Week 1

Once upon a time, 7 days ago...
I can't believe it's been a week. It seems simultaneously to have taken 10 years and 10 seconds - 10 years worth of learning about diaper changes, goopy eyes, baby baths...you name it, I've talked to someone about it. In-depth discussions about embarrassing crevices, breastfeeding, and meconium (if you don't know, you don't want to know) -- all these topics were relatively taboo a week ago, now we're shouting about them on Skype at a volume that is guaranteed to keep our neighbors abreast (ahem) of the new developments. It seems like only last week that Kris looked like this on her way to the hospital, and something emerged that changed things dramatically.

A quick look at the past week (the 10 second version, not the 10 year version):

Friday the 25th - still smiling! They doll Kris up in paper and me in very important person scrubs, and we're off to the surgery. The obsterician, who has kept us in stitches (ha!) with random comments and questionable jokes for several months, introduces his colleague as the person who, "is there to make sure I do this right, for a change." Nevertheless, we let him do the surgery, and he delivers a swaddled replica of Mr. Magoo into our lives......and, lo! we are transformed.

Saturday and Sunday passed blissfully, as we smugly congratulated ourselves on our well-behaved child which didn't wake up and scream during the night, had reasonably easy-to-clean anatomy, and was coaxed to feed with a minimum of agony for all involved. This is now referred to as the Golden Age.

Luckily, they keep Kris in the hospital for 5 nights, allowing me to board during this time, so that we all get to see how Noah developed, matured, and evolved into the full-throated 2am howler. I understand that this is inevitable, but it would have been nice to immediately fly out to California, where the time change would have resulted in a more civilized 11am hour (or two) of inconsolability. Inconsolableness? Whatever the noun, there are a million adjectives to describe this time, few of them charitable. Kris soldiered on, and we relied on the help of the professional staff at the hospital for helpful tips, like, "Just see what works," and "Oh, they all do that."

By Tuesday night, we were facing a trip home the next morning, and viewing with more than a little trepidation the first night on our own. Well. We needn't have worried. Yes, he cried, yes we sang ourselves hoarse and exhausted our meager supply of lullabies, and yes we discovered new ways to calm him and make him cry, but we made it out the other end. And, as Nietzsche promised, we're stronger for it. It didn't kill us, anyway. Yet.