Two days ago, we brought our baby home from the hospital. I haven’t written about it sooner because…well…we just brought our first baby home from the hospital!
As my sister-in-law Geri keeps saying, our baby, Barbara Anne is a bad-ass! One day shy of her two week birthday, she was sent home from the hospital after recovering from heart surgery. I should wear a shirt that says, “Proud father of a bad-ass!”
I’ve never felt manlier than when I was carrying my baby in her car seat out of the hospital. I’ve never felt older then when I was driving home, way below the speed limit, just to make sure my baby was safe. I would start slowing down when I sensed that a yellow light was coming. I didn’t care that I was slowing rush hour traffic in L.A. I was bringing my baby home.
When we got home, I had a beer to celebrate, as Lucy fed Baby Babs. We just sat and stared at her. Then we all went to bed at 8PM. Not kidding. It felt like a late night.
Turns out that babies need to be fed every three hours. Who knew? We were awake again at 11, 2, 5, and every three hours since. Here’s the process: Change the diaper to help wake her up. Warm up the bottle. Feed. Burp. Feed. Burp. Feed. Burp. Stare at Barbara Anne anywhere from 15 minute to an hour. Possibly change the diaper again. Back to sleep. At that point, you could be only an hour from the next feeding.
This is what we dreamed of days back, being at home, awake at all hours of the night with Barbara Anne…now its happening, and we love it.
I will pick her up, look at her, and then an hour has passed, in the blink of an eye. The days are measured between feedings, and the time flies.
I’m going to stop writing because I have to go wake her up now. Change diaper. Feed. Burp. Sleep.
Baby Barbara is home! And she’s a bad-ass.