All is well, except the baby is swearing

I haven't been to this hospital's postpartum ward for exactly 15 months, and they have really spruced things up around here... they've even installed wifi! So I'm delighted to be able to post. As soon as I get my mitts on a USB cable, I can start posting even more pictures of our gorgeous new daughter.

(It helps ward off the narcotic-based delusions that still keep cropping up... like, uh, the singing flowers. They're not real. Right?)

As for my C-section: Hello! That was easy. I mean, compared to last time. It was still strange and unsettling, but the spinal block was MARVY compared to the cranked-up epidural of yore

Hub-D and I left the house at 5:45am. I drove us to the hospital, so excited to "get the show on the road." Plus, it was my last chance to drive for two weeks -- after a C-section, you're not allowed behind the wheel for a full two weeks.

After I got lost for a few minutes, and wigged out with excitement in the parking lot, we got into the hospital.

Then we had the worst part of our day: an annoying nurse who couldn't start my IV to save her life. I have the big purple bruises to prove it. She even tried inserting the IV right next to my tenolysis site on my left wrist (she'd never heard of tenolysis) and the pain was downright excruciating.

After crying hysterically for a few minutes, I let her try ONE MORE TIME and we finally got an IV working in the back of my left hand. Everything went great from there on out.

I WALKED into the operating room. Isn't that a hoot? I just strolled in, like, "Hey boys, anyone want to take this baby out of me?" They helped me climb my big pregnant belly onto the operating table, and I lay down on my side while the anesthesiologist numbed my back and inserted the spinal block medicine.

What a huge difference! It was like sitting in a hot tub, the warmth filled my lower extremities, and while I could feel pressure and general movement, I couldn't feel any pain. Then, someone turned on Frank Sinatra, and Dr. W got to work.

Hub-D sat next to me, the anesthesiologist sat behind me, and I didn't know what to think about. I felt a little bit mellowed by the spinal, and I just kind of counted the minutes until Baby C (TBFMA "Leafy") was in my arms. I just wanted to hear her cry.

It's just creepy, there's no way around that, to have two men messing around with your internal reproductive organs. But Dr. W and a mystery doctor who assisted him worked swiftly during this part of the procedure, and within seven minutes of the first cut, we were listening to Baby C's cry resonate through the operating room.

She was born HUNGRY, my friends, and hollering about it. And if I didn't have Gigi already, I would say that she had a lot of hair. She's just one big gigantic hunk of gorgeous, but I didn't get to scope her out for several more minutes -- while they suctioned her off and cleaned the chunks of gore out of her hair and ears. They weighed her -- 9 lbs., 5 oz. -- measured her -- 21" -- and wrapped her up so I could give her some smooches.

It must have been a cakewalk for her too, compared to her sisters' birth experiences. One minute she was taking a little snooze in utero, and the next minute, she's out, looking around for her pals, Boob #1 and Boob #2. "Where ARE you guys? HELLO! Hungry girl here!"

There were no 40 hours of contractions and slow passage out the birth canal as for Chebbles. There were no fevers, tachycardia, half-labor then -- PSYCH! -- emergency C-section as for Gigi.

It really was "Bada-Bing-Bada-Boom" and then we were in the recovery room, the three of us, falling in love with each other like crazy. (This was despite the presence of the annoying nurse, who -- thank heavens -- was replaced by a much more competent nurse in a crisp little green sweater who tsk-tsked when she saw my crappy IV and gave me some sound advice about caring for the baby.)

After a few hours of swooning together over the BEAUTY that is Baby C -- little flat seashell ears, deep-set eyes like Chebbles, pink complextion, ridiculously chubby cheeks and little swirls of dark hair around her head -- Hub-D headed home to relieve the babysitter.

Baby C and I just sat here and nursed. I'm willing to bet that's going to be my primary activity for the next four days: boobin' the C. She is a true champ at it. It makes my boobs want to *step up* to the task, rather than flapping around incompetently as they did at Gigi's newborn hunger. My boobs are behaving MUCH BETTER this time around.

I wonder why the boobs are snapping into action so much better, giving Baby C not just a milk moustache, but a milk BEARD? I'm inclined to believe it's something chemical between me and the baby, some kind of physiological compatibility. Because it was this easy with Chebbles too.

I don't agree with those who posit that my infection during labor with Gigi and the resultant isolation from each other and narcotic festival had anything to do with it. Because this whole pregnancy was different -- from 18 weeks onward, I was much less nauseated, and I even had spurts of real energy. (With Gigi, I was tired, sick and upset for pretty much the whole 9 months.)

Don't get me wrong, Gigi and I have found that we have very compatible personalities and we plan to be BFF's for the rest of our lives. It's just the whole "Gigi Being Dependent on Mama's Body For Sustenance" gig that didn't work out.

So I'm happy to report that it looks like Baby C and I have a good nursing career ahead of us.

I know it's too soon to tell what her personality will be, as she's feigning newborn fatigue (what could possibly make you tired, child? you didn't have to DO anything!) and has dropped a few ounces as she embarks on her quest to eat as much as humanly possible and catch up with her sisters -- but she's a remarkably mellow human being so far. She's charming, and she studied her daddy's face for a good long time yesterday, soaking in all of his glory -- and vice versa.

She's also already asked Daddy how SOON they can go to Disneyland AND she somehow picked up the word "bullshit" from someone (they've got to watch their mouths around here), and she's throwing it around left and right, as in:

"What? You have to stick my heel for another blood sugar test? This is bullshit!"

Or, "Why do you have to remove me from my mother's breast??? Because she has to go to the bathroom? Bullshit, people!"

I'm going to try to catch some Z's now while she's sleeping in her little plastic rolling bassinet.

Good girl. Good times. All is well.