A at Three Months

So A’s “month birthday” is the 30th of every month… which doesn’t work for February. So let’s say he’s three months old-ish, now!


At his appointment on Monday, he weighed in at 14 lbs. 2 oz, and 24.4 inches long. He’s on his growth curve perfectly, around the 50th percentile for both weight and length. For some reason he LOOKS huge but he’s as average as average can get!


Buddy, “Doot” (that’s all me)


Totally random depending on what mood he’s in, time of day, whether the sun is aligned with the stars… he’s unpredictable, basically. When he’s mad, he’s really really mad, and very loud (Matt says he’s got the loudest voice of any child or adult he’s ever met). When he wants to grin he’s got huge smiles for anyone and everyone. He very much wants to be a part of what is going on around him, and is thrilled when his big sister is around.


We went through one of the Wonder Week leaps recently, and after that, he’s been able to pick things up and bring them to his mouth. He likes to try to bear weight standing up supported. He recently discovered his voice and makes short little bursts of noise.


He slept through the night a few times! Now he’s back to waking up once or twice, but it’s better than every few hours. During the day he will nap, but it’s hard to get him to sleep on anything but a person, still. We have yet to use his crib.


So far so good. There have been no real issues to speak of, which is a welcome relief. Hilariously, he gets really intense when we eat near him — he seems to be quite interested in what we’re doing, which comes out in total baby side-eye.


He grew out of 0-3 month clothing overnight, I swear. One day his clothes fit, the next, they didn’t. He’s firmly in 3-6 month clothing now and even some of those onesies seem like they aren’t gonna make it all the way to six months with the way things are fitting.


One on one attention, especially from Daddy and M. Hanging out in M’s room playing with toys and being part of the action. Stretching big when he gets out of his swaddle!

Doesn’t Love:

Baths, still (probably because he doesn’t get them very often… #secondchildproblems). Tummy time is a big thorn in all of our sides; he screams immediately and doesn’t like it all, so I think he’s lacking in the head control and arm strength/neck strength he needs to make it less awful. And the only way to get that is through tummy time. Before bed he just screams incessantly for a few minutes before sleeping, so there’s something about that he doesn’t love. And he hates being set down.

Things to Remember:

We drove to Fort Frances and back last week, and he passed his diagnostic hearing test with no issues! We had a fun late night stroll out to Cedar Bay with both kids in the Thule, and we’ve done a bit of walking this past month (I need to do more). His first real vocalizations are something I’d like to snapshot in my brain.

Mom & Dad:

Pretty zen. The new normal involves far less mom and dad time but I know that it’s a season of life that will eventually give way to something else. As for M, she’s also adjusted to having a baby brother really well by now! She likes to ask me to make him “talk” so he asks her questions about the world and I love hearing her answers (“Cereal tastes like it has milk in it, and it’s crunchy, and it tastes like cereal!”).

Looking Forward To:

The additional skills I know are around the corner — laughs, more deliberate playing with toys, more interactivity with M.

Dear A,

Our morning routine is pretty solid these days — you wake up, I release you from the confines of your swaddle, you stretch, and we lay in bed while you nurse. If you’re still awake and it’s before 7 a.m. your dad grabs you and the two of you hang out while he drinks coffee and easts cereal. He’s always reluctant to give you back even though he needs to get on with his day, because he loves the way you stretch out on him and relax completely. If you stay with me, you usually end up falling asleep, head on my belly, snuffling skin to skin. I also love that I can be the place where you feel safe and comfortable.

I especially love how easygoing you are when I take you out and about. You’ve been to a peace rally, a film screening, a few business meetings, restaurants, Daddy’s work… you’re my little sidekick and you make everyone smile wherever we go.

I cherish these moments with you, and all of the other ones throughout the day. You are so loved, and you are definitely the piece that was missing from our family. While we may have less free time, less money, less spontaneity right now — we have far more joy and love and whimsy in our lives with your presence. 

Love always,


A at Two Months


That, I don’t know — his next appointment is tomorrow! He was in the 50th percentile at his last visit so if that holds true he should be somewhere around at least 11 lbs. He has definitely gained, I’m just not sure exactly how much.


Mister A, Banana, and all of the usual ‘little guy’ and ‘dude’ and ‘baby brother’ things. We aren’t a big nickname family, still.


I commented to Matt earlier this weekend that A is like a cat — when he deigns to smile at you, it’s all his choice, and you’re gonna have to work for it. He’s smiley, but you seriously have to commit to getting it out of him and even then, with the goofiest faces and the squeakiest of voices and feeling like a total dancing monkey he still may not eke one out… until you give up and he decides to grin. He’s a serious baby.


He’s doing a good job of supporting his head and his weight. If you hold his hands he’ll sit up, and Matt had him balanced on his own a few times. He’s starting to reach out for toys and grasp things in his hands.


We’ve had a few stretches of longer sleep but most recently he is back to waking up every hour to two hours at night, and taking longer to put down for naps and at night. I suspect we’re into another growth spurt which may explain it, but lord knows baby sleep makes no sense at all.


I successfully managed an oversupply/lactose overload issue and now his diapers are normal, at least. He is still a snacky eater and wants to nurse quite frequently. It’s all part of that fourth trimester concept so it’s fully normal, I know. We’re not attempting to schedule it out or space it out — I’m just letting him nurse when he wants to.


Firmly out of newborn clothes. That was a sad day. Some of his 0-3 month sleepers are actually almost too short now! He is a big boy. We’re wearing more real clothes than sleepers now.


When people talk to him, milk, being snuggled up in something warm. He has a tenuous love-hate relationship with the Ikea baby gym to which M had a similar reaction as a baby.

Doesn’t Love:

Baths, not being immediately picked up out of the cradle, swaddles.

Things to Remember:

We finally made it out to baby playgroup! His first smiles took me by surprise and were such a delight. Walking out to Cedar Bay all snuggled up in a carrier. His intense baby looks.

Mom and Dad:

Sleep deprivation feels normal now. Some days we wake up feeling groggy and awful but it’s more of a well-oiled machine now, in general. Last weekend we even managed to pull off a double nap and were able to sit and talk as adults!

Looking Forward To:

More adventures, now that we have the Thule stroller. More interactivity, more smiles (maybe?), the next little stage of babyhood.

Dear A,

I was thinking, last night, that we’re already at the point where it feels like you’ve always been here. I was trying to reflect back to even the last few days before you arrived, in the hotel in Winnipeg with M, our last bit of time as a family of three — and it feels like it was a different life. You are part of our family, woven right into the fabric of who we are.

I love seeing the wonder in your eyes. You are so serious, and regard everything intensely, turning it over in your mind before reacting. You strike me as an old soul for some reason — a wise being in the body of a baby. Now more than ever that wisdom will serve you well. Take that wonder with you through the rest of your life. 

Our days are more chaotic, more exhausting, filled with you and your sister and all that you are. I wouldn’t have it any other way.



A at One Month

A is 9 lbs 5 oz as of his appointment today, so up over a pound from his birth weight and even more from his lowest weight. He’s right around the 50th percentile for weight and height and is growing on track.

The usual baby things – buddy, little guy — but my favourites are what M comes up with, including Little Pooper Guy.

We’re fairly certain this guy has had a cold his entire life, so he’s a bit grumpy. Once he woke up in his second week he just wants to be held and nurse, and if that isn’t happening he’ll quickly register his displeasure. But we usually get one or two quiet chunks of time during the day when he’s content to just look around and take in the world without screaming.

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Do one month olds have skills?! He is adept at wiggling himself towards milk or what he thinks might give him milk. He’s also a pro at flinging himself backwards with all his might. Strength is his thing right now.

I miss sleep. Dude likes to nap all day and sleep in two hour increments at night. Yes, we are doing all the stuff we’re supposed to — noise and light during the day, quiet evenings, etc. but he’s doing his own thing right now and still has it backwards. That, and he vastly prefers sleeping next to me which I generally give into by the third wake up of the night because I am craving any sleep I can get. It’s survivable though, and I know it’ll turn around eventually so I’m just living through it for now.

ALL THE TIME. If he’s not sleeping he’s nursing or yelling for me to nurse him (hence the weight gain). He’s refluxy and gassy but in the realm of normal according to the doctor, so again — just living through it for now.

Second baby gets all the sleepers all the time. If we’re especially motivated he gets a little outfit but with all the diaper changes, sleepers are easy. He’s grown out of some of the smallest newborn sized things and is mostly in 0-3 month clothing now.

Being held, milk, being next to mom/on mom/attached to mom at all times, looking at bright lights when his eyes are open and he’s not hungry.

Doesn’t Love:
Diaper changes, baths, not having milk, not being held.

Things to Remember:
Relief at being home. M’s joy at being a big sister and all of her kisses and hugs. Lying in bed face to face and feeling so grateful that he’s here. Sweet warm squishy baby snuggles. The time Ashley decided to be proactive and change his diaper and then we heard screaming from the nursery (dude has aim). Christmas as a family of four.

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Mom and Dad:
Tired. The second week was a doozy – now it’s more of a normal thing for me to be perpetually exhausted at least. I forgot how rough that transition is.
Looking forward to being able to make more couple time, because two kids is shaping up to be a divide and conquer thing right now, but survival mode is king for the time being. And, above all, glad that we are all here!

Looking Forward To:
Smiles! Sleep, maybe? Getting out and doing things if the weather ever warms up.

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Dear A,

It’s amazing that you’re a real, live part of our family now, and that you’ve been with us for a month already. For a long time you were a dream, and then you were a fretted-over growing seed of hope, and now you are screaming a few rooms over while your sister tries to convince your dad that he can have his nails painted while he’s changing you. You’ve found a place in our chaos.

The way you were born — the ease, the calmness — to me it felt like you weren’t tangible for awhile. On your birthday I told your dad, over and over, “I can’t believe we had a baby. It feels like we didn’t have a baby.” Later that night I was alone with you for the first time, and I snuggled you up on my chest, leaned down and breathed in your baby smell and felt your warm body heaving as you breathed. You felt real, then. And a few days after we got home, I laid next to you on the big bed and looked at you — you opened your eyes and looked back at me, and you felt real then, too.

Most mornings you doze in and out of sleep beside me on the same bed. Sometimes I wake up and startle a bit — who am I and what am I doing?! But then I feel you next to me and remember that this is, indeed, real life. It’s exhausting and loud and boisterous, far more so than the first time we did this whole newborn thing, but you take it in stride. You’ve been kissed and squeezed and booped a million times already and you barely crack an eye open at it. As much as I’ve been questioning how you can possibly be real, all along, you’re a perfect fit.

I can’t wait to have more moments with you.




Baby A’s Birth Story


Baby A was born November 30 at 9:06 a.m., weighing 8 lbs 3 oz and measuring about 20 inches long. He had an Apgar score of 9 at one minute and five minutes, and came into this world enveloped in love, excitement, and peace.


We woke up early on Sunday to take care of the last remaining household tasks we could get at – cleaning up the kitchen, making sure beds had fresh linens, and some basic sanitizing and scrubbing. We also had to pack for everyone because we had been up doing laundry until the night before, then pack up the car and make sure our cat sitter had the keys to our house and mailbox. It was an incredibly rushed morning and we still ended up leaving three hours later than we would have liked. M napped for about half the drive, and we thankfully hit clear weather the whole way through.

When we arrived in Winnipeg we went right to the hotel and found out that the free upgrade we’d earned for sharing our reservation on social media was very much a HUGE upgrade – from a basic queen room to a full suite! Having our sleeping space separate from the living and eating area was perfect with a toddler in tow, and we made good use of having a dining table. We ordered food in that night, and I went to bed early while Matt and a very-wired M stayed up in the living room watching TV.

The next morning Matt had to do some troubleshooting. We’d realized we’d forgotten M’s luggage at home the night before, meaning she had absolutely no clothing. He headed off to the mall and got her a new wardrobe, which was an unwanted expense, but necessary given that we were going to be in town for a week. She also scored a Paw Patrol suitcase out of it so she was quite thrilled. When he got back we grabbed lunch at the hotel, then they went swimming while I snuck in another nap. My mom and her fiancé showed up in the early evening, having road tripped through the States, and we all went out for dinner before bed.

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At 2 a.m. M started coughing, hard. She’d been kind of sick on and off for a few weeks, and was suffering with this awful hacking cough, but this was a new level of rough. I went out into the living room to stretch out for a few minutes, hoping she’d drink some water and feel better, but literally the moment I walked back through the bedroom door chaos had broken loose. Right when Matt sat her up to try to relieve the cough, she had thrown up, and she was miserable. She’s only thrown up maybe three times in her life and she was panicking. Worse yet, her getting sick made Matt sick and it was an utter disaster unfolding in the hotel bathroom.

Matt kicked me out and told me he’d handle it, and the two of them had a shower, he cleaned up the bathroom and then I snuggled M while he went out to try to find meds at 3 a.m. With some Advil and a bit of honey for her throat she managed to fall back asleep with him for awhile, then woke up coughing again – I switched her over to my bed and eventually she fell asleep, albeit fitfully, until morning. It wasn’t exactly the relaxing last morning of sleeping in we’d hoped for, as we had to drag everyone out of bed and check out by 11, and we felt terrible for M, though she was doing better by morning.

With a quick round of coffee and muffins we all travelled out to our rental AirBnB, unloaded the cars, and had just enough time for a stop by the pharmacy for supplies – in case we were admitted that evening – and a bit of lunch. Matt and I left M behind with her grandparents and set out toward the hospital.


Unfortunately, we didn’t really know where we were going. We’d been past the hospital before and knew where the campus itself was but finding the women’s hospital was confusing. By the time we sorted it out, parking presented a problem – the parkade closest to the building was full, and it was about five minutes until our scheduled appointment leaving me totally upset and flustered because I did not want to have anything rescheduled at this point. Matt decided to ditch the car in front of what we figured was the women’s hospital, with a plan to keep running out to feed the meter every 30 minutes. But then we didn’t know where to actually enter the hospital. We went into ambulatory care, down several flights of stairs, only to find out that admitting was upstairs from a nurse who was unimpressed with our questions. I arrived at the desk a sweaty mess, leading the clerk to take immediate pity on me when I saw her and blurted out “I’m from Ontario and have no idea what I’m doing here.” She brought us back into the room and handled our paperwork.

Admitting done, we stepped into the fetal assessment unit, which was a bit of a zoo. As we’d later discover, like many other parts of that hospital, it was small, and busy. They handed me a pager and sent us back out to the main waiting area and that’s when I started to tear up, sitting there beside Matt, finally catching my breath after trying to find my way around a different province and a strange hospital while feeling all the pressure of knowing the next day, we’d be having a baby. Matt looked at me and asked if I was okay and all I could do was shake my head no, not wanting to cry in front of a room full of strangers. He commented that the space looked like a bus terminal – it really did – and the thought that kept running through my head was “I am not supposed to be here.” I missed our bright, new hospital at home, I hated that I didn’t know who I was going to meet or what was going to happen next, and I felt so very unsettled.

The pager buzzed just as Matt stepped out to feed the meter again and I reluctantly walked back to the unit, not wanting to go anywhere without him. As I was directed to another hallway he appeared at the same time as a very bubbly, friendly person who turned out to be an ultrasound tech. We were thrilled to find out that we were going to get one last peek at the baby, and as soon as the screen flicked on all of those worries and the doubt and the bad feelings went away. Our last ultrasound locally had been kind of weird – there were two new techs handling it and they didn’t say much or show us anything. This time we got a great peek at baby, saw his little face, watched him kick at the wand, and found out that he was estimated at eight pounds already, at 37 weeks, five days. Seeing him on the screen drove home the fact that we were going to really meet him the next day, and I was suddenly elated.

As the tech was doing the scan a man was popping in and out of the room asking me quick questions about our genetic history. After a few questions, I figured out that he was our doctor – the physician my own doctor specifically referred us to, and sends all her local patients to, because this guy is supposed to be the best of the best. I’d poked around a bit on internet reviews before leaving for Winnipeg and talked to a few friends who’d been risked out of town and had him as a doctor. The consensus from a lot of people was that his bedside manner was lacking, but his intelligence and expertise was unmatched.

For us, we actually really, really liked him. With all his questions out of the way he came in and sat down and introduced himself, explaining that he hadn’t done so before because he wanted to call hematology before they closed for the day. He took more of a brief family history, and explained, mostly to the medical fellow who was with him, a bit about hemophilia and the tainted blood crisis that lead to hemophiliacs contracting HIV and AIDS in the 1980s. He offered one more time to let me try a VBAC versus the scheduled Caesarean, noting that in his view, it doesn’t make sense to automatically section all carriers or potential carriers. But we were already there, and we didn’t want to have to sit and wait in Winnipeg – and pay for lodging during that wait – which was something we’d already discussed with my doctor at home, so we all confirmed the plan for surgery and went ahead as expected.

I found that the doctor didn’t have bad bedside manner – rather, he was just kind of quirky, to me. You could tell he had a strong interest in finding good outcomes for his patients, and was committed to teaching his students, too, and that didn’t leave a whole lot of space for hand holding. While he wasn’t someone I felt like I connected with on a personal level I felt extremely safe in his care, and he showed us warmth and compassion in subtle ways, making sure we felt comfortable and informed. The whole reason we were seeing him was for his knowledge, and we felt very secure in that.

The tech printed us off a few photos of our boy, and with instructions to arrive at the hospital at 7 a.m. the next day for a 9 a.m. C-section. We went back to the AirBnB and met up with our family, then set off for one last dinner – my mom excitedly told our server we were having a baby the next day – and returned to the basement apartment. I took a shower that night knowing I’d have to be up early the next day, and tried to get myself to sleep despite the anticipation and excitement that had taken over my body and mind. Our long, long journey to baby was about to be over, and I couldn’t wait.


I woke up early on the 30th, not needing my alarm. I was alone in one of the bedrooms – M and Matt had slept out on an air mattress in the living room to ensure that I could get one last round of decent sleep, if possible. I navigated around the house in the dark, not wanting to wake anyone else. Clothes on, one last check of the hospital bags, rousing Matt and waiting for him to shower, then we were out the door. It was cold and crisp and dark outside and it felt like we were some of the only people in the world as we got into the car and started driving from the suburbs to downtown.

I cued up First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes as Matt steered the car toward the hospital:

This is the first day of my life
Swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain suddenly everything changed
They’re spreading blankets on the beach

Yours is the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
Now I don’t know where I am
I don’t know where I’ve been
But I know where I want to go

And so I thought I’d let you know
That these things take forever
I especially am slow
But I realize that I need you
And I wondered if I could come home

We both felt the emotion and the rush of knowing that, after a year of trying, after three losses, after so much sadness, and then the anxiety of waiting and worrying with this guy, hoping we would be able to meet him – we were within hours of his arrival.

At the hospital, we knew where to park and where to check in, although there was a brief moment of worry when the admitting clerk couldn’t find us on the surgery list. She sent us up to triage after finding our details and taking down the details of our request for a private room, but neither of us were actually listening and ended up on the wrong floor at day surgery. We had to ask for directions and reroute ourselves up one more floor. At triage they sat me down and started asking questions until my answer to “why are you here” was “I’m having a C-section” at which point they realized I needed to be in an entirely different area and moved me over to a place where, honestly, I’m not sure what normally happens. There were a bunch of beds in curtained off sections, a handful of nurses, and a bathroom. A different set of nurses gave me a gown to put on, took my clothes and started an IV, then kicked us out to a patient lounge to sit and wait.

Matt started to get visibly nervous at this point. He paced the lounge room and complained about the TV, which was playing a very loud sportscast that was just too much for him to bear at that early hour with his nervous energy fully engaged. Eventually he asked a clerk if he could have the remote, and when it turned out that the remote was missing, he climbed up on a chair and unplugged the TV from the wall, exhaling in relief as he sunk into a chair.

Soon after, as Matt was in a washroom putting on his own scrubs, I heard the already familiar sound of our doctor’s voice and realized that it was go time. Everything around me sped up, quickly. I met the anesthesiologist, who told me that he’d be treating me “like a normal patient” having assessed all the risks of hemophilia and my potential carrier status. The doctor went over informed consent with me, a nurse handed me a cup full of liquid to neutralize my stomach acid, Matt appeared in the doorway wearing too-large scrubs, and suddenly we were all moving down the hall. We briefly stopped in a prep room where Matt disappeared again to ask the nurses for a cup of juice so he wouldn’t faint, then I found myself being guided into the operating room.

At our hospital, the OR is a separate area of the hospital, but here, it was just another room within the delivery wing, and that felt strange to me, literally walking myself into the place where my baby would soon be born knowing that there were women giving birth all around me. Matt later told me that as he sat in the hallway waiting to be called in, a woman was screaming in pain – as I was being prepped, the nurses told me “Your husband is frantically pacing outside.”

In the OR, I was introduced to the rest of the medical staff, and helped hoist myself up onto the bed for the spinal anesthetic. I told the anesthesiologist he had his practice down to an art – every sensation he said I’d experience, I experienced immediately after he said I would. I couldn’t remember what getting the spinal was like, when I had M, and was feeling a bit nervous about it this time, but the doctor braced me at the front, the needles went in, and although it hurt a bit, it was quick, and I felt strangely calm as soon as it was done. I used the last bit of feeling in my legs to stretch out on the table, pushed one arm off to either side, and settled into the heavy, dull sensation.

Every bit of worry I had faded away. I have never felt so calm in my life. I felt quiet, relaxed, and finally, finally assured that everything would be fine. I can’t explain why it happened but I am so grateful that my anxiety let go at that point. I looked up at the lights over the table – seaglass shades of green and blue and white – and breathed deeply as I smelled the disinfectant being applied to my body and felt the nurses touching my stomach. When I had M, I was terrified. I hated the disengaged feeling; not knowing what was happening, not being able to feel my body. This time it felt like I had turned myself over to what was supposed to happen. It felt like I could just sink into the process and trust that all would be well. Something deep inside me knew that I was, in fact, exactly where I was supposed to be.

Matt came in and sat down on a chair beside my head – a pre-emptive measure for the guy who seemed on the verge of fainting all morning – and the OR crew started the audio tape, explaining who I was and what they were doing. It was quiet and peaceful and moved so quickly. In what seemed like minutes, the anesthesiologist advised me that I’d be feeling a lot of pressure: “You can’t push him out, so we’re going to push him out for you.” I mostly felt that sensation toward my ribs where I had a nurse on each side putting what felt like all their weight on my body.

And then A cried. Matt also cried, grasping my hand and saying, with such joy, “That’s him! That’s him!” Me, I still felt nothing but utter peace and calm. Of course it was him. Of course he was here. It was the way things were supposed to be, all along. How could I have ever thought differently?

The medical team asked Matt if he wanted to stand and look at the baby, then countered themselves with “Ehhhh… unless you feel like you might faint?” He asked me if he could look – I had banned him from peeking at M before I could, but this time that peace was enveloping me so much that I gave my blessing and he immediately shot up over the surgical drape to look, reporting back that the baby was absolutely beautiful. A nurse towelled him off quickly and brought him around the other side of the drape – the minute the doctor told Matt it was time for skin to skin he ripped off his scrub top and grabbed A, holding him tight as he brought him close to my face.

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He looked like M, but different. Heavier, squishier, not as dark. Matt was emotional but I still felt tranquil, just happy to lie back and drink in a long look at A. The medical team soon asked Matt if he wanted to help weigh A, and he jumped at the opportunity. I laughed when the nurse carefully led him around the surgical drape, sternly instructing, “Do NOT look over there. And don’t touch anything blue.”

Around this time, I started to feel a bit nauseated, for the first time since surgery began. The anesthesiologist said he could adjust things (and told me it was probably partially due to my uterus being out of my body which didn’t really help with my feeling of illness) and I thankfully felt better shortly thereafter, but then the exhaustion kicked in. He told me it was likely a combination of medicine, coming down from the rush of surgery, and post-birth hormones, and I decided to just lean into it and shut my eyes while everyone bustled around me. I felt no sense of urgency as they finished surgery and Matt returned with A in his arms. Everyone gave me their assurances that surgery had went very well, and the room cleared out, leaving a few people left to log roll me over onto the bed they’d use to wheel us to recovery.

A was placed in my arms and latched on as we were in the hallway between the OR and the recovery room. When the nurse expressed her amazement at that, I said, “That’s nothing – my daughter latched right away in the OR!”

We were the only ones in recovery and I laid back with A while Matt called our parents. My dad was actually in surgery at the same time, in Ottawa, so we held off on making any public announcement until we could talk to him later that afternoon. I still felt dozy, but being allowed to eat a bit of food and drink some juice helped, and I was eager to get going out of recovery. I was thrilled to find out that my doctor asks the nurses to take out the catheter right away for his C-section patients. Most people wait for 12 to 14 hours, the nurse explained, but he asks for them to be taken out in recovery to encourage women to have to get up and move faster. One of my big concerns, going into another Caesarean, was how long I’d be stuck in bed, so I was definitely on board with that plan. I could move my own legs to help with the removal, which impressed the nurse, and the feeling came back to my lower body quite quickly. By the time they wheeled us out to the elevator to take us up to our room, I was able to scooch myself over from the recovery stretcher to the hospital bed, bit by bit, without any assistance.

The rest of the day was busy, loud, and disconcerting especially compared with the peace of birth. We were in an incredibly small shared room, with roommates who were not exactly the most courteous people in the world, and it was utterly packed especially when M and her grandparents came to visit. That didn’t matter, though, when I saw how thrilled M was to meet her baby brother. Soon after they came to visit, hematology came down and let us know that A’s clotting factor was perfectly normal, meaning he is not a hemophiliac.

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I spent a lot of that day feeling a bit out of sorts, to be honest, after surgery was over and A was in our arms. When I had M, the Caesarean was the culmination of a long hard labour, and so I felt like I had done a lot of work to get her out even though it was ultimately a surgical birth. With A, I walked myself into the operating room and came out less than an hour later with a brand-new baby. I kept telling Matt that it was crazy to me that he was real. I had barely had time to process our sped-up delivery plan, barely had time to think about what the surgery would be like, and then it happened and there was this tiny little person in our lives. It felt like something that happened to me, rather than something I participated in. That feeling faded quickly, though, and this time around I really have no regrets or misgivings about the birth itself. Even though it turned out to be a precaution that didn’t necessarily need to be taken, given that he is not a hemophiliac, I’m glad that we took the safest route, and I am so thankful that all my anxiety finally fell away the moment my feet hit the threshold of the operating room.

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When the sky darkened, Matt went out to get our bags from the car and I had my first moment alone with A. I pulled him in close to my body and he rested his warm head on my chest. It felt positively blissful. Every part of my body rang with happiness in that minute, and I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and completeness.

Before we had A, a lot of friends told me that their scheduled repeat C-sections were a dream compared to previous unplanned Caesareans. For me, that very much held true. This was the right birth for us, for our baby, and for our situation, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.