Back in Action

I'm back... with soooo much to write about. Aidan is at daycare so Mom and I can try to reclaim some semblance of sanity; the last 5 or 6 or 7 days...uh, I actually have no idea how many it's been..anyway, they have been kind of surreal. First and foremost, mucho props to all of our parents, who basically came to the rescue and played "distract the toddler" the whole time. My mother-in-law was right-- smart kids are hard, and Aidan falls into that category. As such, he's a handful with all the excitement going on, and I barely have enough energy to devote to remembering not to wet myself...so having everyone here was a HUGE help.

Let me recap: Mom went into labor sometime on the 5th...no one (including her) is really entirely sure when because she was having rumblings of contractions as early as 7:00 that morning. Let me just tell you here-- my wife is seriously badass. She not only went to work, but waited until lunch to casually amble over (seriously-- on foot) to the hospital to get checked out. Anyway, once she was there and in labor, things went fairly smoothly (other than her threatening to destroy everyone and everything unless she got an epidural NOW) until near then end. Then Maia's heart rate started to kinda go wacko, and they puttered and poked until they decided it was ok as long as Mom only laid on her right side. Which, of course, was the least comfortable position for her (by the way, once she was born the cause of this was immediately apparent-- her umbilical cord was really really short and because of it she had to be in a certain position or it would stretch, which slowed or cut off the blood flow. All highly scientifical). A few more hours, and hey pretso-- here comes Maia! I helped deliver her (in that I held one of Mom's legs up to help her push) and as a prize I got tsunami'd by what I'm going to forevermore pretend was nice, warm, sterile, plain old water. I got to cut the cord this time, too.

An aside on umbilical cords: cutting through it was much, much harder than I thought it would be. I mean, yeah, the doc told me "it's tough, squeeze hard." Yeah, right, whatever Ms. Delicate Surgeon Hands. But she was right-- even though they gave me scissors, it was kind of like sawing through a wet innertube with a butterknife. I think it would be better for all concerned if babies could be born with their own knives, or Wolverine claws, or something. And they could even give their own episiotomies that way! Head stuck? Just reach up and SNIGGITY-SNAK! Free. Mental note to self: speak with God about that.

Mom recovered quickly, and they sent us home a mere 36 hours after that. Once home, we had out first "ohmygodshe'snotbreathing" moment (she was, of course), followed by a fairly restless first night. What followed THAT was the 24 hours from hell every child is contractually bound to deliver to thier parents at least once in the first year of life. Why, you may ask? In the afternoon of the next day we had a Dr's appointment, where we were told she looked jaundiced and had to go for bloodwork...and also was losing too much weight. Nevermind that all babies lose weight and then gain it (it's just usually not as noticeable because they aren't weighed for a week following discharge) or that many breastfed babies are borderline jaundiced because they aren't crammed full of formula from the get-go. So we went for bloodwork, Aidan in tow. We got home around 7:00 PM, and soon after got a phone call form the doc telling us to go to the Children's Hospital because she was probably going to require treatment. So off we went, Aidan in tow again. To his credit, he was AWESOME-- he was so well behaved that you would have thought he was a 5 year old, especially since we were there until midnight. End result? Nada. According to the doc the next day, she had gained weight and was not jaundiced.

Lesson: Girls are DRAMA. I'm kidding, of course, but her middle name is becoming increasingly appropriate. After that, things have been smooth-- Aidan is adapting very well, which was one of our biggest worries. He's giving her her own binky when she cries, and tells her softly "It' s ok, baby Maia." He wants to hold her, and he gives her goodnight kisses. Pretty firckin' adorable really, and I wonder if he's really my son after all. I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be this well adjusted....I'd probably be trying to figure out a way to feed her to the cats or something. Then again, we have been praising him and bribing him with gifts, so.... maybe he is my kid after all. Actually, come to think of it, he must be. Last night he was singing one of his songs, but he had changed the words to be about Maia. It went (and I swear to God I'm not making this up):

"Baby Maia had a toot, E-I-E-I-O."

Sweet.