James="one who supplants" ; Angus = "unique strength"

10:30 a.m. First morning home. James is sleeping on my bed, surrounded by Mimi, pillows, Jude’s stuffed animals, and some trains (Call CYS!). Dan is at work (I know, I know…but he loves what he does and had some important meetings this past week that got postponed unexpectedly…ahem). Si is at preschool. My in-laws are still touring new England by bus. I am showered, have eaten, and am writing a blog entry; I have only burst into tears once in the past 24 hours, and am actually contemplating going downstairs and baking some oatmeal cookies – good for the breast milk production, dontcha know). Wow, you are not kidding the third one is different! I do not anticipate this bliss lasting but I will enjoy it while I’ve got it.

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First, thanks to all of you for all your good wishes, good vibes sent my way, and for liking his name! Dan will dine out on his 2 a.m. email story for years, and I am enjoying the looks on people’s faces when I tell them I posted a blog entry and went back to bed. Oh how very modern we are.

Indeed my water had broken. I showered, dropped Jude at daycare, stopped at Starbucks for hot chocolate for Si, and went to the doc’s office early for my 945 appt. When indeed it had been confirmed that it was amniotic fluid and I had not quite resorted to just peeing myself rather than getting my pregnant bulk to the bathroom every ten minutes, I was told they’d check me in to the hospital and get it going with a little “vitamin P” as I still was not contracting a whole bunch even though I was dilated 4 cm. Simon was intensely interested in all the hospital gewgaws but fortunately Dan came pretty much as soon as I called and whisked Simon away, as I believe the tender age of four is much too young to witness the miracle of childbirth, or even the spectacle of your mother with stranger’s hands in various orifices (he wrapped himself in the privacy curtain even though I made the doctor wait till he had left to do most of the invasive examining). In the meantime, I mildly contracted to Elmo singing stupid songs about – appropriately enough – new babies. (If it had been Barney on at the time, I might’ve just popped out the kid right then in disgust.) I also called work to tell them my maternity leave was starting NOW and not October 7, and the dentist to cancel that afternoon’s appointment, and Gina to check on the origins of the name Angus…

Dan came back around 130 after arranging all the necessary childcare, they cranked the pitocin, and I was on my way.

I got an epidural, even though the anesthesiologist knocked over his entire cart of drugs and equipment within five minutes of being in the room, which did not particularly inspire me with confidence. However at that point contractions were a minute and a half apart and I would have let Jack Kevorkian insert the epidural needle if need be.

And you know how they give you that little clicker thingey so you can send a little more of the drug streaming through your veins if you are feeling particularly “uncomfortable”? Well, I did it a few times and only discovered after actually giving birth that the damn thing had malfunctioned. No wonder I actually felt pain at the end…it blows my mind all the technology they use around pregnant women but they can’t control a little thing like a MY PAIN MEDS CLICKER THINGEY (…that, and they can never find me a hospital gown with all six shoulder snaps working).

So technically I was in labor for all of about four hours, not too bad, although the pushing was (sorry to burst your bubble, Joke) as hard as the first one. (And I will NEVER find out about the fourth or fifth, thank you very much…) Probably because the second practically did fall out (15 minutes), this one was more difficult in comparison (40 minutes). Well that, and I didn’t have any pain medication going into my body anymore.

Dan was all a husband in the delivery room should be. Except, between epidural and actual pushing, when he sat by my side patting my leg absentmindedly, no doubt thinking of a project at work, while I gritted my teeth and tried not to bite his hand off. I was *trying* to visualize ocean waves to get through a particularly bad contraction and all I could feel was him…pat, pat, pat…pat, pat, pat…of course if I had bitten his hand off, I’d only have vomited it up a few minutes later, so it really worked out ok.

And have I mentioned the plethora of people who show up in the delivery room? Joke and I had a thread going a while back about not even wanting my husband in the delivery room. But if you’re a stranger…sure, c’mon, in, join the party! At last point of paying any attention to that sort of thing, I had in the room the following people:

My husband
My OB
OB/Medical student
My nurse
Two other OB nurses
Two nursing students
Director of nursing education
Anesthesiologist
Anesthesiologist resident

And me.

Really, at that point, why didn’t they invite in the janitor responsible for cleaning the room? Or the little old Italian lady waiting downstairs at the bus stop who patted my belly in the elevator and predicted a girl? I mean, why not? Right? I am never going to see most of these people again. And my dignity was shot to hell already, so really, bring in the crowds, charge admission, and get the little guy’s college fund off to a rollicking start.

So yeah.

James Angus, 3:57 p.m., September 27 2005
7 lbs. 12 oz; 20 ½ inches long
Lots of dark hair and an alarmingly loud hiccupping issue

And man, was Gina ever right about the hospital/vacation thing (although having your legs waxed hurts almost as much as childbirth, in my opinion…). Meals arrive at the appointed hour without my having to do anything; my room was cleaned for me; I had cable TV; and I got 200 pages of Green Darkness read, in addition to the newspaper every morning. Sign me up, it was the most relaxation I’ve had…since Jude was born!