living an unconventional life, one cocktail at a time

Six months later.

Six months ago, I had the craziest day of my life.

It was a Tuesday, right after the strangest Christmas we’ll ever have. We woke up early, drove to Overland Park and calmly checked in to the hospital.

“I’m here for a c-section.”

It felt pretty weird to be walking in the hospital to have a baby as if it were any other random doctor’s appointment. No water breaking in the middle of a meeting at work (it happened to a former co-worker!), no rushing to the hospital in the middle of the night, running red lights and driving 90 mph on the highway (yet another co-worker experienced this), no lengthy, painful labor or delivering a baby before Dave could get the car parked in the lot. At first, when we found out baby was breech and that he’d be delivered via c-section if he didn’t flip, I was a little disappointed. For about five minutes. Then I decided I didn’t care how he got here, as long as he got here without any problems.

The nurse led us to the hospital room to be prepped. Of course, she noticed Dave’s Sandbar shirt and somewhat sheepishly told us she’d danced on the bar. We had to put hairnets on our heads, and Dave had to put on a smock. He was supposed to put on little booties over his shoes, but of course they didn’t fit his ginormous feet. After thirty minutes or so, we were left alone to wait until 1 p.m. Our parents showed up and kept us company. Everyone was calm.

Around 1 p.m. the nurses wheeled me down the hall to the super bright, white operating room where everyone was chatting about the holidays like it was just another day. I remember not feeling anything below my chest, yet being wide awake and aware of everything. I remember hearing Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” followed by “Hollaback Girl” over the speakers. Then, finally, the baby was here and we heard him cry. Loudly.

The doctor showed him to me briefly, and then they whisked him a few feet away to be weighed and measured and poked and prodded. Dave went with them and took pictures. And then it was over…but just beginning.

So here we are, six months later, with a sweeter baby than we could have ever imagined.

Our six-month checkup is this Friday. We’ll find out just how much he’s grown. At birth, he was 21.5 inches long and 8 pounds, 8 ounces. His little arms and legs were long skinny sticks; now they’re chubby little rolls. He wore newborn size diapers; now he’s in size 2’s and has been for awhile. Edited: I was wrong! He’s been in size 3’s for awhile!

Happy half-birthday, sweet Cooper!

2 Responses to “Six months later.”

  1. “I remember not feeling anything below my chest, yet being wide awake and aware of everything.”

    Whew, that sounds kind of scary. But obviously it all turned out OK!

    I love seeing Cooper. That boy always has a smile on his face, and personally, I think he likes me. Congrats to six wonderful months!

    • Debbi says:

      It was scary! But maybe more weird than scary. It was all very surreal. Bright and white with music playing and people chatting about Christmas, like it was just any other day. Which it was, to them. But a very cool experience.

      I think Cooper likes you too.

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