8:40 p.m.
I'm calling a few friends and family, but still holding the little guy. I'm enamored by him. Dawn will be breastfeeding shortly.

8:20 p.m.
I've been holding my son since shortly after his birth. I can't put him down. Dawn's BP is increasing and she should be able to breast feed soon and hold her baby.

7:40 p.m.
I get to carry my child back to our hospital room as they push Dawn down the hallway in her bed. Her blood pressure is low and she's shaking uncontrollably from the hormone changes and drugs. I can't take my eyes off my son.

7:32 p.m.
I cut the umbilical cord.

7:30 p.m.
Now I've become the OR photographer. I take a million photos -- the weigh-in (7 lbs. 8 oz, 19 3/4 inches), the washing off and APGAR scoring, putting on his wrist bands, etc. Dawn is having her placenta pushed out of her. They're really working her over and she's just lying there unphased, staring across the room at her baby.

7:28 p.m.
Our baby is born. Dr. Hoegh lifts him up and holds him over the sheet for Dawn to look at. He opens his eyes and stares at her and she cries. I want to take a photo but I'm completely frozen. I'm watching one of the most incredible introductions I've ever seen and can't lift the camera off my lap. I've always heard that the moment when a baby meets its mother is one of the most wonderful things you can witness. It's true.

7:26 p.m.
A baby cries. The anesthesiologist tells me it's okay to stand and peek over the sheet at my son. I stand up and I can see him. He's not at all what I expect -- he's way more wonderful than I could imagine and all I can see is his head. I start crying and they tell me to sit back down. Dawn looks at me and all I can do is nod and sob.

7:25 p.m.
Dawn is handling this like a champ and I can tell by the conversations that something is happening. Dawn feels like someone is standing on her chest; apparently that's the baby being pulled from her abdomen. It's getting real.

7:20 p.m.
Dawn is getting jostled around like crazy. Dr. S. is there to tell us when Dawn will be feeling pressure, etc. But then a strange thing happens -- he suddenly goes home for the night and his replacement comes in and introduces himself to me.

7:16 p.m.
I'm "called in" and directed to a pink stool right by Dawn's head. I have no idea what to expect and so I just start talking to her and encouraging her and running my hands softly on her face. There is a blue sheet between me and the doctors so I can't see what's going on, which adds to my crazy thoughts. I look to the side and see a scene out of a movie, as bloody rags are tossed into a silver pan on the floor. Cue Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" in my mind and my eyes start welling up with tears. I talk to Dawn, who is surprisingly alert, and it calms me.

7:05 p.m.
Dawn is wheeled into the operating room and I'm told to sit outside "until they call me." Now I'm worried. Every time a nurse walks through the swinging door I can see Dawn and the tears well up.

7:00 p.m.
We're going in for the C-section. Dad has to wear a white jump suit over his clothes, a hairnet, mask, and booties over his feet. Dad is also running on adrenaline and his mind is going a mile a minute.

6:40 p.m.
A mini-conference is held with Susan, Dr. Hoegh, Dawn and myself at the foot of Dawn's bed. They're pushing for a C-section. We're not exactly on board but are trusting their judgment. It would be a shame for all the work Dawn has done to seemingly go to waste.

6:30 p.m.
Susan returns and says she is advising we agree to a Cesarean section because of the fact that the baby's heart rate is at an alarmingly high level and Dawn's fever isn't decreasing. She is consulting Dr. Hoegh concerning her thoughts.

6:15 p.m.
Susan returns to check Dawn's cervix and finds that no progress has been made; she's still dilated to just over 3 cm. Susan seems worried, especially since Dawn is running a fever over 100 Fahrenheit and is not responding to antibiotics.

5:20 p.m.
Dad's hungry and ready for the stretch run. The hospital cafeteria provides a very mediocre piece of primavera pizza with wheat crust and a chocolate chocolate chip muffin.

5:15 p.m.
Dr. S. (anesthesiologist) just popped in again (I believe that's his third time since putting in the epidural), apparently doing his rounds.

5:10 p.m.
So much for a centimeter per hour, Dawn's still only dilated to three. She's also running a fever so they gave her some Tylenol. Susan put in a local uterine monitor to monitor the exact strength of the contractions (before now they were only able to monitor contraction length), so they can more accurately administer Pitocin. The silver lining to the fact that her cervix isn't any more dilated than two hours ago is that she isn't quite to four centimeters yet, which is some sort of "magic number" when it comes to cervix dilation. They continue to watch baby's heart rate closely.

3:05 p.m.
Susan came in (she's delivered two babies already today) and broke Dawn's water, which she indicated was somewhat difficult with baby now at 0 to +1 Stage (i.e., his head is ready to come out as soon as the cervix (which is now 100% effaced) is dilated to 10 cm. Susan said that Dawn is now moving at a centimeter per hour in terms of dilation, so at that rate it would be 10 p.m. before the pushing stage, which lasts anywhere from 1-3 hours. It's still uncertain whether or not our son's birthday will be December 14 or 15, but it will be one of the two.

2:40 p.m.
Ashley said Susan will be in shortly to try and break Dawn's water. I feel bad for Dawn, she needs some good rest, but they need to keep this thing moving because the baby needs to come out and Dawn probably wants him out of there ASAP now that she's at the hospital.

2:10 p.m.
Ashley and I helped Dawn move to her back because "baby is being particular and doesn't want you to lay on your [right] side." I'm just following orders and listening to the professionals. I looked at the monitors while we did this and saw that baby is now in "-1 Stage," which is better than his previous -2. Zero Stage is when baby's head is even with the cervix, so we could see some action soon. Especially if Susan comes back and breaks the water. I bet she's off delivering a few babies right now.

2:00 p.m.
Dawn sleeps while I sit here getting caught up on RELEVANT Magazine, which recently had its first two monthly issues ever, successfully putting me two months behind in keeping up with my reading. Ashley enters as I finish that sentence and moves Dawn's NST monitors around a little (they do this fairly often to be sure they're getting clear, accurate readings).

1:40 p.m.
Ashley checks Dawn's cervix and is able to stretch it to 2 cm in hopes that it will "get something started." There is talk of breaking Dawn's bag of water.

12:30 p.m.
Dawn is getting some much-needed rest. The contractions continue but she can sleep soundly through them now. Dad hits the lunch buffet.

12:06 p.m.
Dr. Superlongandweirdname comes in to administer the epidural. It's quite a procedure, and Dawn takes it like a champ.

11:45 a.m.
Ashley wheels in the epidural carts. Dawn is drifting in and out of sleep.

11:20 a.m.
Ashley provides some relief in the form of a second dose of Fentenol. Dawn will have to okay an epideral as her next form of pain relief, but Ashley suggests we do that instead of dose three of Fentenol (she explains that the third dose doesn't always combat the steeped contractions all that well).

11:10 a.m.
The first dose of Fentenol is wearing off and the contractions (thanks to the continuous increase in Pitocin doses) are getting worse. How do women do this without drugs? Dawn is really squirming.

10:35 a.m.
Dawn bursts to life with a cough and her eyes popping open. It makes me wonder for a second if she hadn't actually been breathing for the last 14 minutes. She takes bathroom break #50 and comes out complaining about the height of the toilet for the 50th time. Strange things complained about so far: Picture on the wall (five times), height of toilet (nine times), air handling system (three times). I love you, honey.

10:21 a.m.
She's out like a light. Mouth hanging open and everything. This is about the best thing that could happen to her right now. She's so tired and has a long day ahead.

10:20 a.m.
Okay, she seriously may be intoxicated. The verbal exchange we just had was about as bizarre as any conversation I've ever had. With a drunk person. On Fentenol.

10:15 a.m.
Dawn says she feels drunk. The Fentenol causes dizziness in the first few minutes of the drip. I'm looking at her right now and she seems relaxed for the first time since yesterday morning. Probably since she's drunk. On Fentenol.

10:10 a.m.
After upping the dose of Pitocin again, Dawn has had it. She's exhausted after being up virtually all night with contractions. Her contractions are now two minutes apart and have been for a while, and they are strong. Ashley administers Fentenol to take the edge off the contractions. This is a drug that can be given in advance of an epiderul (which is like the pain killer of all pain killers). With Fentenol, the peaks of the contractions are not as painful and it will help Dawn to loosen up (her neck and shoulders are tense).

9:50 a.m.
Ashley returns and Susan, our midwife, is back again. She is apparently delivering two other babies on the floor today (before Dawn), so she's fairly busy but should easily be freed up before our baby is ready (which makes us both realize how long the day ahead will be). She checks Dawn's cervix and she's still dilated at 1 cm and has a "good bloody show" (normally an oxymoron, but not in this case). She says Dawn is 90% effaced and the baby is engaged at -2. This means that his head is right there where it needs to be.

9:25 a.m.
Ashley's back and the contractions are getting nasty. She measures Dawn's temperature and finds her slight fever from the previous night has seemingly gone away thanks to our old friend Tylenol.

9:00 a.m.
Ashley arrives to administer the Pitocin and thus kick in the serious contractions. The dose is supposed to be increased every 20 minutes or so and will continue to increase the pain of the contractions with each dose.

8:00 a.m.
Our nurse Mandy has completed her shift after staying with us all night. Dr. Hoegh and nurse Ashley arrive to remove the Cervadil and check Dawn's cervix. She is now dilated for the first time to a whopping 1 cm. Dawn is free to take a Whirlpool bath and walk around as she's disconnected from the machines for at least an hour.

12:00 a.m. - 6:15 a.m. Friday Dec. 14
Contractions continue to ramp up and Dawn is having to practice breathing through them. The nurse returns what seems like every 15 minutes to check on her, and every few hours to check vital signs (the actual signs, not the album by Survivor). Daddy tries to sleep and gets 4-5 hours. Dawn gets very little sleep.

11:00 p.m.
We're lying together in the hospital bed watching videos on my iPod while Dawn starts to have cramping that leads to contractions. The Cervadil is officially working right in the middle of "Half Light" by Athlete.

9:30 p.m.
Answering a bunch of medical history questions and wondering if we're going to sleep through the night. We officially write the baby's first name on one of the forms. Middle name is still being debated.

9:15 p.m.
Dawn is started on Cervadil, which is a medication that will be administered for the next 12 hours to help induce dilation. Petocin will be administered in the morning.

8:30 p.m.
Dawn is hooked up to the NST again. This time in a cool bed with controls and a built-in TV remote.

8:00 p.m.
Arrival at Iowa Methodist Maternity Center. We won't see Cooper again until he's got a brother.

7:30 p.m.
A quick drive-thru at Fazoli's. Mommy needs fuel, but since they put mayo on her sandwich the only fuel eaten is breadsticks.

6:00 p.m.
Cooper gets little attention as bags are packed and adrenaline pumps.

4:30 p.m.
Back at Midwife Services, Susan recommends we induce as soon as possible because the placenta "ages" very quickly when a mother is overdue and the amniotic fluid situation is not going to improve. She says baby is very healthy now so we should get him out while he's not at any serious health risk. We ask, "How soon is 'soon?'" Her response: "Tonight at 8:00 I think you should go in." Jaws drop and stomachs turn.

4:10 p.m.
Ultrasound at Iowa Methodist. This is our second ultrasound and baby doesn't even fit on screen. What was originally supposed to be standard procedure turned out to return shocking news -- the test found that Dawn's amniotic fluid level is not in the preferred range and we were directed back to Susan at Midwife Services.

11:30 a.m.
Lunch at Manhattan Deli. It's Dawn's first time eating there but she doesn't eat the Ultimate Grinder, although it's Thursday, so it's "Grinder Day." My Grinder is superb. As usual.

11:00 a.m.
The NST test takes a while but the results look great, according to our midwife. The nurses seem relieved, which makes me wonder if they were more worried than they let on. Nonetheless, we're optimistic. Our midwife Susan recommends that we induce on December 19, which would be 42 weeks if you're following along. She also orders an ultrasound to be done ASAP (standard procedure). Turns out ASAP translates to 4:00 p.m. in medical terms, and 4:10 p.m. in Dawn and Aaron's poor punctuality terms.

10:00 a.m.
At Midwife Services, we find out Dawn is not dilated at all (huge bummer). The midwife recommends an NST (Non Stress Test) to see how baby's heart rate is doing and to monitor contractions and other uterine activity. The test is apparently administered because baby is only measuring 38 weeks, which is apparently a little small for someone at 41 weeks. This NST machine is the type of machine Dawn will be hooked to upon arrival to the delivery room. Except maybe not as old-school looking. It looks like a dentist's chair that Norman Rockwell would have probably worked into one of his paintings.

9:45 a.m.
Midwife appointment. Going in, we're expecting Dawn to be slightly dilated (since she's a week past due) but overall unsure what the day will bring. It is warm(er) today (high of 34 F) and the sun is shining for the first time in what seems like days. Ice is melting off the trees and icicles are dropping from stoplights, some of them coming incredibly close to our car as we pass beneath. The parking lots are slippery.

8:06 a.m. Thursday, Dec. 13
Aaron gets his second speeding ticket (first in Iowa). Doing 57 in a 45. Crappy start to the day.