Dear Alex,

today is your one-week birthday! Congratulations!

I didn't get you a present, so instead, I will tell you about how you were born.

I was almost 2 weeks past your original due date, so the doctors/midwives decided to induce labor on January 23rd. On Friday, January 20, I saw the midwife at my OB-GYN, and she stripped my membranes to try to kick things into gear. That set off a series of pretty mild contractions that lasted all weekend. Your Dad and I ate Indian food on Saturday night, and I had to keep stopping eating so I could concentrate on just enduring the contraction. They felt like really bad cramps.

On Sunday afternoon, we went to the hospital to start induction. The plan was to give me a gel to get my cervix ready on Sunday night, and then they'd start pitocin to induce labor on Monday morning. But the gel started me having really painful contractions. The monitors at the hospital didn't show that they were as painful as they were. They just looked like "mild uterine irritability." So nobody really acknowledged that I was in labor. I was, though. That lasted about 10 hours. When, finally, a nurse came in and asked how I was, I said, "not good." They checked, and I was dilated 7 centimeters. Your Dad went outside to start making calls, and it was time to push. I hadn't planned on getting an epidural, but I wound up doing it because the contractions were so painful, and I didn't realize that the worst was over. Less than an hour after I got the shot, you were born!

Your Dad held my left leg, a nurse held my right leg, and a wonderful midwife named JoAnn Fluent-Peistrup helped you get out of me. Your Daddy cut your umbilical cord. The whole thing is still surreal to me, but I do remember how surprised I was when JoAnn put you on my chest. You popped out, and she put you right up on me and dried you off while you were lying on my skin. I looked up at your Daddy, and he was crying. I thought I would cry, but giving birth gives your body a natural high, and I was just feeling wonderful and amazed. After all that time inside of me, it was hard to believe that you were really going to come out and meet us. It felt like a dream.

We stayed in the hospital for two more nights. You had lots of visitors. You met your Grandma Garrett (Obaachan) and your Grandpa Tiny. Then, you met your Aunt Denise and Uncle Rhett first. They were our first non-family visitors in the hospital. Then you met your Uncle Dave and Aunt Pamm and your Aunt Colette and Uncle Chuck. When we got home, you met your Granny and Grandpa Johnson. Everybody agrees that you are totally perfect and handsome.

Here's what we are learning about you:

You like the sounds of the dryer and running water.
You don't like having your hands wrapped up.
You still get the hiccups a lot.
You like being sung to. (I started you out with "Walk on the Ocean" and "Baby Got Back" because they were the first ones I could think of in the hospital).
You don't enjoy diaper changes or clothes changes.
You seem ok with being read to. Your first story was "I'll love you forever."

I'll be honest -- Your first few days at home have been kind of rough. Parenting is so much harder than I realized. I have my good moments, but I also have a lot of moments of just totally losing it and breaking down in tears. It's hard to know what to do sometimes, but we're working our way through it together. I guess feeding has been the biggest challenge. Everyone tells you how beautiful and natural breastfeeding is (it is), but nobody really tells you quite how HARD it is at first. The first few days were really hard. When your milk isn't in yet, it really feels like you're starving your baby. But we have made a lot of progress. Today, I fed you in a chair I'd never fed you in before, which was a major accomplishment. It's nice not to feel chained to the same two spots in the house. I am actually feeding you right now in front of the computer, and I'm ecstatic that it's working. I still wonder if you're getting enough, but you pee and poop like a champ, so I guess you must be.

A lot of things about the future are scary for me. Will I ever get a full night's sleep? Will I ever be able to go back to school? Will your Dad get to fulfill his dream of having his own restaurant? How will I ever leave you at daycare and go back to work? Will I be able to pump enough milk for you? But right now, I am trying to take things one day at a time. Today, our goal is to make sure you are fed, changed, and loved. So far, so good.
You like to suck on things.