Two days of Owen William

I wrote this at 1115 on Saturday. I'd like to post some pictures, but I can't find the camera. We're back home, and believe it or not, things are not perfectly organized, running like a well-oiled machine. So day-old words for now, pictures to come later.

Background: Owen William was born at 1803 on 5 July, weighing 7lbs 7oz, 21 inches long.

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There is no way I could summarize the last 52 hours. It's hard to believe that 52 hours ago, two of us, one pregnant, had just arrived at the hospital. For hours of induced labor, I didn't even seem to me that it would end in childbirth. I knew it, but it didn't really believe it. Previously, Kerry had just been pregnant, and that's what we had done for nine months. Then, it was labor, and seemingly, that, too, would go on for quite a while.

It didn't, as these things are reckoned. 11 hours after arriving, and following about an hour-and-a-half of pushing, Owen arrived. I have never seen anyone as focused as Kerry was at the end. She said pushing was the hardest thing she has ever done, and I'm not going to argue. Epidural or no, relatively short labor or no, she was tired, and that last part hurt. But she was strong and did every thing she had to to bring our baby into the world.

It was tough on Owen, too. He was a grumpy little dude for the first 18 hours of his life. With his eyes swollen from delivery, when he scowled, he looked like Yoda. Sometimes when his little, fuzzy hair stands out on his head, he looks like old Jack Nicholson. (I mention these likenesses just to illustrate that, apparently, childbirth hormones can play havok with dads' thinking, too. But it should go without saying that Owen may be the cutest baby ever.)

He can still work himself into a frenzy quite quickly. (Yes, "still". It's amazing to me that I'm so quick to perceive patterns in his behavior. With Owen at 36 hours of age, I was already saying things like, "He used to like breastfeeding in the football hold, but not anymore.") In fact, if Genghis brings home any name from the hospital besides "Owen William", it will be "Mr Furious". He can turn himself deep red, top to toes, in seconds, and when he cries hardest, his lower lip starts shaking at about 5Hz. He has a high-pitched shriek that is reserved for the most hideous events, such as a particularly offensive donning of clothes. We can only hope that shriek can be summoned up in stores, restaurants, etc, for years to come.

Many people have told us that being a parent makes you appreciate what is really important. It's already true, as the #1 topic of discussion and action has been eating. At least once every 3 hours, we are reminded that eating is important for our little guy, and yet, he's not born knowing exactly how to do it. Breastfeeding, which any casual observer might think would be the most natural thing in the world, is not the most natural thing in the world. It is a precise dance between mom and baby. When the latter is uncommunicative (apart from screaming at times), and the former is receiving incomplete and sometimes contradictory dance steps, it can be difficult. So far, each of our best sessions have been followed by at least two terrible ones. (Remember that pattern-observation thing I was talking about?) We're both convinced of the goodness of breastfeeding, but of course it is Kerry who most directly feels the pressure to be a "good mother" and nurse. When your baby is bawling and not eating, all of the well-intentioned comfort ("It will get better when your milk comes", "A lot of babies are like this at first") doesn't help a great deal. It's really hard to get past the thought, "We can't feed the baby." Of course there are the good rounds, and the well-intentioned comfort is, no doubt, based on facts. It's just hard to step back from that fundamental, immediate view.

Kerry commented that Owen had received more my skin tone than hers. Apparently she was referring to his mild jaundice. However, unlike his old man, he is not scheduled for any time under the UV lamps.

I love him loads. Not a novel observation from a new parent, but it is worth mentioning. I know this for at least two reasons. 1) I feel the sort of deep, empathetic pain for him that has previously been reserved for Kerry. When things aren't right for him, and I've got no idea how to make them right, it hits me hard in the gut. 2) Yesterday afternoon, with him asleep on my chest, holding Kerry's hand in mine, I felt such peace. I felt I could have stayed there forever.