The last forty eight hours

Ok so I have a son. How crazy is that? Craaaazy.

Since 2.41pm on November 17th Two Thousand and Eight all kinds of things have happened, most — if not all — are pretty logz for those of you not partaking. What follows are some thoughts that stick out of the haze of the last 48 or so hours.

• The c-section lasted all of fourteen minutes — which seems incredible to me. I was convinced there would be terrible sloshing and sucking sounds which would make me vomit on my wife. Luckily there were none! Also someone had told me that the screen they put up — specifically to keep you from vomiting on your wife — had been reduced in size in recent years, you know, to give you a better view of your wife’s guts. This, thankfully, was a terrible lie: the screen was at least 3′x6′. Plenty big enough to hide whatever the hell was going on down there.
• Right before the surgery the nurses or helpers or whatever they are called were doing impressions of some random doctor and yucking it up. It’s weird that to them it was just another day at the office.
• The hospital serves their jello on a lettuce leaf? That is disgusting.
• I’ve changed a hand full of dirty diapers and even got to feed Jackson once. The diapers are no big deal — at least thus far. Although it is a little awkward to touch some other dude’s butthole. I’m just saying.
• Jack’s such a friggin hoss that he eats all the milk there is but DEMANDS MORE. I’m sure Val will blog about that at some point. Breastfeeding blog this is not.
• Speaking of, apparently a ten pound baby is either 1) a medical marvel, 2) a grotesque freak show, or 3) the cutest thing ever to happen. Total strangers and the entire Henrico Doctor’s Hospital nursing staff have all stopped by to see “the big baby.” I can’t tell whether I am proud or insulted.
• Baby hiccoughs, pretty endearing.
• I think, obviously, Val has a stronger emotional bond with him than I do. Mine is more mental at this point. I mean, I would have no problem knifing a dude that was trying to sell him into slavery or a diamond mine or something. But at the same time I still call him “it” once in a while, and when I kissed him good night the other day my first thought was “Whoa, whoa, whoa, who’s kid are you just randomly kissing. Someone is going to arrest you in a second.”
• This.

Tomorrow he comes home with us for good.