My baby has been doing pretty darn well in her first week of life. Her poop is now a lovely mustard green that the pediatrician says is a great sign, but makes me less than entirely willing to eat mustard. She sleeps for long stretches, doesn't fuss much, knows her times tables cold, raps at an eight-grade level, and came this close to qualifying for Olympic trials in tetherball (and would have gotten in if not for those cheating Swedes -- I'm on to you, Jan Svankmeyer!)
Plus she's a cutey beauty pooty wootie woo. Booty Hootie Flutie schmoo. But it wasn't all cuteness and roses. The first few moments of her life were more anxious schmanxious wanxious terror schmerror werror of maternal death schmeath weath. My wife was bleeding profusely right after the little bean popped out, and had to be rushed to the operating room to save her life.
I was then shuttled off to the special care nursery, a dreary place where one very premature baby cried and cried and I sat in a rocking chair, my new baby in my arms, staring into her open eyes for the first time, thinking, "You know what baby, it might just be you and me. Hey, it might not be so bad! It could be like that show 'My Two Dads,' except with one fewer dad. Remember that show? Remember the '80s? Wasn't it a blast? Rubik's Cube, Pac-Man, crack cocaine, urban blight brought forth by a short-sighted Republican administration more interested in giving the rich a little more money to gamble with than making sure people have homes to live in ..." Then tears would start falling, less about homeless people in the '80s and more about the absolutely horrific thought that I could lose my wife.
But my wife is still here, a little worse for wear, but already being a wonderful mother. I get a little weepy in a good way at the sight of my little family. See, I've never been a particularly ambitious person. At times I thought I should become a famous screenwriter, and then a famous psychology researcher (because there are tons of those -- not one of my best plan there, I admit) and such and such, but all of those dreams were more means to an end, that of showing off so I can attract a woman whom I love and who will bear my children. Now I have that, and I feel a lot more fulfilled than I have ever been in my entire life.
And instead of worrying about myself quite so much, I do feel a new sense of purpose. I have to do all I can to protect this little kid. So I've already started treatments to strip her of the thetans that are polluting her soul:
Plus she's a cutey beauty pooty wootie woo. Booty Hootie Flutie schmoo. But it wasn't all cuteness and roses. The first few moments of her life were more anxious schmanxious wanxious terror schmerror werror of maternal death schmeath weath. My wife was bleeding profusely right after the little bean popped out, and had to be rushed to the operating room to save her life.
I was then shuttled off to the special care nursery, a dreary place where one very premature baby cried and cried and I sat in a rocking chair, my new baby in my arms, staring into her open eyes for the first time, thinking, "You know what baby, it might just be you and me. Hey, it might not be so bad! It could be like that show 'My Two Dads,' except with one fewer dad. Remember that show? Remember the '80s? Wasn't it a blast? Rubik's Cube, Pac-Man, crack cocaine, urban blight brought forth by a short-sighted Republican administration more interested in giving the rich a little more money to gamble with than making sure people have homes to live in ..." Then tears would start falling, less about homeless people in the '80s and more about the absolutely horrific thought that I could lose my wife.
But my wife is still here, a little worse for wear, but already being a wonderful mother. I get a little weepy in a good way at the sight of my little family. See, I've never been a particularly ambitious person. At times I thought I should become a famous screenwriter, and then a famous psychology researcher (because there are tons of those -- not one of my best plan there, I admit) and such and such, but all of those dreams were more means to an end, that of showing off so I can attract a woman whom I love and who will bear my children. Now I have that, and I feel a lot more fulfilled than I have ever been in my entire life.
And instead of worrying about myself quite so much, I do feel a new sense of purpose. I have to do all I can to protect this little kid. So I've already started treatments to strip her of the thetans that are polluting her soul:
4 comments:
Good parenting skills already! So many parents never even consider the risk of thetans.
I'm so glad everybody is okay and home and happy!
If not for pseudo-religious purposes, why then is there a light-emitting vacuum cleaner attached to your baby?
It's actually a treatment for jaundice. Looks like a full recovery so far.
I am quite moved by your description of your first few moments in the nursery with your new babe and that poor very premature crying baby. Wow.
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