We had an absolute amazing first week. It was incredibly low key at the hospital, which we loved. It was mostly just your dad and I, laying around, recovering and soaking you in. We went over all of your body parts memorizing you. We held you close, taking in that perfect, quickly fleeting newborn sent. We listened to the sound of your grunts. Laughed at your goofy, newborn facial expressions. And nursed. And nursed. And nursed some more.
For some reason driving you home seemed so much less of a production than it did with your sister. Please don't take that as a lack of excitement, as we were beyond excited. I think we just felt older, more grown up and more prepared. There didn't have to be so much surrounding us bringing you home because it was exactly what we were supposed to be doing. We created you, brought you into this world and now were bringing you home, tucked just as tightly into our hearts as you were into our car. It isn't that it wasn't special, it just didn't seem out of the ordinary. We walked in to a clean house and take out ribs from Chili's (thanks Ama and Pop-pop!) and kept on with our life. Like I said before, we didn't skip a beat. Once you were here, it was just as if you never hadn't been.
So we did the hospital thing. And I pray to God we never have to be in there again. We were there for something pretty darn minor, and that was bad enough. That children's wing is hard to stomach, as is seeing your little, naked 8 day old in a jail-like 'crib' with foam goggles and blue lights. Though I must say. you handled the whole situation much better than I did. We were there for about 30 hours, and were discharged when your levels were at 16.1, to follow up the next day. As to not entirely taint the story of your first month of life with the stress and run around of the second and third week, I'll keep it really brief. Your levels didn't continue to go down, as they should have, and instead went back up, which they definitely shouldn't have. They blamed it on Gilbert's disease, which I was diagnosed with as a senior in high school. They ordered us home photo therapy lights along with daily heel pricks and told us we'd be done when your levels dropped to a 12. After a week, they FINALLY dropped to 12.1. We were so excited to see the next day's results and all but packed up the lights knowing you'd be free. Unfortunately it somehow went UP to 13.6. *#&#^#*#&$&$*#!!!! We. Were. Beyond. Frustrated.
Praise the Lord Brenda got home in time to stop the other doctor from having us go on formula and more testing and anti seizure meds (?!) and we decided to do a test run with part time lights. Your levels stayed the same. So we did a test with no lights. Your levels stayed the same. So we put a big old breast milk induced jaundice label on your two week long jaundice stint that should have been put on it long ago. The home care nurses that came to get your blood sample daily said the longest they had seem babies on lights was ten days. We had your lights for a whopping two weeks. Looking down at you now, sleeping peacefully in my arms, I can't see even a hint of yellow. I am oh so very glad that is behind us.
Your biggest flaw at current is you have realized you like to be held. That the warmth, the sound and feel of a beating heart, and the millions of kisses that are bestowed upon the top of your head is far better than, well, anywhere else. And I can hardly call it a flaw, because honestly, there isn't much that I love more than snuggling a newborn- especially my newborn- either. But seeing as how life doesn't stop and the dishes don't do themselves just because you and I are hanging out in newborn lala land, every now and then, you have to be set down. And when you get set down, you ask to be picked up. And you have discovered that if your sweet, quiet fussing doesn't get the point across that your much more serious, extremely sad sounding "uh-waaaah" cry typically pulls at my heartstrings enough to get you right back where you want to be.
Sometimes when I look at you being smothered by your sticky-fingered 20 month old sister, or woken up with not-as-gentle-as-they-could-be toddler kisses for the 15th time in a row, or while the music blares as we dance to Disney songs or I'm frantically washing chocolate cupcake out of your mouth that your sister kindly 'shared' with you, even though you take it all in stride, I can't help but wonder if God meant to give you a quieter, calmer family. But then as we snuggle every morning after nursing, while Reagan directs that 'RaRa' should lay on my right arm and "Bendent" to lay on the left side of my chest, and she nuzzles your cheek and unpromted, sweetly says " I ov oo Bendent" I know you are exactly where you belong.
I love you little mister and how you somehow made my heart bigger to fit it all this new love in. And oh how I look forward to more of those giant, gummy grins you're starting to give when you catch our eye. That and a whole bunch more of your sweetness.