Frieda was born last Friday evening. The labor went very well. Forgoing the epidural (or any kind of spinal block) was the right decision for me. I had a little narcotic assistance for the last hour, which took a bit of the edge off. So it was about two hours of progressively stronger contractions, of the "Whoa, that's intense," variety, followed by forty minutes of "Damn!", then about 15 - 20 minutes of "AAAAAAAAHHHHH!" Then she was here.
She is a good size, born at 8 lbs. 13 oz., exactly a pound less than Henry, and she is healthy. The hospital personnel checked her blood sugar every few hours (not a fun thing -- to see your newborn baby stuck in the heel every two to three hours, and worse for her I'm sure) and everything checked out okay. My gestational diabetes has apparently resolved as well. Hello, carbs! Meet my gaping maw.
Henry came to the hospital on Saturday morning. He was disconcerted to see me in the hospital bed, and a little taken aback by Frieda's presence. Since then he's been a bit aloof -- not wanting to be around me much, and taking only quick looks at Frieda here and there (though he knows her name and says it clearly). I know this is normal stuff, and that this is a huge change for all of us -- especially Henry. I am willing myself to be patient and not bawl and feel guilty that we have rocked Henry's previously stable boat.
More pics and Frieda's theme song (many thanks to Uncle TR) can be found here.
And now, Frieda calls.
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