I wouldn't be exaggerating if I told you that Aston's birth completely traumatized me. I'm not at the point where I can talk or write about it without becoming pretty upset, which is why I haven't shared much about what happened. I will soon, though, because it's important to me to remember, I just need a little more time to process it so that my recollection consists of more than a string of four letter curse words.
I hope you understand.
In other news, we're finally home from the hospital and we're settling into our new roles as parental types. After hearing every postpartum horror story during my (very difficult pukefest) pregnancy, by the time I gave birth I was wholly expecting colic and cracked nipples and no sleep or showers or public outings and hair and clothing perpetually covered in spit. I also thought that I'd feel somewhat conflicted about being entirely responsible for the needs and well being of an essentially helpless person. One who I'd never even met.
Well. I'm happy to report that I was wrong. I was so so so so wrong.
Aston sleeps like a champ and keeps most of his bodily fluids inside of his dipes. He breastfeeds easily, even after my body began to fail and I went nearly a week without any food or water. (Miraculously I continued to produce milk, and even more miraculously Andrew held him up to me or pumped while I was unconscious in the hospital.) I am completely enthralled with his baby smell and his chicken legs and the way that he stares at me with his big blue eyes in the middle of the night when he's eating. I am ridiculously in love with him. Like to the point that if he projectile poops I holler to Andrew to get the video camera because Aston is being so. hilariously. adorable. I HAVE BECOME THAT MOTHER.
Here are some pictures of our past couple of weeks at the hospital. La Dolce Vita Studios came down from Tennessee to photograph his actual birth, these are just a few shots that Andrew and I managed to capture when I wasn't in surgery or throwing up or spending forty five minutes trying to make it from my bed to the bathroom. Which was ten feet away.
They're not stellar quality, but I don't care. These images are precious to me.
p.s. Oh, and this happened, too. That's an ice cream cake that Andrew brought to me in bed. Yes, I am a lucky girl.