...and a nappy-headed ho will lead them all. (thewayoftheid) wrote,
...and a nappy-headed ho will lead them all.
thewayoftheid

...and then there were three.

Before...




After!






He's fascinating to watch. One minute he's looking at his hand, the next minute he's looking at you in bewilderment, still adjusting to life on the outside. He farts like a grown ass man and when the light hits him a certain way, he sorta looks like one. I tell people that it's only a matter of time before he's yelling at cats to get off his lawn. He eats, he poops, and after a little fussing he falls asleep in your arms and it's the best feeling in the world. And oh, that new baby smell. I submit that you have not lived until you have smelled a new, fresh-off-the-assembly-line baby.

Of course, the delivery wasn't what I expected. A routine check-up turned into a labor inducement, with the husband and best friends taking turns holding my hand and rubbing my back. My packed bag was still at home, I hadn't gotten my braids done as I planned, and I still didn't have the adapter for my portable iTouch stereo, so I was a little miffed at this last minute call. Contractions were mild at first, but--once the resident broke my water--became intensely painful. I may have proposed to my anesthesiologist after she gave me the epidural. Ok, not "may have." Did. DID. I totally proposed to that woman. An hour later my OB arrived, fresh from her weekend vaycay, to perform the cesarean. Once in the OR, the all-female staff moved around me with the precision of a army unit. After 20 minutes of rummaging through my stomach like grandma's purse, there he was. He and the husband locked eyes (or eye, since he came out with one eye open like his mama did 33 years ago) and dashed him away to the nursery for check-up and bath.

Four days later, we were home. Our new roommate took to his new environment as most babies do--by sleeping everywhere. On the couch, in the bassinet, in our bed, on top of us. He seems most partial to the bed. He sleeps in it more than we do.

After ma's last stint in the hospital, she told me that Langston was the reason she wanted to live, the reason she's willing to change her life. The power of love is, indeed, a transformative one.

There are days when I wake up in total disbelief that I am someone's parent, when I fully expect Lang's real parents to show up and be all "yeah, we'll take it from here!" But he's ours. From his fingers, to his toes, to the two little dimples in his cheeks that only come out when he feeds. He's ours. And amazing.

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