Our baby Owen has finally arrived. Here's the story.
Friday was a regular day pretty much the same as the four preceding it. Bob practiced his diaper changing in anticipation of baby brother's arrival.
Here's the last photo taken of Bob as an only child. (Man I need to give that boy another haircut.)
I put Bobby to bed, and shortly thereafter started feeling some contractions. We started timing them around 10:00 -- anywhere from 3-10 minutes apart for the next hour or two, not too intense. Before long the contractions were coming every three minutes and I was starting to feel them a bit. I called my mom to come over and Ben and I were on our way to the hospital around 1am. Things progressed quickly from this...
to this...
It all happened way too quickly for any kind of drugs, and let me just say that I pretty much handled it like a champ. I dropped just one f-bomb and let out just a couple of yells and other than that I was calm cool and collected. Or something close to it. Can't you just see the joy on my face when the 7 pound, 14 ouncer popped out at 3:06 am?
When I first saw my boy I made a loving remark about his appearance resembling a homely purple troll... lucky for him he's gotten cuter every minute since he was born. Here he is: Owen Clarke Burgess.
Between the two, let's be honest, labor with an epidural is a lot more fun than labor without one -- but still I'm glad I was forced to go "natural" the second time around. It was a totally different experience. This time I felt much more in tune with what was happening with my body; I really felt where the baby was coming from and what I was doing to push him out. ("Poop that baby out!" the doctor kept yelling.) But when I had the epidural I felt much more in tune with everything else that was happening; I felt more present in the room because I didn't have to focus solely on my pain. Bobby's head I watched emerge; Owen's head I reached down and felt. The best part about the epidural I'd say is that when it's all over you can just be happy holding your new baby, completely unaware of all that's going on down below. This time around I felt it all, and I felt terrible for Owen because I kept wincing at the pain and convulsing with the shivers and maybe using a four letter word or two.
But despite all that, it was perfect. What is more perfect than finally meeting your healthy newborn babe face to face?
Nothing, that's what.
The hospital stay was nice and relaxing -- we had a quiet room at the end of the hall and all the nurses were wonderful. Bob was super excited to wear his new big brother shirt and to give Owen his gift -- a blankie and two suckies. He introduced himself to his baby brother, and then he basically just wanted to terrorize the hospital room -- playing under the bed, trying to use the phone, touching the soiled linen bag...
He liked climbing up onto the bed with Owen and me but had trouble being as calm and gentle as he needed to be.
A "tiny circle" of ice cream is good for ten minutes of peace, as long as you don't mind the chocolate mess.
Owen was a little angel in the hospital. We heard a lot of crying coming from next door but our baby hardly made a peep. Except, that is, when they strapped him down for his circumcision -- he screamed and puked and pooped all over the place and the twenty year old obstetrician who did the dirty deed seemed very concerned, but my question is, doesn't every poor baby boy react that way?
I spent some time alone with Owen while Ben went home to put Bob down for naps and bedtime. Bedtime was the hard one for me. Ben and Bob and Mom and Big Gram were all visiting, and then they all left, and even though I had a little cherub for company, I got pretty lonely pretty quick. Being in that hospital room all alone made me miss my Gram so much. I thought about how she must have felt when we all went home for the night. To make matters worse there was absolutely nothing on tv other than Keeping Up Appearances, which I only watch with Gram. So I watched it, and let myself be sad a little. I was a little weepy also because it was the first night of bob's life that I wasn't there to put him to bed. And even though I knew we could both handle it, and even though I know I have plenty of love to go around, my heart broke a little bit because our special relationship of mother and only son had ended. Things will be different from now on. Different, but still amazingly wonderful. To distract myself from all my sad thoughts I focused on the new beauty in my life and had a little hospital basinette photo shoot.
Less than a day old. What preciousness.
This little pup is the best sleeper so far.
Our attempts at a family photo the next day...
Owen and I got some rest while we waited the requisite four hours after his circumcision and Ben and Bob went home for naptime. Then we watched the end of the Patriots game (lucky timing for Ben since we don't have cable at home) and I ate some lemon dill salmon and we went home with our new little boy.
Bob was waiting with Grandmother when we got home. He gave Owen a warm welcome, running up and covering his face with his blankie and then trying to get me to open up the suckies. After Owen was out of his car seat Bob said, "Tan I hold him?" Music to mom and dad's ears.
Here's the face that sums up how I feel and the inspiration for the title of this post -- happy heart, sad vagina. I popped a suture or two after I got home and let's just say, things haven't been so pleasant since then. At least not in my netherregions.
I've got lots more photos of course, but that should hold you all over for now, right?
We're feeling happy and blessed. All of us except my va-jay-jay that is.
