Welcome Little One

Well, wouldn't you know...

At 1:30 a.m. on Thursday, just hours after blogging about my frustration over waiting for my son's birth, the contractions started. At first I thought I just had an upset stomach. But after several trips to the bathroom and ending up doubled over in my mother-in-law's arms, we drove to the hospital at 3:45 a.m.

I delivered William at 2:01 on Thursday afternoon after just 12.5 hours of labor.



William's birth brought a mixture of joy, pride, relief, and disappointment: joy at finally meeting the little man that had started life inside of me and seeing him handsome and healthy...pride at having successfully delivered without having taken childbirth classes...relief that the long pregnancy and the pain of delivery had ended...and the crushing disappointment that followed as I realized that my pain hadn't quite ended just yet.

In fact, the worst was yet to come.

After the nurses carried William away to the warmer in the corner, the attending midwife began stitching the soft tissues between my legs that William had torn on his way out. At 8 lbs., 9 oz. and 20.5 inches long, William's body left me fairly devastated. Even with an epidural, the pain caused by the stitching was incredible.

For weeks I had been subjected to the line that "once you hold your baby in your arms, you forget about the pain of childbirth." I guess that's assuming the pain ends at childbirth. As of right now, sitting down on a chair requires great effort and care and cannot be accomplished without using a pillow that keeps my nether regions floating in midair. My back throbs from the pressure caused by the epidural, and William's attempts at breastfeeding have turned my nipples into two bright red targets of suffering. Only a regular dosing of Percocet, prescription strength Motrin, Dermoplast and witch hazel pads keeps me halfway on my feet.

The intense physical pain, combined with fluctuating hormones and the exhaustion of caring for a fussy newborn, has sent me into hysterics more than once in the past two days. The apartment is currently strewn with baby clothes and blankets, half of them soiled. Dirty dishes litter the living room. A pile of tissues, damp with my tears, lies on the floor beside my bed. My husband reports back to work in a week, which will leave me to care for the baby almost entirely on my own. And I can barely move.

But then I look at this precious little face...



...and ask myself if it's worth it.

Absolutely, unequivocally, yes. I have been smitten.

And I'm pretty sure this guy has been, too.



Welcome little baby.