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When his buddy flicked on a flashlight and shook him awake at 5 a.m., Alex Wilterdink’s first thought was of a train barreling toward him, its headlight blinding him as it rumbled closer and closer. ...
His second thought: Omigod, Shannon is having the baby.
He shot out of bed, head suddenly clear, not unlike how countless expectant dads have awakened in the middle of every night since the dawn of man.
Except this father-to-be yanked on his standard-issue Marine Corps combat boots and beelined for the nearest computer in Rawah, Iraq, northwest of Baghdad.
Aided by modern technology and connected by a nonprofit group that operates video conferences for American military families, Alex tuned in as Shannon pushed and shoved and fought her way through 12 hours of labor.
Adalie Faith, a 7-pound, 6-ounce girl, wailed her way into the world at 8:43 a.m. Monday, Central time.
Her pops was a long, long way from Bergan Mercy Medical Center in Omaha. But he was right there.
“It was hard. ... I couldn’t hold your hand or anything,” Alex told Shannon Tuesday, as they rehashed the birth via webcam. But, he added: “It was probably the coolest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
The Wilterdinks, married in October, weren’t trying to start a family so soon. They know that Alex, who joined the Marine Corps in 2006, would soon be shipping to Iraq.
But things happened, and the couple, now both 23, found themselves picking out baby names before Alex departed from California’s Camp Pendleton late last year.
Back in the olden days — in, say, the 1980s — the Wilterdinks would have had to make do with letters and photos and maybe a telephone call.
Alex’s own father, a retired Air Force major, once got news of the birth of Alex’s sister via telegram.
But in this brave new world, Shannon posted the ultrasound photos on Facebook. She and Alex talked almost every day of the pregnancy. They contacted a group called the Freedom Calls Foundation, which has set up thousands of such video conferences.
At least one other Omaha serviceman has used a Web camera, when his child was born last December at the Nebraska Medical Center.
When the big day came for Shannon, Alex was there, his face on a computer propped on a table just feet from Shannon’s right shoulder.
Alex and Shannon and Shannon’s sister Sarah Burrell of Omaha played a cross-continental game of “Family Feud” in the slow hours.
The contractions rumbled closer and closer together, and the pain worsened.
Alex asked Shannon what she wanted to eat.
She told her husband in no uncertain terms that she did not care.
“I didn’t know what to say!” Alex said, defending himself Tuesday. “I was just trying to make conversation.”
She wanted to push, to barrel that baby into the world. Alex told her no, hit the brakes, wait for the doctor.
Shannon felt briefly like maybe she wanted to slam the computer into a gazillion pieces and scatter them out of the maternity ward’s windows. “I got a little irritated at the end,” she admitted. “I didn’t get to punch him or anything.”
The contractions got closer, and Alex kept coaching. Keep pushing, honey. You are doing great, you are doing wonderful.
And then at 8:43 a.m. in Omaha — the middle of a sweltering afternoon in Iraq — Adalie Faith Wilterdink arrived.
Her mother caught her first look from an Omaha hospital bed, just like countless moms have before. Then the doctor held the newborn up to the computer screen.
That was how Sgt. Alex Wilterdink met his daughter.
Contact the writer:
444-1064, matthew.hansen@owh.com
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