Last week, we were a family of four--two boys and two girls (three girls and three boys if you count the cats, but most of the time I don't). Last week, we hadn't fully installed a car seat, put batteries in the bouncy seat, or picked out a name.
Last week, we didn't know you. I knew your patterns; your kicks; your 3 a.m. parties that hadn't included an invitation for me to join yet. I hadn't smelled that new baby smell in over five years. I hadn't changed a diaper in three years. And, if we're being honest, I had forgotten exactly what it's like to fall in love.
"Dad," I overheard RJ, "I just feel like I want to look at her all the time, and hug her, and hold her all the time." "That's love," came the response. "You're in love with your new sister."
Today, the car seat is locked in; the bouncy seat bounces merrily, and you have a name:
Betsy Grace
A week ago, I cautioned that it's a whole new world out here. Indeed it is, and you entered with gusto. So much gusto in fact that I heard one of the doctors tell me, or your dad, or both of us (there were a lot of medications flowing), "Good luck with that at home." You came into this world early in the morning, and I have no doubt you sounded the alarm for so many new moms that day.
But, being born is hard work, and with the exception of diaper changes, you were and remain the calmest of my three. The first night home, you slept six hours! Of course, this was after I RSVP'd and accepted your invitation to the 3 a.m. party, but these days we can sleep in a little in the mornings.
You won't remember this moment; but I will forever.
They'll remember this one forever too.
If your brother's eyes look a little swollen, it's because he burst into tears when he first saw you. When I asked him what was the matter, he tearfully blinked, "Mom, these are happy tears; kids can have happy tears too."
They're pretty proud of you.
Three days in the hospital is a long time. There's no real time of day there; nurses come and go at all hours and every hour. Every so often, they poke you, prod you, and ask you to do things that aren't fun at all. I'll spare you the details--even someday when you have your own. Let's pretend all birthdays are fun ones with party hats instead of surgical caps and fruit punch instead of jello for lunch, shall we?
And, in the family tradition, it took a few minutes to find a name. The name card on your hospital crib read "B.G.," as in Baby Girl, as in girl-with-no-name.
But discussions were had; and decisions were made.
And soon,
It was time
to take off your hospital onsie (because they wouldn't let me dress you in anything cute until then), and
take you home.
"Mom," Gigi shouted as she dropped your hand from hers, "is her tummy cord electric?! Will I get shocked?!"
"What is that smell? It smells amazing!"
(If I could bottle the scent of a newborn's head, I'd be a millionaire.)
You have a sweet big brother.
I do appreciate the 3 a.m. party invitations, but girl, let's work on the kick-off time. Your mother is old. And tired.
It turns out Maternity Mom is similar to Vacation Mom. We both love selfies (and margaritas but not until the pain meds wear off).
Less than a week old, and already happy dreams. Welcome home, Bets;
we can't wait to get to know you.
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