She’s a bit over a week old and, as I write this, sleeping on my chest. Tiny, too; about six and a half pounds when we left the hospital. Course, that’s partly because she was a couple weeks early. See, Momma is 45 and doc wanted the baby born. Took four days in the hospital and a few doses of Cervidil but here she is. (Cervidil is a drug that….let’s just say that it induces labour, helps speed up the process.) Minus the almost week in the hospital, it was a relatively short delivery. Got to the birthing room at 0045 and she was born at 0237. Six pounds, 12.6 ounces. (Haven’t bought enough dope to know the metric conversion yet.) Oh yes, and her name is Marea Elisabeth. Nope, not named after anyone, just names we liked.
As I mentioned on Twitter, Dr. Seuss was right that hearts can grow a few sizes. However, in my experience it has nothing to do with Christmas. No, my heart grows in the delivery room. Seeing my child be born, hearing its first cries and then being able to take it in my arms. This time around, I even got to cut the cord. That’s what does it. That is what gives me this strange feeling in my chest. The logical part of me(which is the majority, truth be told) says oh yeah, the heart, that’s just a muscle, dipshit. Yes it is. But for whatever reason, that’s where it is. It’s enough to make me think something was wrong, if I didn’t know any better. Maybe it’s biology, something nature put in us all those generations ago so we would protect these tiny little crying bundles. Human’s are like most animals. Without some controls in our software, we’d let the race die out if we couldn’t see anything in it for us. But love? Ah, love will make you do a lot of things.
I’m not sure I’m ready for this one. But can you ever truly be ready? But a little girl? Hopefully I won’t act all over protective in her teen years, when these little teenage boys come sniffing around. But just in case, I’m stocking up on lime and shovels.