The day my friend almost gave birth in my apartment

The beautiful mother-daughter pair

I remember it being an unseasonably warm Friday in November. It was the day of the week when I worked from home and didn’t have to worry about getting out of my pajamas. Quite obviously, this incident is from a few years ago when I was a corporate slave in New York City. 

My morning had just begun. I had turned on my laptop, responded to a couple of emails so it would look like I was working and was in the process of figuring out what I was going to eat for breakfast, when the phone rang. It was Aparna. 

“Hey,” she said. “Can I come over and hang out at your place for a while?”

An unusual request for a Friday morning. Fortunately, being a dear friend, I could ask her why. 

“My contractions have started,” she responded. 

So you’ve obviously figured out that Aparna was incredibly pregnant. 

And what good would I be in this situation?

“My doc wants me to come to the hospital only when the contractions are about 5 minutes apart,” she continued.

Suddenly I had lost my appetite for breakfast. 

I should probably give you a little background about why my apartment was a good place for her to hang out at, while she waited for her contractions to be more frequent. Aparna lived in Hoboken, New Jersey  while her hospital was in Manhattan, a 10 minute taxi ride from where I lived. 

A short while later I buzzed her in and she made herself comfortable on my futon.

“Carry on with whatever it is that you were doing,” she said. “Just pretend that I’m not here.”

Ha! In addition to pretending to work, I was now going to pretend that there wasn’t a woman about to give birth in my living room. Piece of cake! I sat down at the dining table, staring at my laptop, worrying about the ‘what if” scenario. 

What if she actually had the baby in my apartment? I had seen some movies and knew that I would need blankets and warm water. Except I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with them. Was I going to have to get rid of my almost new futon mattress if the baby was born here?

“How far apart are your contractions now?”, I asked.

“I’d say about 10 minutes,” she replied, seeming remarkably cool about the entire situation. 

“Don’t you think you should call Ankur?” 

The husband, who should be by your side. 

“He had a really important meeting today,” she responded dismissively, as she began leafing through the New Yorker. 

Was it stress or was it getting really warm? I cracked open a window. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked turning towards her. 

Her face was completely scrunched up and she was holding her stomach. 

“Ow” is all she said, while I looked at my watch to begin timing the contractions for myself.

The television went on. There was no sense in even trying to pretend to work. I began loudly chopping crunchy vegetables. May as well make lunch, I thought

“You’re freaking me out,” she said. “Sit down and relax.”

Words that I thought I should be saying to her.

Seven minutes later the face scrunched up again. Once the pain had passed, I decided that I now had to take matters into my own hands. 

“I’m calling Ankur even if you aren’t” I said sternly. 

She gave me an exasperated look and began dialing his number. It went to voice mail and she began leaving him a message.

“Ratan’s insisting that I let you know that the contractions are about 7 minutes apart. And that maybe you should come over. But I really don’t think there’s a need for you to rush.”

‘Maybe you should come over?’, ‘No need to rush?’. What kind of a message is that to leave for an expectant father from an expectant mother who is very close to having a baby? And what's the deal with the father who lets his wife's call go to voice mail at a time like this?

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” she said hanging up.

Except that I wasn’t so sure. It was time to change into my street clothes and prepare to take her to the hospital myself. I was pretty sure that the baby was rolling her eyes wondering when her parents would understand the urgency of the situation. 

The contractions were now 6 minutes apart. Or maybe I had mistimed them and it was really 5 minutes. 

“Okay,” I said commandingly. “Let’s go jump into a cab.”

Funny picture - a 9 month pregnant woman ‘jumping’ into a cab. 

As she began slowly lifting herself up, the phone rang.

Saved by the bell.

It was the husband. He was downstairs. 

“Grab my stuff,” she said. 

“Gladly!” I replied, ecstatic to see her leave!

So it turns out that there was no need for me to panic. Aparna went through a pretty long labor and little Mira didn't make an entrance into the world until 2 am. I dropped by the hospital to see her the next evening and Aparna, Ankur and I had a good laugh.

“I wish you could have seen your face,” Aparna said looking at me. “Can't believe I didn't think of taking a picture!”

Wasn’t funny then but yeah, it was funny now.