The Miracle (of Matthew MacNair)
I was chasing down the days of fear
Chasing down a dream before it disappeared
I was aching to be somewhere new
Your voice was all I heard
It was April of 1999 when it started, the call. The call to riches and glory. The call to something greater than myself. The call to be the official father of the new millennium.
I'm a numbers guy, so I did the math. I knew that the first baby born in the year 2000 was going to have publicity (and free stuff) thrust upon them, and by golly I wanted a piece of that action. The end of March-beginning of April 1999 was when things would have to begin. So... my wife went off the pill, and, well, just use your imagination. Or maybe not. It could get ugly.
God saw through my materialistic desires, however, and conception did not take place in March. Or April. Maybe May? Because at the beginning of June, when my wife's body behaved as a broken typewriter would, we went to the drugstore. Not having any experience with such things, my wife asked the female employee who asked us how she could help us which one she would buy. After a short discussion about the merits of various devices designed to be, well, you know... we walked out with two of them, went home, and underwent the process.
Plus sign. Yeah, we were pregnant all right.
I was young, not dumb
Just wishing to be blinded
By you, brand new
And we were pilgrims on our way
Laura is a small woman, but man, was this baby getting big. I thought it would be cool if the baby was 10 pounds when it was born. I mean, bragging rights, man! 10-pound baby! Not many people are awarded this honor! My wife did not see things my way, however, and let me know in no uncertain terms that a 10-pound baby was not passing through, well, "there".
On January 31, 2000, the ob-gyn decided that enough was enough, and that this baby was coming out now. My wife was admitted to the hospital, and the next morning was administered a drug designed to speed up the process.
Speed up the process. Yeah. Famous last words. February 1st came and went... the first day.
(By the way, ladies, I tip my hat to you. This process is not designed to spare any shred of dignity. Get in bed- undressed- wear a robe that was designed for someone three sizes smaller than you- have it all hanging out while total strangers come and go and poke and prod, I mean. Good God, man, if guys had to give birth the human race would be dead. I thought my colonoscopy was bad....)
February 2nd came, and still, 3cm, that's it. Finally the doctor said the words both scary and magic- "C-Section". The baby was coming that afternoon. It's getting real up in this hiz-ouse.
I woke up at the moment when the miracle occurred
Heard a song that made some sense out of the world
Everything I ever lost, now has been returned
In the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
I was going to miss having the baby be born the old-fashioned way, but coming through a window instead of the door? Cool, man! They had her spread out in what amounted to a crucifix position, a curtain blocking her view, and her belly cut open all the way across with the flap of skin stretched up. I saw her guts, man! You think you know your spouse, but you don't really know her until you see her guts.
And with a little pulling, a miracle occurred. There was a human being in there, a little purple thing bleating like a sheep. The most beautiful sound I ever heard. Matthew Stanley MacNair, the fourth of five generations of MacNair men to have the name Stanley, named after my great-grandfather, my grandfather, and my dad.
Everything I ever lost, now has been returned
In the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
We can hear you
We can hear you
We can hear you
That day seems so far away now, but the anniversary of that day approaches for the 15th time on February 2nd, a Monday this year, so he'll get the big celebration at school. Not that it matters that much. He doesn't understand birthdays, he doesn't understand celebrations such as these. Autism has robbed us of so many things parents get to enjoy.
But fatherhood has given me oh, so much.
He likely doesn't even understand what I mean when I say "I love you, son."
I say it anyway. I love you, son. Happy Birthday. And many, many more.
I woke up at the moment when the miracle occurred
I get so many things I don’t deserve
All the stolen voices will someday be returned
The most beautiful sound I’d ever heard
Your voices will be heard
Your voices will be heard
all song lyrics from The Miracle (of Joey Ramone) by U2
Chasing down a dream before it disappeared
I was aching to be somewhere new
Your voice was all I heard
It was April of 1999 when it started, the call. The call to riches and glory. The call to something greater than myself. The call to be the official father of the new millennium.
I'm a numbers guy, so I did the math. I knew that the first baby born in the year 2000 was going to have publicity (and free stuff) thrust upon them, and by golly I wanted a piece of that action. The end of March-beginning of April 1999 was when things would have to begin. So... my wife went off the pill, and, well, just use your imagination. Or maybe not. It could get ugly.
God saw through my materialistic desires, however, and conception did not take place in March. Or April. Maybe May? Because at the beginning of June, when my wife's body behaved as a broken typewriter would, we went to the drugstore. Not having any experience with such things, my wife asked the female employee who asked us how she could help us which one she would buy. After a short discussion about the merits of various devices designed to be, well, you know... we walked out with two of them, went home, and underwent the process.
Plus sign. Yeah, we were pregnant all right.
I was young, not dumb
Just wishing to be blinded
By you, brand new
And we were pilgrims on our way
Laura is a small woman, but man, was this baby getting big. I thought it would be cool if the baby was 10 pounds when it was born. I mean, bragging rights, man! 10-pound baby! Not many people are awarded this honor! My wife did not see things my way, however, and let me know in no uncertain terms that a 10-pound baby was not passing through, well, "there".
On January 31, 2000, the ob-gyn decided that enough was enough, and that this baby was coming out now. My wife was admitted to the hospital, and the next morning was administered a drug designed to speed up the process.
Speed up the process. Yeah. Famous last words. February 1st came and went... the first day.
(By the way, ladies, I tip my hat to you. This process is not designed to spare any shred of dignity. Get in bed- undressed- wear a robe that was designed for someone three sizes smaller than you- have it all hanging out while total strangers come and go and poke and prod, I mean. Good God, man, if guys had to give birth the human race would be dead. I thought my colonoscopy was bad....)
February 2nd came, and still, 3cm, that's it. Finally the doctor said the words both scary and magic- "C-Section". The baby was coming that afternoon. It's getting real up in this hiz-ouse.
I woke up at the moment when the miracle occurred
Heard a song that made some sense out of the world
Everything I ever lost, now has been returned
In the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
I was going to miss having the baby be born the old-fashioned way, but coming through a window instead of the door? Cool, man! They had her spread out in what amounted to a crucifix position, a curtain blocking her view, and her belly cut open all the way across with the flap of skin stretched up. I saw her guts, man! You think you know your spouse, but you don't really know her until you see her guts.
And with a little pulling, a miracle occurred. There was a human being in there, a little purple thing bleating like a sheep. The most beautiful sound I ever heard. Matthew Stanley MacNair, the fourth of five generations of MacNair men to have the name Stanley, named after my great-grandfather, my grandfather, and my dad.
Everything I ever lost, now has been returned
In the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
We can hear you
We can hear you
We can hear you
That day seems so far away now, but the anniversary of that day approaches for the 15th time on February 2nd, a Monday this year, so he'll get the big celebration at school. Not that it matters that much. He doesn't understand birthdays, he doesn't understand celebrations such as these. Autism has robbed us of so many things parents get to enjoy.
But fatherhood has given me oh, so much.
He likely doesn't even understand what I mean when I say "I love you, son."
I say it anyway. I love you, son. Happy Birthday. And many, many more.
I woke up at the moment when the miracle occurred
I get so many things I don’t deserve
All the stolen voices will someday be returned
The most beautiful sound I’d ever heard
Your voices will be heard
Your voices will be heard
all song lyrics from The Miracle (of Joey Ramone) by U2
posted by The Man at 11:00 AM
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