A long and journal-y post that ends with a wedding

Back at the beginning of August, we ended up taking another trip to Utah. We had two main reasons for going. The first was a conference at Snowbird that Kevin had submitted a paper to. Initially, we had thought that he could go to Utah by himself and that could be the time that my mom could come out to meet Matthew and keep me sane with a newborn.

But then my sister Jennie got engaged in the middle of June, and we didn't think it was a good idea for my mom to come out in the midst of wedding prep. So we decided to stress her out a different way by visiting her!

(Stress is the wrong word. My mom doesn't get stressed, or if she does she hides it well.)

Luckily, Matthew was born early enough and healthy enough that we could take him on a plane, so off we went with a cute 11 day old baby on a 3 1/2 hour flight.

We attached a pipe cleaner and a binder clip to his pacifier since those were the only things we had on hand while we were packing. Maybe someday we should get something that really attaches.

The flight went pretty well. To make a long story short, I didn't end up sitting next to Kevin and Joseph even though I probably could have. Our seats got upgraded and I ended up in first class, so I thought of course that was worth sticking with. But my visions of La-Z boy seats and personal flight attendants bringing you Belgian chocolate every half hour were misguided. It was just a little bit more leg room, a meal I didn't need, and better snacks. 6 rows behind me, Kevin and Joseph had basically the same treatment. Oh well. I was sitting next to a guy and having a nice conversation, so I didn't want to move. But of course, the minute I pulled out the nursing cover he turned away and we never said a word again. So I just hung out with sweet sleeping Matthew and the magazine crossword puzzles for a few hours while Kevin and Joseph watched Lightning Mcqueen on the laptop.

And then we were in Utah! Since my dad was going to the same conference as Kevin and Leslie would be working most of the time we were there, they met us at the airport.

Since we were up pretty late by both Utah and Michigan standards, it was nice that church was a little later. I was excited to take Matthew to church for the first time, even if he wasn't.

I . . . really need to take some better pictures with Matthew.

The rest of the week was kind of a blur. Joseph kept his uncle Spencer and Grandma Barbara busy. Matthew ate about every hour and a half, except at night when it was more like every 5-6 hours (fine with me).  My mom and I took turns running into the room when we heard Matthew yelp because he was pulling his hair and unable to let go. Joseph and Kevin and I had mild colds that we worked through and tried to not spread to Matthew.(Not that Kevin would spread it to us . . . he was at the conference rasping his way through his talk.)

When he was done with the conference, we all met up again, hung out with Joseph's cousins and cousins once removed and second cousins and great-grandparents from all sorts of sides of the family, and then we were off to Duchesne!

The drive to Duchesne was a little frustrating, to be honest. Sometimes roads have to be one lane due to construction. I get it. I also understand that you have to wait your turn while the cars coming from the other direction have to go on that one lane. But what I don't understand is why a construction worker would only let about 15 cars through at a time when it's a 20 minute wait each way. Nor do I understand why they would reduce a road to one lane for five miles when there is only a 200 foot stretch where there is any equipment doing anything on a road that locals say didn't need fixing anyway. It was almost funny, except that it was late at night with kids who couldn't get back to sleep.

But we made it. An hour after we thought we would, but we made it. The next few days were another blur of taking care of Matthew, eating, playing with Joseph, and hanging out with family.

His faces crack me up.

Sunday night, we headed back up to Logan for Jennie's wedding. We had seen everybody back in May, and this time didn't even include Kiana since she's on her mission, but it still felt so nice to just have everyone there that could be there.

Especially this cute girl. Good job, Kaylie and Derek.

The next day was a busy one full of wedding prep and apartment organization. Well, in theory I helped with all that. In reality I mostly fed Matthew and stressed about not having a skirt that fit to wear to the wedding and going backwards on the childbirth healing process (it was nothing major, just unpleasant and annoying). Postpartum life rocks sometimes. But everything was resolved by the end of the day.

And then . . . it was wedding time! Joseph was really sad that he couldn't watch, and even having Meet the Mormons on in the waiting room couldn't catch his interest. Somehow he managed to find something that interested him, and we finally were able to head in. The sealing was lovely, the pictures were sunny and thankfully short-lived (good call, Jennie), and then before too long, it was time to head to the wedding luncheon.

The choice was to squint in the sun or look splotchy in the shade.

I've been a big fan of my teenage boy cousins. So has Joseph.

I always feel like paparazzi when I take pictures like this of people coming out of the temple.

I just liked all the different colors in this picture. That's all.

Jennie had asked me to prepare a musical number for the wedding luncheon, so I played a combination of "A Whole New World" and "At Last I see the Light." It was good having an excuse to refine that arrangement because I've had it sort of made up for nearly 3 years now, but it was always too boring. And now it's not. (Hopefully soon I'll post the video.) We then were asked to get up and say nice things about Jennie.

There were just two problems with that . . . we found out a minute before we got up that we were getting up, and, well, we're just not that sentimental. So none of us knew what to say at all. Luckily, everyone there (even Matt's side) already knows how awesome Jennie is, so they probably all just came to the conclusion that she has weird siblings. When some of Matt's siblings spoke and gave nice, polished remarks, it felt like even more of an epic fail. Oh well.

Right after that, I needed to go feed Matthew, but I still wanted to hear what people were saying. I thought the steps up to the stage would be a nice, dark, private place that was still in earshot of the gym. What I didn't realize was that there would be nieces and nephews running up and down those stairs and dads trying to corral their kids back in. I guess I could have moved, but sometimes you don't think about those things when you have a hungry, impatient baby. At one point, there was a huge influx of girls running up the stairs whispering, "Hide, hide!" And then I heard a bunch of kids singing "Love" by Nat King Cole. As soon as the song they weren't performing with the rest of the group was done, they all left the classroom. It was hilarious.

After the wedding luncheon, we set up for the reception. Except I mostly fed Matthew, and didn't help set up at all. But they did a good job -- lights strung around trees, pictures of family hanging from trees, beautiful tables and chairs, beautiful and delicious food . . . it was great.

Closest we got to a family picture. We do have another son somewhere.

The next day, we packed up, drove to the airport, stood in line forever at security, and flew home.

It was a good trip. We're glad we made it. 

And I'm glad that Matthew hasn't needed to eat quite so often these days.

To infinity and beyond

It all started while we were in Duchesne, and it started with Humpty Dumpty.

After he was done acting out the nursery rhyme, he looked at me with panic in his eyes. "Humpty Dumpty needs to go potty."

And thus it began. He had morphed into a character, and he referred to himself in third person.

As soon as he had used the potty and we had finished packing up those suitcases, we drove to Logan. "I'm not Humpty Dumpty anymore," he told us on the drive. "I'm Buzz Lightyear."

And thus has he stayed for two weeks now.

Not continuously. Sometimes he has been Woody or Lightning McQueen, and after watching a PBS show at the tire shop, he has occasionally been SuperWhy. He makes it a point to not be whatever we call him. "I'm not Joseph. I'm Buzz." "I'm not Buzz. I'm SuperWhy." "I'm not SuperWhy. I'm Buzz."

And then, we all get roles of our own. "You're Mommy Buzz. And he's Daddy Buzz. And Matthew is Baby Buzz."

Except, of course those names change too. Yesterday, Joseph was at church playing with friends. I had gone into a classroom to nurse Matthew when I heard Joseph calling, "Woody . . . Woody, where are you?" And I knew enough to answer. "Why are you wearing a hat?" he asked me out of the blue today when I clearly wasn't. "Because I'm a cowboy," I responded.

He has assigned many of his friends titles too, and they seem okay with it. When we went to "Slinky's" house like he had asked, his friend seemed totally cool with being called Slinky most of the time. (He had spent several weeks last year being called Ruffrey by his older sister since she wanted a pet dog, so I guess he was sort of used to it.) Jessie, Rex, Pig (he meant Hamm), Mr. Potato Head -- everyone is someone from the Toy Story world. Only, he keeps assigning Jessie to boys.

Although it's been confusing (one night, Kevin told me he had to "bless Buzz" instead of "bless Joseph" during bedtime prayers), it's had some advantages. Buzz is a helper space ranger by nature, so he is happy to fetch things, fly up the stairs on his own to infinity and beyond, or try Buzz space food. As long as it's food he already likes.

My favorite aspect of his Buzz Lightyear charade is also perhaps the most annoying. Sometimes, he stops what he's doing and stands still in the middle of the floor, mouth slightly open.

"I'm a frozen toy," he says, moving his mouth as little as possible.

"How do I unfreeze you?" we ask.

"You have to press my laser."

So we do, and he sometimes warns us that his eyeballs could have been sucked out of their sockets. But he's unfrozen, so it's all good.

We have no clue how much longer this will continue, nor how many more personas he will adopt. But we sure love our silly boy, whatever his name is.

And suddenly I appreciate this wedding present a whole lot more.

Livin' the dream

Well, we've kept Matthew alive for a month now. And what a glorious month it's been!

As I mentioned in Matthew's birth story, I never experienced a huge rush of endorphins after giving birth like I had hoped. But the next day, as I was holding him in my hospital bed, feeling a quiet sort of contentment pulse through my body, I thought, "Here it is. This is payday. This is what made all those months of heartache worth it."

If there's one thing I've learned this month, it's that things really can be everything you dreamed of. To be honest, I spent most of this pregnancy bracing myself for the worst. When you have two miscarriages within six months, it can sort of put you in a worst-case-scenario mindset. Each stillbirth I heard about (seriously, I didn't even know those still happened until last year) struck fear into my heart. I'd see GoFundMe pages about extended NICU stays and wonder if those were in store for us too. I thought that at best, I'd have a healthy but incredibly fussy baby. At worst, well, who knows.

But that hasn't been the case at all. Although there have been gunky days and tempers lost (3-year-olds don't magically become easier with the introduction of a baby, turns out), that calm contentment has kept on pulsing. And that is thanks, in large part, to this calm, content boy that has entered our home.

It astounds me, actually, how calm he is. He rarely cries and when he does it doesn't last long. He sleeps quite well at night (except for being a noisy sleeper), sleeps okayish during the day (you can't win 'em all), often lets me lay him on a blanket without protesting, and is just oh so oh so pleasant.

You know how you're supposed to track things like "first smile"? They say that those content smiles after nursing or while sleeping don't really count, which I understand. But he transitioned from those to "real" smiles so early and so seamlessly that I don't even know what counts as his first smile. But he's definitely done it, and he's repeated it often.

So, thank you Matthew, for bringing a piece of heaven into our house. We all love you, especially Joseph. In fact, he can't go to bed without running back downstairs to say good night to you a few times. And, as he likes to remind us, "Matthew loves me, and I love him."

It's been a good month.

Poems

Yesterday morning, I happened to be reading a book which included poems by Lewis Carroll, and I read one called "Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur."

As I read it, I started to laugh, in particular because of these stanzas:

"For first you write a sentence,

And then you chop it small;

Then mix the bits, and sort them out

Just as they chance to fall:

The order of the phrases makes

No difference at all.

'Then, if you'd be impressive,

Remember what I say,

That abstract qualities begin

With capitals alway:

The True, the Good, the Beautiful --

Those are the things that pay!

"Next, when we are describing

A shape, or sound, or tint;

Don't state the matter plainly,

But put it in a hint;

And learn to look at all things

With a sort of mental squint."

"For instance, if I wished, Sir,

Of mutton-pies to tell,

Should I say 'dreams of fleecy flocks

Pent in a wheaten cell'?"

"Why, yes," the old man said: "that phrase

Would answer very well.

Back in the day, I used to write a fair amount of poetry. Except, mercifully, I already sort of knew that I couldn't write "real" poetry, so they just ended up being silly rhymes.

And when I read these stanzas, they reminded me of one such poem that I wrote right at the beginning of a notebook that I've managed to hold onto for 10 years. I still feel the same way, but hopefully if I wrote it now I would make the lines scan better.

Passionless poem

Do poems have to rhyme?

That's not what I say,

But my poems are best

When I write them that way.

I lack the perception

Of artists that write.

I can't describe lightmore

than saying "that's light."

My friend* sees my dilemma:
I think poetry is fun.

With unmasked contempt,

she critiques what I've done.

"You think that rhyming

Is poetry's main feature."
No, not that at all.

But my friend believes she's teacher.

"It's much more important

To find words that sound

Intriguing, yet harmless,

Yet simple, yet profound."

"And," she remarks,

"Where is your soul?
The passion you've exerted

Just doesn't . . . seem . . . whole."

"Give them a kiss

Saturated with feeling

Break all their hearts,

Then offer them healing."

"Or, talk but of nature:

The crisp hues of autumn.

Add a death, a rebirth!

Then surely you've got 'em."

"But," I protest,

"I don't have that skill.

I can't talk of nature,

That's not how I feel."

"I write of carsickness,

of candy, of boys**.

These are my best, for

they share my joys."

"And, I do no symbolism;

No freelance*** for me.

I only can rhyme:

Whatcha get's whatcha see."

My friend disagrees.
"Poems can't just rhyme.

If that's all that made poetry,

people'd make it all the time."

To which I reply

"Perhaps that is true.

But just cuz we can do something

Doesn't mean we do."

*There is a friend who this may be loosely based on, but we never had such a conversation, and she was too nice to have ever said anything like this

**Looking through this notebook, the only evidence of poems about boys was a poem I wrote for a boy for his birthday. Writing poems about specific boys would have been too weird even for me.

***I meant free verse. Ha.

Anyway, not 100% sure why I'm sharing this, except to show that it's possible to write a good poem about bad poetry. And it's also possible to write a bad poem about bad poetry. (And this is why I studied engineering.)

Despite my disdain for "deep" poetry, that little yellow notebook is still full of poems. Some more deep than others. And I might end up sharing some of them over the next while. Interspersed with baby pictures, of course.

Practicing Positive Leadership

Back in January, we started prepping Joseph on his new sibling by reading these books to him.

Just kidding. We never opened them. We read other books about siblings, but not these. (Actually, to my dismay, his favorite book seemed to be Julius, the Baby of the World until I had the forethought to hide it about 3 days before the baby came.)

But even without opening the books, Joseph seems to have picked up on the important points outlined in each book. For example:

Practicing Positive Leadership: "I'm the big brother!" is the phrase commonly heard around the house these days. He knows that it is his job to teach the baby how to lift his head,

play dress up,

and pose for the camera.

He also likes to help Matthew learn how to sing.

The Peacegiver: Joseph has done pretty well keeping things peaceful (well, as peaceful as they were before Matthew came . . . we still have the same conflicts we had before the baby came, but I think that's normal). But more than being a peacegiver, Joseph has been a really good piece-of-advice-giver.

(When he saw that one of us was about to swaddle Matthew with a blanket) "We don't put toys in the baby's crib. Or blankets."

(When Matthew cries) "Matthew cries because he doesn't know how to talk yet like me."

(When I'm nursing) "Matthew isn't supposed to eat food. Just milk."

(Changing a diaper) "You need to put another one on him."

He also likes to know my sources. I once explained to him that Matthew drinks milk, and then later he needs diaper changes. Joseph said, "Oh . . . where did you learn that?"

The Gathering Storm: Even though he understands why Matthew cries, he sure doesn't approve of it. (We could have maybe prepped with this book a bit better.) (But Matthew really doesn't cry that much, at least not yet.)

Shadow of the Giant: Suddenly, Joseph gained 20 pounds.

"He's so little!"

Overall, the transition has been fairly smooth. Starting from day one, Joseph has been a big fan (albeit a cautious one) of his little brother.

It'll be fun to see them interact more and more as they get older.

Matthew's Birth Story

I was pregnant forever. Not the kind of forever that saw me waddling around past 42 weeks, but it was still forever. Especially because it was July.

By the time I was walking home from church with Kevin the Sunday after my due date, we were starting to get worried. After all, the clock was ticking down before our baby would be too young to go on an airplane, which we needed to do on August 8th, so our baby had to be born on or before July 31. I did have an induction scheduled for the 29th, which mostly alleviated that concern, but not that deep down I didn't want an induction because I wanted a natural labor.

Why? Great question. I think the main reason was that I had heard from labor and delivery nurse friends and birth story blog posts that there was a special, even euphoric feel that came a lot more with natural than medicated deliveries. I figured I could stand a few hours of pain (if that's all it was) for a bit of euphoria. (Wait. Is that why people do drugs.)

Also, I had heard that the recovery was better. Again, I figured I could stand a few hours of being extra aware of pain if it maybe meant I wouldn't need stitches.

So I prepared for natural. Not very much, but I did prepare. Basic things, mostly -- making sure I had enough protein and iron and green stuff in my diet, doing squats and Kegels and other stretches, walking and riding my bike, and doing pregnancy yoga for 15 minutes at a time, which was all I could handle before getting bored or being encouraged by Joseph to instead do "boy exercise" (demonstrated by him punching the air).

But what good was all this prep if I wasn't going into labor naturally? So I started going through website after website on how to go into labor. And, just like Thomas Edison, I found 1,000 things that didn't work. (But the pineapple was delicious anyway.) The closest I got was one morning when I couldn't sleep so I went through newborn pictures on Facebook to boost oxytocin levels or something and got one contraction out of it. But I had been having "real" (as opposed to Braxton Hicks) contractions for a few weeks, so it might have been a coincidence.

The next morning was a little more productive. It turned out to be 2 1/2 hours of false labor, and I eventually fell back asleep, but it still moved things along enough that by the afternoon I was in real labor. I finished packing the hospital bag with a few obscure items (you never know . . . maybe you will want to blow bubbles during labor to focus your breathing), dropped Joseph off with some angelic neighbors, and headed to the hospital.

Oh, I forgot to mention something -- during dinner I let Kevin know for sure that I wanted to do it without the epidural. "Something you can do to help is breathe deeply so I can follow along." I felt the beginnings of a contraction, so I said, "Here, let's practice now." I focused on matching his breathing, and before I knew it, it was done.

On the way to the hospital, we hit mostly green lights, but right before the hospital we just barely missed a long light. The wait got progressively more uncomfortable, and when I was about done with a contraction, I said, "You know, most husbands don't follow traffic laws quite so carefully when their wives are in labor." He responded that it didn't seem like I was about to have the baby. Which was true, I guess.

And the people at the hospital didn't seem to think I was close to having a baby either. We sat on some chairs outside triage for a good ten minutes, wondering if we'd been forgotten. I stood up and leaned against the wall during a contraction, and right after that they let us in. Changed into hospital clothes, more waiting, talked to a nurse, more waiting, etc. I pulled out Harry Potter 3 and started to read when they came in to check. Lo and behold, I was at 7 cm! This was great news because I had gotten the epidural at 7 cm last time, so to already be at 7 cm felt like I had avoided a psychological pitfall. Still did more waiting, but eventually we got to go to a real room.

And then . . . more waiting! Waiting to get into the tub, that is. Med students and anesthesiologists and other nurses and the on-call doctor and everyone else had to come in and get my complete medical history (pausing occasionally for me to get on my hands and knees and listen to Kevin's breathing) and convince me to get an IV. (I ultimately decided to get the port put in, but they didn't hook me up to liquids so I could move around more easily. The nurse didn't find it very funny when I said it was like a contraction in my arm. Probably because it wasn't funny.) Finally, everyone left except my awesome nurse Amanda. And then I got to go in the tub!

It was relaxing. Too relaxing. After about 15 minutes in there I realized I wasn't having contractions anymore. And then when I did have one, it hurt just as much as the others. If it was just going to slow me down and not dull the pain, I felt like it was sort of pointless. So I got out and watched Big Hero 6 with Kevin. I tried sitting on a birthing ball, but it didn't help with contractions at all so I got back up on the bed. Eventually, the contractions became more regular, and the movie became less and less funny. I would look over at Kevin and see him smiling and think, how could he think that's funny? (Then again, he hasn't watched this clip with Joseph over and over again, nor has he been in labor for it.)

Incidentally, at this point I would have rated my pain at a 4, because I never go above that on principle.

At some point, nausea kicked in. Too much apple juice, I guess. I had Kevin sneak me some crackers, which helped, but I still felt miserable. The nurses came back and asked if I would like to be checked. I didn't know if I could handle hearing that I was still at 7 cm (or worse, that they said I was somehow back at 5 or 6 cm just because the measurements are so subjective), but curiosity got the better of me. And . . . still at a 7. And something like 50% effaced still. But the head was further down.

It was discouraging, but the contractions ramped up so I didn't have energy to be disappointed about it. (Except, of course, that the clock was ticking ever closer to midnight, and I had told Joseph the baby's birthday was today and I didn't want to be wrong.) I eventually asked Kevin to turn the movie off, and I hurried and turned on the most relaxing music I could think of spur of the moment. Like Charlotte Church and Vienna Teng. Not "You've Got a Friend in Me" or "Let it Go."

None of these.

Kevin was still doing a good job of breathing for me, but it wasn't enough. I started barking orders at him and Amanda. "Push on my back!!!!!" "Push on my back!!!!" I would get about 2 seconds between contractions before they started again.

At this point, I sort of split into two. There was Labor Me, the one who was hurting a lot, and there was Rational Me, who was sort of amused by the whole thing but wasn't particularly helpful. Kevin and Amanda would ask questions, and I would only respond, "I don't know. I don't know."

"Haha," thought Rational Me, "I read on some website that I would say 'I don't know,' and here I am doing it." The whole time I wondered why on earth I was doing this, or really anything in my life ever. "Self doubt! You're experiencing self doubt! Just like they all talk about!" But even knowing emotional signposts didn't make it better. "Let's just think about this rationally. Where exactly does it hurt? Oh, just that spot in your abdomen, radiating out into your back? Focus on that spot. It's not so bad, is it?" No, it still was bad. But trying to pinpoint it still helped.

"Talk to me," I moaned to Kevin.

"What would you like me to say?" he asked. "I don't know. I don't know." "Tell me I'm beautiful and amazing. Tell me a story about myself just like we tell Joseph stories about himself." (Okay, maybe Rational Me wasn't all that rational, especially because I didn't say that out loud.) So he said . . . something. I think Amanda might have done better at talking to me and making me feel successful. 

Eventually, after laboring like this for about 20 hours (or maybe 1 hour . . . it's all the same when it hurts that much) it all became too much to handle, and I yelled, "I want to push!!!!" Amanda disappeared for a minute and came back with a midwife since the doctor was busy. I ignored her for a few minutes as I was hunched over the edge of the bed, my hair hiding my face entirely. Once I was done, I flipped my hair back behind me and looked at her, expecting some more compliments.

"That's a lot of hair," she said.

"I'm cutting it as soon as I have this baby," I said, and then she checked me. 

"All I feel is water. You're ready to push."

Suddenly, the room was full of med students and nurses again. I got back on all fours and pushed. And screamed. And screamed. Like a 3-year-old who's been told one Otter Pop is enough.

"Haha, this is just like the movies. Kevin would always say after I gave birth to Joseph that it wasn't like the movies because I didn't scream at all. But this time I don't have an epidural so it is like the movies."

"Stop screaming," they said. "Grunt instead." So I did my best to let out a wordless roar. Through it all, "Eric's Song" by Vienna Teng was playing, reminding me that "how I am sure, like never before, of my reasons for defying reason."

"Oh, that was an appropriate lyric. Say, why is this taking so long? Seriously I thought it would happen with like one push, and I've done at least three now. Oh. Maybe I should try going on my side." So I got on my side, the nurses lifted my leg up, and after two agonizing pushes there suddenly was a head coming out.

And then the rest of him.

And then . . . oh, sweet relief. I didn't feel euphoric, but I didn't hurt anymore. It was just like my friends who said they liked running because it was like hitting their head against a wall. It felt good when it stopped.

After the umbilical cord stopped pulsing, they clamped it and handed him to me. With Joseph, I think they had washed him off a little bit first, so I was surprised to be holding Matthew in his somewhat slimy state. So, with all the maternal love that was in me, I gently said, "He's so slippery."

I could pass the smile test again.

After that wonderful time holding him, I said matter of factly, "I just want to get the placenta out."

So after that came out looking like a Rodent of Unusual Size, and after about 6 years of being stitched up with dental floss (that's really what it felt like) while needing frequent numbing shots, I finally had the chance to process what had happened. I just had a baby. I really did it.

And the verdict on natural? Well, it wasn't necessarily euphoric, even when it was over, and after the first 24 hours the recovery felt pretty much the same as with the epidural (I will say the first 24 hours were better this time around). But it was still an interesting experience, and it was cool to share it with Kevin.

At any rate, having Matthew around has been pretty much euphoric. So it was worth it.

A full moon and a new moon

One evening this week, I failed the smile test.

The smile test, for those who haven't happened across this same page on a Google search, is the test to see if a woman should go to the hospital while in labor. If she can still smile for the camera, she isn't ready.

Or something. I went anyway. I hurt enough.

And for the next 5 hours, I kept on hurting. Right now I'm leaning against publishing the birth story (I have a lot of it written up, and a few cue words to help me flesh out the rest of it, and I can email it to interested parties), but it suffices to say there was a little bit more screaming than last time. Mostly for the last minute and a half.

And then . . . there was a baby!

8 pounds and 7.6 oz of perfection. And more than a half pound more than the highest guess ten seconds before.

My first words about him were, "He's so slippery."

But ever since then, I'd describe him as "the most talented, most interesting, and most extraordinary person in the universe."

Welcome to the world, Matthew Henry!