Now, We Are Four

Greetings from the deep end!

That is correct. The deep end just got deeper. Aryll was born yesterday at 5:35pm. Within the hour, I had called all of the family, taken pictures of the baby, cleaned and packed the delivery room stuff to go to the recovery room, taken the baby to the nursery to be cleaned and get her initial inoculations and warmed up as she was too cold. Within that same hour, Pam got cleaned up, ate dinner and walked down to the nursery to see Aryll. The reader, at this point, is probably saying something like, "Did I read that correctly? Did he write WALK? Pam shouldn't be WALKING!?!" Yes, yes I did. Pam has been more normal today than yesterday or for the last few weeks. By the time we went to bed last night, Pam was happy and walking around and taking care of the baby and worrying about me and Xander. (Pam quote at midnight, "My arm hurts from playing Wii the other day.") I was tired and shaky and crying and sore. Am I the only person who sees the injustice here? Isn't it the mother's job to be tired and sore and actually use the recovery room to…I don't know, recover? Isn't the dad supposed to be helpful and rested and at the top of his daddying game? So here I sit, on the recovery hospital bed, playing the schmuck. Once again, my role as protector and provider has been thwarted by Pam's awesomeness, for which there is no charge. So with that, here's to Pam, the mommy of the hour.