Two Weeks In
As Tom mentioned a couple of posts ago, Lynda gave birth to our daughter, Maria Rosa Guadalupe, at 1:38pm on Thursday, April 30th. Having Maria born in April makes her birthstone a diamond, which I’m sure she’ll be happy about when she gets older.
Thanks to the wonderfulness that is an epidural, Lynda didn’t experience much pain during the delivery. I, however, am scarred for life. Though I knew I was to be in the room for the delivery, I had not intended to actually watch the baby come out of the, um, point of exit. However, given the setup of the delivery room, it would have been difficult not to, and my first glance at the action going on at the "point of exit" was, unfortunately, followed by many more. It was like in 2003 when the remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre came out: I didn’t really want to see it, but there I was the day it came out watching the blood-and-bodily-fluids flow. Through the entire delivery, two thoughts competed for dominance in my mind:
1. This is pretty amazing.
2. I am never having sex again.
Maria didn’t cry when she finally came all the way out, nor when I cut the cord, nor when they put her on this little table by Lynda’s bed to clean her off. However, while the nurse was cleaning her off, Maria opened her eyes for the first time and saw my face smiling down at her. She then let out a loud cry. Having spent a lifetime of seeing females cry when they first see my face, my feelings weren’t hurt.
The next day, we brought her home, and the "caring for and raising the child" phase began. In the months leading up to giving birth, Lynda had amassed a veritable stockpile of books that proclaimed themselves essential for guiding us in giving our child the necessary advantages that will be needed to succeed in this increasingly competitive society. You’ve probably seen a few of these titles:
The Brightest Kid On The Block
Baby Prodigy: A Guide To Raising A Smarter, Happier Baby
Raising Your Kid To Be Such A !#@$!-ing Genius That People Will Never Believe She’s Yours
It’s all very heady stuff, with the ‘latest’ techniques based on the ‘latest’ research. You can’t help coming away from reading any or all of these without thinking "Apparently, for 10,000 some odd years, parents must have been colossal morons." Without these books, how did parents ever raise kids who could think at a level beyond that of a house plant?
During the first week, however, all this knowledge was about as useful as a solar-powered flashlight. For the first 7 days she was home, I would have been OK with Maria eventually dropping out of community college to spend more time smoking the reefer if she could go one day without wailing like she needs a young priest and an old priest through each and every minute that she doesn’t have a bottle in her mouth.
Luckily, on the 8th day the pediatrician recommended Mylicon, which apparently has reduced the gas that was the major cause of Maria’s discomfort. The reduction in the decibel level at home has served to soothe the anxiety of both Lynda and I to such a degree that we have decided to name our next child Mylicon.
So into our routine we go. I’ll post some pictures in the next couple of days. Unfortunately, early indications are that she will look more like me than Lynda: she has pale skin rather than Lynda’s darker shade, and possibly blue eyes (it’s kind of hard to tell what color her eyes are, actually). She does have black hair, though, so there’s still hope that she’ll look like her mom. A lifetime spent looking like me would be too cruel a fate for such a precious daughter.