He's here... / by Christina Rosalie

The little Sprout is here. Born at 10am on Friday. 7lbs 14oz, 20 inches.

I am currently attempting to remember the fine art of one-handed typing.

It makes everything so much easier to have already done this once. People probably told me this, but I somehow I didn't hear them. Things are so much easier this time.

DH and I both get all the little signals and whimpers and coos. Together, we're a rockstar baby-caring team this time around. We're not shattered by the urgent sound of newborn crying or the gas or the poop. We know things will be okay, and because we know this, everything seems so much more enjoyable. This is not to say I wasn't entirely shocked (and had forgotten completely) by the vast number of diapers a newborn produces in a day. Holy poop.

But also, the little guy seems to be remarkably mellow; perhaps because he got to hang out on my chest wrapped in warm towels for nearly an hour after he was born--before he was even weighed. Maybe all that snuggle time with mama made him a chill babe. That, and the fact that he weighed a good pound more than his brother at birth.

Labor itself was so much shorter--7 hours all told (compared with Bean's 24.) And even though the actual giving birth portion of the program hurt like hell (Worlds Greatest Understatement. No drugs.) I felt much less traumatized afterward, and we went home the same evening after being given the green light from the doctors.

(Perhaps more on that in a separate post. I am a little peeved at doctors right now. And I am totally convinced they are out convince women into thinking they are going to be incapable as mothers. The attending pediatrician asked, after conceding (unwillingly) that there was no reason we needed to stay at the hospital, if I had had any trouble breastfeeding last time because really, I should consider either spending the night at the hospital or picking up formula to supplement with on the way home, just in case I didn't produce enough milk. Um. Right.

With Bean I was scared shitless by all of this, and it totally made me doubt my instincts. With Sprout, I just shrugged. Tried hard not to roll my eyes. And of course he's been a champion nurser and the sweetest little peach. My boobs are the only ones who have forgotten what it was like to have a full time job. Ouch.

All in all I am smitten. He has a dimple when he sleep smiles in his right cheek, and eyelashes as long as Bean's were--but totally different eyes and nose. He smells yummy. And I'm not pregnant. And suddenly, food tastes divine. And Bean is the best big brother ever.