So Top Management and The Baby spent the night in the hoffel last night. Which, given that she'd, you know, pumped out the equivalent of a small bowling ball a few hours before, made sense. I suppose. But did she stop to think of how that'd effect me? Did she? Did she? Did she?
She did not. No one ever does. Including me. Because I am the damn epitome of selflessness.
[Full disclosure: she totally thought about how it would effect me. Because she is revoltingly caring. Even after dropping the equivalent of a large Easter ham.]
Which, of course, leads you to wonder just how this DID effect me. Because, really, I am an endlessly fascinating subject. Why, just ask me. [Yes, how astute of you, you're quite right, I am endlessly fascinating.]
'cuz the thing is, after a half-dozen of these puppies, we've got most of it down pretty well. What's that? Water broke? No biggie. Contractions three minutes apart and we need to get to the hospital twenty minutes away in the middle of the night over dark, snowy, curvy, hilly roads? Whatevs. Baby's going to be born in the car? Not a chance—I brought duct tape for just such an eventuality.
But when it comes time to say goodnight and leave her in the hospital and go home by myself...well, that I'm still not used to, not at all. Watching an enormous alien—Top Management had been calling him this because of the copious number of chins he's sporting, but tonight pointed out that his skull is shaped more like this and yes she's incredibly sentimental and downright dewey-eyed when it comes to her offspring —emerge from my petite good lady wife I have somehow gotten somewhat sorta kinda inured to. Having to leave her for the night...not so much. That's really...well, it's just wrong.
Words fail me. I think this says it far better than I ever could.
H/T to ever-considerate Left o' the Dialian Krissy for this here intense Cyrano o' mine.
Where DO you find this stuff?!?
Love that shot of Northern Lights in the beginning.
Posted by: Ed | Wednesday, January 14, 2009 at 10:02 PM
Sublime.
When you're that charismatic, who needs teeth!
Posted by: Lee Garbett | Thursday, January 15, 2009 at 03:01 AM
Congratulations! I'm so happy for you both! My 4th was 9lbs 12 oz, also, so I can relate!
Posted by: Mary Beth P | Thursday, January 15, 2009 at 09:57 AM
I laughed at your pet names. We used to call my oldest Butterbean (http://bojack.org/images/butterbean.jpg).
Congratulations! Make sure that your wife has plenty of pudding and chocolate. She'll need it, ramping up food production for this guy :)
Posted by: Andrea | Thursday, January 15, 2009 at 09:30 PM
WOW!!! Congrats!!! You now have your own sitcom...
Posted by: fish | Friday, January 16, 2009 at 02:33 PM