Handsome arriving yesterday, 7-something. And just like that, he’s here.
He’s in the nursery now so Melissa can finally enjoy a meal, or some veggies, snacks, and me sip this coffee.
Haven’t been up this late or early writing in….. This baby, showing me more than anything I expected in knowing him not that long.
Relearning having a newborn… the spitting up of fluids and how that scares you but just be calm I tell self and the kind nurses here urge.
Shocked how delicious this coffee is. Another sip to see if my evaluative powers if any are skewed from how tired I am. Slept a bit earlier, as did Handsome. Another shock, how zen he is. How beautiful and perfect he is. Even the nurses with a long and raised shape to face say, have said several times…. “He’s… just perfect….”
Looking out window, and I’m already addicted to this writing hour. Thanks to this new little human. Feel the tired again. Sip coffee fast. I’m here, actually here. Hospital, new baby, more thoughts and exhaustion than I know how to allocate to proper place.
Already miss him, Melissa said. Me too. He slept so perfectly before his little spit-up episode.
Hear baby in a nearby room crying, nowhere near as Zen as Mr. H. I know, he’s not even a day old Mike, that could change.
No way will I be able to sleep here. Keep drinking this coffee. Ask for another cup. Is that a note of caramel, or vanilla, chocolate? Sip again. Keep sipping.
Thinking of sleep… this baby crying next door is painful. Hear people laughing, baby no longer machine-gunning those screams. Peace finally.
Santa Rosa outside the window, different. I’m a writing father, 3 kids. Didn’t Hemingway have three? Or was it four…..
3:07am. Thanks again, to Mr. H. This writing hour is a new addiction. Manuscripts atop manuscripts. Kids, being a parent, thinking about your career while being a parent… new directions and elections.
Had an idea. And I have to credit Mr. H. Such an idea would only come at an hour like this.
Starting to feel tired again. Pretty sure I won’t be able to sleep. Melissa mentioned me going home for a bit and taking a nap. She actually told me to go earlier but I challenged and assured I’d remain here in room, what is it, 354? Now that I’m writing I position mind in never-leave.
Pretty sure we’re going to name him….. Well I probably shouldn’t say here. But a name fitting. Another idea attacks, takes residence and thumps in my written and principle thinking.
3:13am I wonder what Handsome’s thinking, what he thought when I met him in the OR, when I cut the cord (something I tried to do when Jack was born 8 years ago but nearly passed out, so I was maybe proud of self for doing so this go around, I don’t know, but it felt fantastic). He kept looking at me, and didn’t cry. Like he was surveying the strange tall character leaning in and speaking to him in an odd octave.
Where my head is now.
Melissa trying to rest. And I think about writing, writing how I am now.. this little life, here for him, writing to him and about him, about me after meeting him.
Something’s different about the writing. What he wants. What he’s going to do. Different than the other babies. Something in the story has shift and re-assembled. Just realizing no wine last night, or yesterday.
Outside, quiet. Lights. Santa Rosa telling me to never leave. To make this the forever-city. I tell her I’m not sure I can do that. Just think about it, she says.