| “Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here |
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| Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then . . .”
–from “The Windhover”, by Gerard Manley Hopkins |
Today we played peek-a-boo. He’s cooing on the floor at my feet (don’t worry, we sprayed for spiders) and I thought I might have a little time to share some of the joys and challenges of the last 8 weeks. A full week after my due date, little Atticus seemed content to stay where he was in my tummy, so we offered a little bit of encouragement in the form of Pitocin. The advantage to induction, however strange it may seem to check yourself into the hospital feeling perfectly healthy, is that we arrived rested, fed, and showered.
I even got to bring my labor buddies, who had sworn to do my every bidding for the duration:
I’m so glad that I had my sweetheart Paul and my wonderful mom there with me.
Dad was left with the challenge of taking a regressing potty-trainer to church, a task nearly equal to giving birth.
I won’t say much about the labor here. It lasted 7 hours. Here we are playing Settlers of Catan during the early stages:
We had just enough time to finish the game before they broke my water. If you’re wondering who won, it was Mom, as usual. (If I had won, no one would have believed it.)
After the game, it was time for the real battle. I don’t like to think about this part of the story. It’s still too soon. Everything went fine.
It was awful.
Pushing was shorter than with Charlotte; I had a better idea of what I needed to do and how close I really was to meeting the baby. Atticus bruised his face purple on the way out, and somehow managed to get his shoulder stuck for a push or two. The medical team did a great job.
I’ll always remember his face in those first few moments of birth: still and discolored, so still it looked almost cold. I must have froze too, waiting, watching, nearly alone in that room full of bustling people. All the time, I was warmed by a feeling, a stillness itself, that everything would be okay, despite my waves of panic. The seconds divided, and then he gasped a great breath and gave his first tiny cry. My joy came in floods. I am so happy to be his mom.
They checked him out, especially his troublesome shoulder that got in the way; everything looked great.
I felt such an immediate closeness to him. We each understood something of the other’s suffering, relief, and the thrilling happiness at life.
The bruising on his face changed from a purplish gray to a tomato red over the following days, before settling into a perfect newborn pink. The doctors tried to forewarn me about it, but I was already in love.
He still makes this face (below) when he’s feeling disappointed; for example, when he thinks I’m going to feed him and instead I lay him down for a diaper change. He’s perfected it since then; now it’s far more pathetic.
According to the camera, I finally got to hold him 14 minutes after his birth. If I hadn’t been restrained by that IV . . . Truthfully, however, I’m lucky. They didn’t have to rush him over to the NICU while I was forced to wait on the sidelines. Just a quick look-over and then he was mine to keep. Forever.
His first phone conversation:
I’m trying to remember why I look so happy and peaceful in this picture . . . there are a million reasons.
He aced the breastfeeding class in Heaven. Knew just what to do.
I finally let Paul hold him:
It was then, as I watched the two of them together, that I started leaning toward the name Atticus Paul. He even has his Papa’s toe.
It’s also the same toe as his Grandpa Stephen’s.
My dad rushed over to the hospital to meet us. I used to picture this moment over and over, when Charlotte would get to meet the baby. It was bliss. She was so purely happy. I’ll never forget her laughter.
She smothered him with kisses.
He blew her a raspberry.
We hope they will always be such good friends.
I was so proud to show him off to my dad.
Atticus cozied right up.
Mom was fantastic. I have her to thank for most of these photos. Not to mention blazing the trail to motherhood with kindness and love.
Charlotte was begging to hold the baby again and again. When the nurse tried to hold him, she burst into tears.
Inseparable.
(I’m in the chair holding Atticus; Charlotte was not about to let either one of us out of her sight. )
Paul suggested that the baby likes songs. Charlotte was giddy to oblige him with a loud and boisterous version of “Jesus Said Love Everyone,” smack against his eardrum and including her special ending, “when your heart is filled with love, Brother will love you”. She still sings to him every day.
It had only been about 45 minutes or so, and his face already looked so much better. He did not like his bath. He did like Grandpa’s finger. (Paul has spent hours with his pinky in the baby’s mouth. Atticus doesn’t care for mine at all. To keep Charlotte’s fingers out, we often tell her that “only Papa’s finger has milk.”
Despite being half-starved from fasting and exertion, I somehow didn’t get much of that first meal. It turns out my family loves hospital food. “Free cookies!’
The end of a long day.
I love this little boy ferociously. He fills my life with sweetness. I would do anything for him.
