Ellis,
On the day you were born your father and I woke up at 4:30am. It wasn't hard since we'd only halfway slept for 3 hours anyway. We grabbed our bags and drove the longest drive of our lives. Neither of us could believe that day was THE day even though we felt as if we had been waiting our whole lives for you. Your father had a countdown on his watch from the first week we found out you were growing inside me. It was a ritual to check it every day even though we knew exactly how long it was until you were due. Your official due date was your Grandmother Geneva's birthday. She would have loved you so much. It makes your father and me sad every day that she's not here to hold you.
Because you were so big, my doctor decided it would be dangerous for me to try to have you naturally, so we had to schedule a c-section to bring you into the world on January 11th 2006. It was very hard for me to make that decision because I knew it would mean that I wouldn't be allowed to hold you right after you were born. But that was the way it had to be and I knew that your father would be right with you for those precious first moments of your life.
We got to the hospital at 6am and I was prepped for surgery. The nurse bruised the hell out of my hand trying to get a vein for the IV. It was still bruised 3 weeks later. Still, nothing could quell my excitement. After being told what to expect during the surgery they wheeled me into the operating room alone. Your father had to wait outside. I think that was the worst part for me. The anesthesiologist put a needle in my back and in 5 minutes I couldn't feel anything below my neck and I couldn't think about anything except that I was about to meet you.
Your father came in the room and told me that they had already started to open me up. I had no idea. It only took 5 minutes for the doctor to tell your dad to peek over the curtain to see your head as it came out. You were still blue and had your umbilical cord wrapped around your neck tightly. This scared your dad to death but as soon as the rest of you came out you turned a perfect shade of pink and screamed and peed your way into the world. I teared up at the sound of your first cry and as they brought you around the curtain for me to look at you I had to blink the tears away. The first thing I said when I saw you for the first time was "He looks just like his dad!" And you still do.
When people talk about seeing their children for the first time they often talk about feeling a rush of love that comes over them. I didn't feel that. What I felt was an instant and intense deepening of love for you that I already had so much of in the core of my being. It was like you had always been with me, just waiting for the right moment to make an appearance. It felt like everything was finally just as it should be.
The doctor sewed and stapled my body back together as you and your dad went on your first big adventure together. You were weighed, measured, tested and bathed and all the while your father was right by your side. He was the first one to hold you and you knew him instantly. Once I was wheeled into the recovery room he kept running back and forth between the two of us making sure we were both OK. After the nurses were finished evaluating you they finally brought you to me and allowed me to hold you and try to feed you. I wish I remember more about what it felt like to hold you for the first time, but I was on a lot of medication and that has stolen many of those first moments. I do remember one of the nurses marching in with a bottle of formula in her hand and railroading your dad and I into making you take it when you didn't latch on to my breast in .5 seconds. Luckily we're both fast learners and by the time we left the hospital 4 days later we were pros.
That first day all I remember doing is staring at you. Drinking you in. I remember how amazing it was that your pinky fingernail was so tiny. I remember how incredible it was that you were already holding your head up for 30 seconds at a time. I remember loving your red hair and blue eyes and your toes and your nose and feeling like I was empty if I wasn't holding you. I remember how I fell even more in love with your dad watching him change your first diaper, and swaddle you and watching how excited he was to finally get to know you.
The first couple of weeks after the surgery were the most wonderful and the most difficult days of my life. I was elated to hold you and care for you, and I was crushed by the pain and humiliation of recovery. Your father is a saint. He took such good care of the both of us during that time. He helped me dress, shower, eat, use the restroom, sleep and walk. He jumped up to comfort you every time you made a peep. And even though it killed me not to be able to do the same, you had what you needed in your dad.
You are such a different baby now from when we first brought you home. You get cuter every day. You know your father and I, and GP (Grandma Paula) and like to stare at us while we hold you. You noticed your mobile for the first time last week and it mesmerized you. You can tell the difference in my appearance when I have my glasses on and when I don't. Just tonight you recognized that your dad was wearing a hat and would follow it when he took it off and then look back at him as if you were working it all out in your head. You are a really laid back little guy. You mostly cry when you're hungry, gassy or dirty. We haven't yet been faced with a long period of crying when we couldn't calm you down. It's really hard to hear you cry. Some deep primal instinct makes me need to make it better right then. I don't think that will ever go away.
You're usually up twice in the night, sleeping four hours at a stretch. Your dad and I are still trying to get used to waking up. Your GP has been here since you were born to get to know you and to help us out. Nights are her favorite time because when your dad and I just can't stay awake anymore we take you to her and the two of you have a few hours of sleeping and bonding. I think you're going to really miss her when she leaves on Sunday. Your father had to go back to work when you were 2 weeks old. It's hard for him to leave you for so long every day. If we had it our way we'd both stay home with you. Maybe one day we'll be able to do that. Until then, he'll spend as much time with you as possible.
Your sisters (the dauggers) are so great with you. Chloe is your protector. When you cry she's right there to make sure you're OK. When a new person holds you she sits right next to them to make sure they don't hurt you. She even rolls around in your clothes. Bella-dog loves you so much that she has even sacrificed a toy or two just to be near you and give you slobbery kisses on your toes. You were already used to hearing them bark and growl while they play from hearing them when you were inside of me. You don't even flinch when they get crazy.
We learn something new about each other every day, little one. We're still settling into routines and figuring out what works and what doesn't. I love every second I have with you. A lot of people say that their lives are unrecognizable when they have a baby. I think that our lives are still very much the same. You fit into our world so perfectly it's like you were always here.
I love you little man.
Love,
Mom
