Long has it been since I have bequeathed my thoughts onto the blog.
I like that word, bequeathed. I doubt I used it right, but it has a certain romantic ring to it that gives me a thrill. Just had to use it.
Anyway. It's been awhile. From being almost three weeks past my due date and having a newborn and not being around internet too terribly much, and plain old not feeling like posting... I've avoided the blog. But here I am.
I won't go into detail about the labor, so as to avoid terrifying the babyless gals and collecting sympathy from the mothers (actually, I welcome sympathy). But I'll say this: I DID NOT LIKE IT. End of story. It was worse than I am capable of imagining. I will say no more. Although I'm dying to freak you all out with the wicked details.
But, a baby came out in the end, and I'll tell you about that. Or I'll just let the pictures speak for you. I don't have any from the last two weeks, due to us taking pictures with our cell phones. He is four weeks today. So, once I get some more onto the actual camera, I'll post. These are only from his first day. He's developed into an even cuter, wide eyed, very fat little boy. I'm sure you've seen his wondrous glories on Facebook.
We named him Clinton Joseph Stoll, after his Daddy. We call him CJ. He was eight pounds and 21 1/2 inches long, and came out looking around, serious, and very mellow. We are in love. He was born at 7:09 am, not long after dawn. The relief and miracle of his birth was incredible. I don't know how to elaborate without getting extremely gushy, flowery, and over the top Shakesperean. So... it was amazing.
Here he is, freshly out, still with a cone head and looking like a little old man.
About eight minutes after his arrival. Still in total shock. I know I'm going to regret putting this photo up as soon as I hit the publish button.
First, Clint was born to be a husband. And then he was born to be a father. And in between he was born to be a host of other magnificent things. He was a perfect doula. I probably would have died if he wasn't there to comfort me. End of story.
He loved this little stork weighing device as soon as they put him in it. This is Mary, Clint's paternal grandmother, who was my midwife.
His first night with us.
The next morning. There's nothing like seeing the man I adore with our son. Having a baby is seriously romantic. Hopefully our children will end up having a thick, wavy mop of hair like my man, as you can see he's been blessed with. Unlike me.
Promises of a chubby future and maybe a little football...
Now you can all comment and tell me how beautiful my boy is. ;) I'll put some up of his more developed self soon.