Get the Ball Rolling

I had every intention of writing a very moving and meaningful post all about my labor experience. Perhaps that will come, but it is not coming now. So I'm going to acknowledge that and move on so that I can tell you about all the crazy things that have happened since. My sweet mother-in-law is here today helping me out, which is allowing me some time to sit in front of the computer and CATCH UP, FOR GOD'S SAKE. I had 179 emails from facebook ALONE. I currently have 16 voice mails. I am overwhelmed by the caring nature of my people and I hope that people forgive the fact that, in having a baby, I dropped off the planet. It's a decent excuse, right?

Patrick and I are adapting pretty well to this new, colossal change in our lives. We are getting a system for who does what and when. We are learning Colin's little quirks and figuring out how to read his signals. Caring for a newborn is a seemingly simple thing - I've done it for my sisters, for the Best Nephew Ever, even for babysitting strangers. But now we're talking about MY KID. I am suddenly obsessively overcautious and have a crazed need to see each of his breaths with my own eyes. Last night I was given a gift from God - Colin slept for five and a half hours at five days old - and I threw it away by poking him every ten minutes to make sure he was still alive and trying to get him to eat.

We are also enjoying some of the finer aspects of sleep deprivation. Like when Patrick asked if I wanted to lie flatter while I was feeding Colin and I replied, "What's a life ladder?" Or when I tried to take a picture of Patrick holding Colin with my glasses on the top of my head and I freaked out because our camera wouldn't focus. Patrick readily admits that this is so, so much worse than being on call and working all night. In that case you get to sleep the whole next day, or at least be relieved of some responsibility. Here - relentless responsibility. Not that I would let anyone else take care of him. Or, you know, hold him.

He looks more like Patrick with every passing second. His dark hair, his hairline, his mouth, his ears, the shape of his eyes. Poor thing seems to have gotten my nose, however, and for that I will be forever sorry. He seems to have escaped Patrick's eyebrows, though, which is lucky.

We're figuring out the whole feeding thing - it's going well now, but was the cause of all kinds of concern and frustration while we were in the hospital. I'll tell you all about that later, but let's just say that the inpatient peds residents are a little jumpy and could use a dose of reality. I would certainly rather they err on the side of caution, of course, but SERIOUSLY. He's fine. Let us go home now.

On the whole, we are doing well. Really well. If we could sleep, we'd be deliriously happy. As it is, we're pleased but mostly nervous and terrified that we'll do something wrong. Like today when Colin finally pooped and it was such an enormous volume that it soaked through the diaper, his onesie, his pants, his blanket, and the bouncer seat. And I was sitting right there and changed him immediately. Surely I could have done something to keep that mess from happening and making him uncomfortable. Or last night, when Patrick woke himself up seven times because he'd dreamed that the pillow he was snuggling with was the baby and he was smothering it. Ah, guilt. Welcome home.