This time around, however, we've been able to focus much more on us as a family, and on preparing for an arrival that will completely change the way we interact with each other. Granted, this "preparing" has sort of crossed over into territory in which I am not comfortable. For example, this past weekend Saeeda, having run out of things to organize, acquired a label maker and decided to label the entire contents of our spice cabinet. When finished, she proudly declared that I would now finally be able to find the right spice when I needed to do so. I stopped short of informing her that finding the right spice had never been the problem - it was what to do with the spice after I had located it that was the problem.
But for me, "preparing" for the new arrival has meant spending more time with Nuha. With busy lives and crazy schedules, I've relished the recent, rare weekends where she and I have just goofed around in the park, chasing after each other, hunting down daffodils, making fun of other kids too scared to try the big slides, and generally making a mess of the nice clothes Saeeda always picks for Nuha. We've spent time meticulously apply band-aids to each other. Me, because of small blisters suffered through all-around clumsiness, and she because ... well, who doesn't want to sport five, multi-colored Dora the Explorer band-aids on their leg? Sure, I've had to suffer some worried looks from Nuha's day care teachers, each wondering what damage I'm doing to my child. And sure, Saeeda has had to stealthily rip off one bandage a night, having had to wait until after Nuha has fallen asleep. But so what?
In general, I've worried that the attention and love that we've provided will soon have to be diverted, and that makes me a little sad because of the tectonic shift Nuha's world is about to suffer. This morning, after Saeeda had gone into labor and we were preparing for the trip to the hospital, I snuck into Nuha's room to dress her. We would be dropping her off at a friend's house, and I needed to quickly make sure everything was ready to go. I paused at Nuha's bed to watch her sleep, with curly hair splayed in a mess on her pillow, mouth in a smile, her trusty stuffed giraffe and cow clutched tightly in either hand. As I started to move her, Nuha, still asleep, instantly started yelling at her mom to leave her band-aids on. I couldn't help but smile. How nice would it be if my biggest nightly concern was anger at my mother ripping off unnecessary band-aids?
We dropped Nuha off at 4:30am this morning, silently offering thanks for having developed close friendships that allowed us to substitute for having family around. Driving quickly, we were at the hospital by 5am, and checked in within another 10. Saeeda was in bed with nurses swarming around her almost immediately, but we soon realized there was a slight problem - Saeeda was too far into labor for the administration of any medication whatsoever. In the 20 minutes of pushing that followed, Saeeda convinced me that no matter how much CrossFit I partake in, I will never approach a level of resilience, endurance, or stamina to hold a candle to what she proved she was capable of.
And just like that, Ziyad Khan entered the world. Mother and son are now doing well, with Ziyad as alert and quiet as Nuha was when she was born. I'm leaving them in the hospital room to go pick up Nuha in a bit, and to introduce her to someone who I hope will become her partner in crime and best buddy for life. Saeeda and I cannot be more thankful or grateful for the prayers and well wishes of all of our family and friends. Success as parents, I think, will now depend on how well we can transition from 2-on-1 to man-to-man defense.
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