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I Kan't Spell



Monday, July 16, 2012

 
Dear Ella,

Well - Since you were born I told myself I would keep more of a diary type blog - Honey... if you read this one year - - just ignore all the other shit on here Daddy did. Sorry. But yeah... I'm a human being... you'll be one too - in that way - some day. Anyway...

Eleanor Hanlon Holmes, you were born on March 1st. Something about that day makes me really happy. She could have been a leap year baby - which I kind of wanted but Mom was none too happy with the idea. The news people were even at the hospital. You were born at about 7am - 7:06 I think --- it was a weird delivery. But the day of March 1st just seems to have a clear ring to me. I was already glad your bday was during the school year - that way I could sneak you out of school for an "Ella day". Anyway... the hospital.

We got there and --- you'll find out that Mom doesn't deal too well with pain... and that a c-section - though a major surgery - was dreamed upon by her. The nurses didn't help to ease any sort of anxiety either. They basically said things like "Do you believe this?" - "How can that be?" - "I don't know if this is possible." - to two new parents to-be - not exactly what you wanted to hear from the gallery.

Luckily, the doctor finally came in - and eased our fears. You were a little high up in Mommy's body so they gave us the choice - excruciating pain for another 12-14 hours or we can see you in 30 minutes. We chose the latter. And it was a good idea as you'll come to find out in another story.

So they scrubbed us up and make me put on the gown and we wheel down to the OR and they take Mom in first. She's getting good and gassed up and I'm outside talking to the doctor about taxes.... you'll learn that your old man likes to drum up some drama whenever he can... so we're talking about taxes and property value and how much the City sucks. God knows how old you are when you read this but... we lived in the city - or still might. It was a personal decision that I made unilaterally. Not Mom's fault there.

Anyway - I go in. Your Mom is high as a kite. I mean... she's flying. There is a tarp up separating her from the operation so that she can't see anything. Unfortunately for me, I can see everything. And let me tell you - it was quite the introduction to human anatomy. I saw every inch of your mother's insides - I saw her spine... it was gruesome.

You were so far up inside of her that I could see the doctor's hand moving her breast plate... you really wanted to stay a bit longer. But you were already 10 days over due. Then he finally ripped you out - Mom's first words were (despite what might be in your baby book) "Is she cute?" - Mine were "Well... she's definitely ours. She's beautiful." But in all honesty... you weren't beautiful. You were covered in goop and blood and you were screaming and kind of blue --- but you got much cuter --- so don't sweat it. I just wanted Mommy to feel better so I said you were beautiful. Which you are - but you know - not right then. Take a look at any newborn... rough.

They put you on the table and tortured you for a second or two. They did this to make sure you had all the right parts and your brain worked. Whew - good to go. I was nervous about that. You'll see one day that when you have a baby - you get nervous about everything. Mainly because we know how hard life can be - and... given that information we want you to have the best chance at a highly adjusted, consumer centric, party animal, memory making life - just kidding... sorta...

So then they call me over to cut the chord. And it was like cutting through a tennis ball. It was ok - I didn't freak out or anything. Then they gave you to me to hold - now mind you - I had probably held one baby prior. So it was a big step - but it was pretty natural - you'll find out later that I just carry you around like a football and toss you all over the place....

So i take you over to Mom and she's pretty happy from the anesthesia so - she's just happy you're alive. And man did you look like me. I mean it was scary. I was scared for you... but you've softened up since then. Sorry for the head... you'll get used to it. We're a smart breed but yeah - sunglasses aren't our friend.

Anyway that's the story of the first 5 minutes of your life - maybe tomorrow I'll tell you the story of the next 20 minutes. I love you, Dad.

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