Wait, what? A whole month has gone by? Or, it's only been one month? I feel both ways, simultaneously. Once again, time has lost it's grip on me. Finally.
Month One kind of went like this:
Me: Damn trick-or-treaters, they took all the candy. Let's go to bed. Wait--ow. No, seriously, OW. OW OW OW OW OW.
Me: This can't be labor. What happened to early labor? Where's those 4-10 hours where my contractions get gradually more pronounced and I'm supposed to bake pie to pass the time so I don't go to the hospital too early?? OW! Get the car.
Me: OW. Drugs, please.
Me: So this is what they mean when they say it's not so much pain as it is pressure. Ow.
Doctor: Mommy, Daddy, meet Samson.
The above process took about 6 hours, from first contraction to delivery. Yeah, I know. How awesome are my mom's genes?? 400 awesome!
And then we watched Lawrence of Arabia, Chicago, Slap Shot, and the entire first season of Seinfeld on DVD while in the hospital because there's not much else to do while you're in the hospital for two days. Except hold the baby. And cry. And watch the baby sleep. And cry. And feed the baby. And cry.
When we drove Samson home, Max carefully undermined the entirety of my future musical domination over my son by playing Metalica. I'm working to correct this injustice by building the master of all bedtime playlists for the little guy.
And when I say little, I'm not kidding...
He started out as 6 pounds and 14 ounces of cuddlesome fury. He has now reached gargantuan proportions--8 pounds 6 ounces as of last Tuesday. Must be all the Thanksgiving turkey.
According to the website that I check to learn about weekly baby developmental milestones, Samson has recently learned two important things:
1) Being held by mom or dad rocks. It is way better than, say, not being help by mom or dad.
2) If you need something (like, to be held, for instance), cry. Mom and dad will come running to serve you. In fact, try this: let out a sort of squawking cry. Just a little bit. Watch how fast they come running! Now close your eyes and go back to sleep. When they walk away and get comfortable on the couch, try it again! Repeat as necessary.
Seriously. I've already gotten up to hold him 17 times since starting this post.
Another thing Samson is learning this month: all men have beards. Seriously, every man he's met has at the very least a goatee, and mostly a full facial fur factory. When he finally meets a clean-shaven guy, he's going to be all like, where's your purse? Cause you know, you're, like, a girl. Oh, snap.
Mostly, Samson spends his time being totally freaking adorable. Other than sleeping, pooping and eating, his days are comprised of sitting on dad's lap and mimicking various expressions--he's especially adept at the retarded monkey look--and being carried around to look at high-contrast things like trees, shadows and dogs. He's gone on very few outings other than the doctor's office and grandparent's houses, although we did totally bust out and go to the dog park on Friday. So if you were at the Seal Point dog park and saw the sleep-deprived-looking lady with two beautiful dogs and Baby Bjorn full of super cuteness trying ever so gracefully to pick up dog poop without bailing, that was me. I rock.
I'm a big fan of swaddling. I know there are people out there who don't quite get it; they seem to think that swaddling is too restrictive and somehow equate it to the practice of foot binding. I'm not saying that Dr. Karp is some kind of genius--the whole fourth trimester thing smells way too faddish for me. But Samson loves a good swaddle. And it keeps him more or less quiet, so I love a good swaddle, too. Plus it leads to all sorts of cute nicknames--we now affectionately refer to a swaddled Samson as The Bindle.
And then there's the inevitable wobbly head factor. To help Samson learn to hold his own head up, we have daily tummy time. And let me tell you folks, it's a fine line between tummy time and screaming baby.
Max and I thank our lucky stars every single day. Our baby was born healthy, labor was a breeze, and everything seems to be going according to plan. Samson doesn't cry all that much, and when he does it's very easy to soothe him--all it usually takes is a hug, and I mean come on, try and stop us from hugging him anyway, right? If he's fussy, it almost always means he needs to be fed or changed, and he really sleeps pretty soundly. Even the destructive sounds of Halo 3 don't seem to bother him.
Let's hope that Month Two's report is more of the same.