Last November, on board Air France flight 0443 from Rio, I came across an interesting article in the Time magazine. It was about how first children tend to receive priority in most cases, while many second - or later - children in a family get somewhat overlooked, and how this affects their life developments. I found it interesting and brought it home to Emese to read. Days later she notified me that she was pregnant again. From that moment on the question whether or not we do pay less attention to our second child as well kept coming back. All the way until Wednesday, August 13, 2008, when our son was actually born, and we gave him the name Ivan.
Upon delivery Ivan weighted 3710 g and was 55 cm long. At first glance I found him a bit more contained and quiet: he stopped crying pretty soon after he was measured, started looking around with curiousity and slight dissatisfaction, and after a while simply turned around and went to sleep. Something which I found very respectable and full of dignity of course. But then my first glance was a bit blurred, for I felt very emotional this time again, and I must say, it kept my eyes wet a little longer than I expected - already into the measuring room of the hospital, with a unexplainably jolly young doctor around, asking me questions about the new-born's name and making jokes with me. I should thank him for this of course.
But before I firmly position myself in the centre of this story, let me try and shift the focus back on who deserves it most: Emese. She has been an absolute hero throughout the pregnancy, and of course during the delivery day. Just like the first time, she kept working until literally the last moment. Correction: more than the first time would be right to say, as Emese had her last day in the office on the Friday before giving birth. I do not think she was doing this out of financial necessity or, God forbid, workaholism of any sort. Rather it was her organized nature (did I ever write that Emese's father's family has German descent?) and professional integrity that kept her going until she reached a stage where she could smoothly hand over her projects to someone. I would appreciate this if I were her employer, and I think they do actually.
As a matter of fact, Emese was planning on 2 relaxed last weeks of pregnancy without work, as her term date was expected to be August 23. So it was rather Ivan himself, who took away the pre-nathal vacation away from his mom, by showing up 10 days earlier. We kind of expected an earlier delivery, but never planned around it of course. That is why, on the previous day while Emese was wating for hours to get a regular baby-heart-beat check in the hospital, we were still making plans for completing the renovation works in our flat, visiting the tax office, even going to the Velence lake next weekend - as Balaton seemed too far.
On top of all Maia and myself seemed to have contracted some summer flue from our last weekend's trip to Horgos, and her nose was running so that the nursery attendant asked me on Tuesday to have her checked by doctor before she shows up again. This would normally mean that she should stay home for a few days. That night I hardly slept, struggling with nightmares of Russian tanks roaming through Georgia, with all the noise and voices echoing loud in my head on and on until the morning. At some point I walked to the balcony to observe a beautifully calm summer night, with cicadas outsinging the remote roar of the city. I realized later the night was actually pretty hot, so it was probably my fever that made it look so refreshing, but never mind.
In this desperate condition I could only notice that Emese was waking up and walking around too. She had been doing this for the past weeks, unable to sleep most likely due to her pregnancy. In a parallel process she had been growing increasingly critical and unhappy about myself and any expression of my existence - at least that was my feeling. My good father-to-be training and previous experience with a pregnant Emese did little to help me avoid being criticized and often hated in these days and nights.
But all turned upside down on Wednesday morning when Emese pushed me out of bed, saying: "Come on, let's take Maia to the doctor and to the bolcsi (that is the nursery in Hungarian). Then you need to take me to the hospital."
"What for?", I reacted surprised, "weren't you there yesterday?".
"To give birth!".
Even that wasn't enough for me to understand the gravity: "But have you got contractions?".
"What do you think I have been having fun with all night?" was the answer.
I looked around in dismay, to figure out that a full suitcase was lying on the living room's floor. Emese had packed herself during the night.
From her relaxed tone and mood I misjudged the urgency of the situation and took half an hour to pack some food, feed Maia, and ironed Emese's trousers upon her request. Then we really walked out to the car with all the luggage and Maia in my hands. The doctor's office is very near. While Emese went to collect her last missing lab test result, I convinced the non-English speaking doctor that Maia was okay and he should simply issue a paper for her to go to the bolcsi. He did, and 10 minutes later Maia was in the hands of nanny Ildi, looking somewhat puzzled at the doctor's paper and Maia's still running nose.
Another half hour was the best I could do driving in the packed streets of a city, where August has been chosen to renovate all major roads at the same time. The location of the Medical University Hosipital on Baros and Maria streets' corner is not particularly parking-friendly and that took another 10 minutes. Once we were in I waited for about half hour in front of the delivery room, before an Emese changed into a hospital robe asked me in. Smiling! This is where I realized that things were getting serious.
It took less than 30 minutes from the moment Emese entered the delivery room, to the moment Ivan appeared crying in her hands. But what 30 minutes these were. I helped her a bit to take shower and change again, with her contractions getting closer and closer to one another. The midwife Zsuzsa was very friendly and helpful, and was absent for most of the time, leaving me and Emese together. The latest news we heard from her was that it would take 5 - 6 hours. This is when Emese sent me to the car for her clothes - and I took the chance to bring up the food bag as well and pay the parking for another hour or so. I wasn't even thinking this time would be enough for the baby to be born.
Back into the room, I found Emese seating on a big rubber ball - supposedly to accelerate the process. And accelerate it did - as Emese lied down on the bad, her pain seemingly growing. The midwife advised her to turn on her side for some relief - and so she did. And then... the midwife stated shouting and pointing something behind Emese. With my limited Hungarian I caught the word "the baby"! Emese was in tears, asking me to help her to turn on her back again. The young doctor mentioned earlier - appeared from God knows where, followed by three young chicks in green aprons. I had heard them chat in German earlier and concluded that these must be some visiting medical students. The young man who lead them, later identified as Dr Julius Richard Nagy, had an unstoppable smile on his face and switched to English when I managed to mutter that I do not speak Hungarian. Emese's waters broke with a burst, and he jumped out of the way, to prevent getting soaked, happy as a schoolboy on graduation's day. Baby - no baby - baby - Julius Richard reached out, unpacked something, and took out a blue baby, which immediately started crying. I was ready to start too, standing in the corner close to the bed, which no one had a chance to actually prepare for delivery. Julius Richard then asked the key question: "So what is the name?".
"We don't know", Emese cried out, while handing the baby back to Zsuzsa. "We don't know", I repeated, recalling our failure to come up with a name that meets all the criteria that we had set. Then a word came out from my throat that noone else heard, except for Emese, I thought: "Ivan".
And Ivan he was. His first half hour devoted to meeting his still shaking father, tet-a-tet, after all the staff, including Julius Richard, went back to fix Emese. I had little words, but managed to tell him a few, then sang the Ivan-Shishman song, that contributed, at least partially to the choice of his name. Coming back to my first observations, they may have been very mistaken, as I realized my memories from how Maia was in her first hours and days, have entirely faded out. So comparison was hardly possible, and Emese said that all babies sleep after they are born. The next thing I saw, later that afternoon, was a tiny little smile in the corner of Ivan's mouth. I can only keep fingers crossed now.