersfield) godmother, and some other friends.

Damien had all sorts of tests done on him, and was poked and prodded quite a bit. When he hadn't voided his bladder at all in the first 24 hours, the nurses seemed a little concerned an took it in to their hands to make him pee. Taking off his diaper didn't work (in fact, he has yet to do the fountain trick that every parent of a little boy has told me to watch out for). Splashing him with cold or warm water didn't work. They did an ultrasound on his kidneys to verify that they were working. But he still wouldn't pee. Eventually they took him away and stuck a catheter in him. They drained about an ounce, which I gather is about a Niagara Falls' worth for a newborn.

We were finally discharged on Monday morning. Rie's sister and mother were there to help her. Since then, Rie's mother has been over twice, has cooked us lunch and dinner on a few occassions, watched over Damien so we could sleep, and left us with enough food to feed a regiment (as well as two bottles of Sidra!). She was been wonderful, and all past transgressions have been forgiven.

So Damien turned one week old today. The first week wasn't exactly what I expected (I'll get into that in another post; this one has run on way too long). I only logged into WoW just once, briefly, today. I can't remember why I used to, either. I think WoW is for those who don't have babies to love. :)