In the weeks leading up to your arrival, I puttered around the house getting your room ready, stacking diapers, wipes, and crib sheets. I sterilized bottles, bought the special baby laundry detergent to protect your brand new baby skin. This is gonna sound crazy and like something your mother would do, but I actually took inventory of all the clothes our friends and family had given you over multiple baby showers. I literally wrote down on a yellow legal pad how many sleepers, onesies, dresses, socks, and beanies you had, all grouped by category and size. I hardly left my little pod of bed, bathroom, kitchen, thinking this must be how mama birds feel when they are preparing to lay eggs. I was just hunkering down, feathering my nest, and preparing myself to take care of you. And, I must say, I was pretty proud of myself for being so ready, like I was already killing it in this Mom Game. Look at me go.
Your dad, on the other hand, was a little nervous. Deep down, I was a little nervous for him, too. He didn't know you yet, and I already had 40 weeks under my belt so I had a huge head start on him. Plus, he wasn't reading all the baby books because he doesn't know like you and I do that books hold the keys to the universe. He was worried about how he would hold you and dress you and bathe you. He had not been around very many babies. I reassured him that I knew all about it and that I would show him. I got this. Look at me go.
My labor had gone on for just over 23 hours, including 2.5 hours of actual pushing at the end. You weighed 9 lb. on the dot and had a 90th percentile head circumference. I remember feeling like I was on another planet, like I could see myself outside of my body, because I was so focused on breathing and delivering you safely. When you finally decided to make your appearance, the nurse put you on my chest, and you didn't cry, just blinked up at me like I had pulled you from your cozy little corner of your cozy little world. I was the most tired I had ever been in my life, but I felt so good because I did that. I grew you, and I got you out. Look at me go.
But at 8:38 am on August 31, 2009, all the feelings your dad and I had before that moment reversed almost immediately. Like a light switch flipped inside of him, he saw your mushed little face and knew immediately what to do. He held you like he'd done it all his life. He hovered over you while the nurses cleaned you up and took all your measurements and while my doctor was delivering the placenta and putting me back together. He took the first photo of you, fresh out of the oven, bruised and ruddy like a prizefighter, because he couldn't wait to show everyone how beautiful you were. He cried thanking the nurses for taking care of us, his heart just bursting with love. By the time we were moved to our own hospital room, let's just say I was not in the same place your dad was. Look at me go.
I was panicked and scared and worried I would break you. I came out of the shower (that blessed shower, best one of my life), shuffling and sore and swollen, still feeling completely outside of my own body. I didn't recognize any part of me, not even my beloved mind, and all I could hear was the sound of your heartbeat galloping away on the monitor that was telling us all night that you were safe. But there your dad was, holding you sitting by the window, singing to you while the sunshine streamed in. I was not in a clear mental state in that moment, but I could've sworn I saw haloes around both of your heads. He was so proud of you already, and the switch that flipped inside of him shone the light from his eyes when he gazed at you. And I thought, look at him go.
I regained my confidence and slowly learned how to mother you in that first week by watching your dad father you. Turns out those books were useless (I'm just as shocked as you are), and I laughed out loud when I saw the clothing inventory list I worked so diligently to prepare. Straight in the bin that one went. I might've had a 40-week head start, but your dad hit the ground running when it was his turn. Never once has he tried to take a shortcut on this Dad journey. Father's Day just passed, and you and I both know what a gift he is and appreciate him every single day because he is your father every single day. That man wouldn't know how to take a day off if he tried. If I am any good as a mom, it's because he is the best parenting partner I could have ever hoped for. Growing you has been a true team effort, one I know you feel, too. Look at us go.
Love you,
Mom