Well, and now there are requests for a part three to follow part two, but...there's not much. Paul is the one who made the calls to our parents, and I was asleep: not only had we been up most of the night, but I had a post-surgery itchiness reaction to the anesthetic and got a nice big dose of benadryl in my IV. My mom answered the phone and was VERY SURPRISED that the baby had been born, and she told me later she was SO RELIEVED to not have to fret all through the labor (she had a very bad first labor and had been fretful all through my pregnancy). Paul's mother wanted him to start making calls to a bunch of other people, which we thought should be HER job. Paul couldn't get his dad and so left a message on his machine, and we didn't hear anything from him until he called three weeks later with a lot of dumb excuses about why he was so late acknowledging the birth of his first grandchild and wanting me to comfort him about how it was okay and not his fault and so on (YES I AM STILL MAD).
I do remember my grandparents called later that day. We'd named the baby after my grandpa, and I KNEW he'd be pleased and had been looking forward the whole pregnancy to having him know, and he was INDEED VERY PLEASED. He choked up a little on the phone, and my grandma was on the other line and she said something like, "Boy, you sure made your grandpa happy!"
To backtrack a little, when I was still in Recovery, my OB came in to talk to me. This paragraph will contain some medical stuff, not too gross but it involves A UTERUS, so if you're squeamish you can skip to the next paragraph. She said that after she'd made the horizontal incision, my uterus tore diagonally up from one end of the incision, so now the opening was two sides of a triangle instead of one small straight line. The uterus is...not supposed to do that. She said the uterine wall was very thin and fragile, and that if I decided to have more children I should be aware of the increased chance of uterine rupture during pregnancy (fatal to both mother and child if not immediately handled, and in the best case scenario involving an emergency hysterectomy), and that I should have c-sections: she thought the thin uterine wall (and the weird triangular scar, where it would be weaker) could probably withstand a pregnancy, but not labor contractions.
Hearing I'd have c-sections for all future pregnancies, I felt two things: one, a twinge of weird/sad "So, I'm never going to..."----like when I realized I was really NOT going to go to medical school or be a trial lawyer. It's not that I wanted to go to medical school or be a trial lawyer, but it's weird to realize that it's an experience I'm not going to have, along with many other experiences I'm not going to have. And the rest of it was a FLOOD of relief: NEVER going through the labor part again, ONLY going through the c-section part, WHEW WHEW OH NOW I CAN LOOK FORWARD TO THE NEXT BABY INSTEAD OF DREADING IT!
So, with all the other babies, our families knew when the c-section was scheduled. For the second one, my mother-in-law sent an email AFTER WE'D LEFT FOR THE HOSPITAL, with a list of people she wanted us to call after the baby was born. I'm really glad I didn't see that until we were home from the hospital, because we had already been really clear that our plan was to call both sets of parents and that's it.
Bringing the baby home was exactly as weird as everyone always says it is: there's that much-documented feeling of "Seriously? You're just letting us...take this baby home with us? You're not sending a nurse with us to make sure we do it right? OMG WHAT IF WE DON'T DO IT RIGHT??" We were nervous driving, and I remember we got home and we put the baby's car seat on the floor and then it was like "...Now what?" There's the familiar house with all the familiar things, but now there is a BABY in it, and presumably this baby is going to NEED THINGS, and REGULARLY, and now there is no nurse coming in to make sure he's been fed and changed enough, and now there is laundry and meals and dishes to deal with instead of just the baby and a perfectly clean hospital room. And where will I sit to nurse him? I don't know what most new mothers do in the face of this, but what I did was take a narcotic pain killer and a nap.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 1 of 2 - I have TWO 8-year-olds to buy for, so I’m going to split it up into two posts. Today will be the things we’re getting for Edward. I dislike saying “Gift id...