The after effects...

Shortly after our wee man screamed onto the scene in the wee hours of that Saturday morn, we made our way over to what I suppose are referred to as the recovery rooms.  Of course, only after I attempted to make my way to the bathroom under my own power, which was problematic simply because the epidural hadn't completely worn off.  The result?  I crashed into the toilet because I was too proud to accept help.  I suppose if I were more fragile, it could have been something a bit more serious, but merely being as I am... I just got a pretty good laugh and a small bruise out of it.  Unfortunately, I did cause a few of the nurses to worry and managed to get a stern look from my hubby.  Ah, such is life...

We'd been given the choice to keep Coop in the room with us or have him stay in the nursery, and we opted to have him stay with us.   Now, I suppose one could argue that we could have taken the opportunity to catch up on some sleep, but I honestly can't say that I would have been able to get much sleep worrying about him otherwise.  As a result of this choice, we were able to spend some QT with our boy with only periodic visits from the nurses on duty to check our vitals.

While I had truly come to appreciate my doctor's decision for me to induce as 1) patience isn't really one of my strongest virtues; 2) I wasn't sure my body would have been too pleased if Coop had been too much bigger, it wasn't until I met the doctor on call that I truly felt like throwing my arms around my doctor's neck.   The replacement's name was Dr. Witty.  When he first came in to greet us, I got a weird vibe from him.  I felt very uneasy whenever he approached me - to the point that I was relieved when Brad was near.  It's not that I feared he would do me harm, but I really didn't care to let him have the opportunity.  As he approached me, he would begin to speak, only to pause, walk over to the TV, and turn it off before turning back to me to continue his train of thought.  There were no polite exchanges about whether or not we minded if he turned off the set - he just did it.  And consistently.  He didn't seem to be able to have a professional opinion of his own... he was always checking to see what my doctor said/did or what the nurses thought.  Now to be fair, the fact that he was interested in what my doctor had said and done was not unusual - as I was not Dr. Witty's patient, but it was simply the fact that he didn't appear to be able make his own calls about even little things. 

Brad and I continue to muse on what Coop's birth might have been like if Dr. C hadn't made the call to induce before he left...  but needless to really say, by no stretch of the imagination would it have been pretty...

The best thing that Dr. Witty did for me?  Allow me to be discharged from the hospital 36 hours after Coop was born.

Strangest thing about my stay aside from Dr. W?  I didn't change the FIRST diaper...  It wasn't for another week and a half that I was able to change my first diaper EVER.  I know - Brad's a good man for that.  Of course, now many many diapers later, it's strange that I was ever the least bit concerned about my ability to change one.

Most humorous moment in retrospect?  As we prepared to leave that Sunday morning, Brad had indicated that he was familiar enough with our car seat, which is a convertible one so really too large to just tromp up the stairs, so he didn't really need any assistance to prep it for the baby.  It was rather chilly and raining that afternoon, so we did our best to bundle Coop up before preparing to venture into the great out of doors. Of course, the entire time I can't shake the feeling that we were whisking away some precious treasure and were surely going to be discovered before we were able to make a clean break for it.  The check-out went without a hitch.  We made it down the hall and took the elevator to the ground floor, our cart in tow.  We made it through the lobby and out the doors to where the car was waiting for us, but as soon as Coop's fanny touched his car seat...  the siren went off.  He screamed and screamed as Brad did his best to work under such pressure.  Apparently, making the necessary adjustments don't feel quite as crucial when you are dealing with a sock monkey instead of a shrieking baby, but how else are we to learn?  I felt like a nervous wreck - convinced that the nurse who'd been kind enough to push our cart would snatch Coop away and scold us for being horrible parents...  but for whatever reason, she didn't and we were able to make our getaway.  Of course, the siren didn't let up for another two blocks, but eventually, he fell asleep.  It was then I knew that we were officially on our way to being parents...