Sylvie Says Hi. And Shows Off Her Shoes.

I am being unduly influenced by the drugs or the hormones or, most likely, a combination thereof, because I think this photo is cute. Well, I veer between thinking it's cute and wanting to make a Lady Macbeth joke. I have a feeling Sylvie Rosalind is not going to like being dirty. She looks like she's freaking out: "Ieeee, what's this stuff all over me?!"

Sylvie was supposed to arrive on Friday, June 19th, via c-section at an excellent maternity/children's hospital in Halifax, which is about an hour's drive from here. Instead, she decided to make her entrance here at our small local hospital on Monday, June 15th. I woke at 6:20am, feeling mildly crampy, and then lost my mucous plug, which is colloquially known as having "bloody show." (When you've got a choice between saying "I lost my mucous plug" and "I had bloody show" perhaps it's best not to say anything at all.) I'd heard that while this is a sign things are progressing, it doesn't necessarily mean that labour is imminent. Then a few minutes later, I thought my water broke. It turns out I was wrong -- for those interested in such things, it was more "show" only this time less "bloody" -- but I knew that when your water breaks you must go to the hospital at once and I thought mine had. So I calmly told David, who was already up and getting ready for work, that we should go have a quick check-up at the local hospital before driving into the city for a c-section, if that turned out to be necessary. We roused Luke, woke his grandfather and asked him to meet us there, and drove the five minutes to the local hospital. We were there by 7:30 and by the time they hooked me up to the fetal monitor a few minutes later, I was having intensely painful contractions about two and a half minutes apart. Since I was hardly dilated, they told me I was free to drive into the city. Problem was,  I couldn't move. "Would you like an ambulance?" they suggested. At first I thought yes and then I thought no. They started throwing around the idea of airlifting me to the city. Between moans that sounded like a herd of cows having choir practise -- but imagine cows that can actually sing* -- I said, "Could I just have the c-section here?" And they, the lovely people, said yes. Sylvie made her entrance at 9:17am. She weighed 7lb 10oz, a good three pounds more than Luke did at birth, and she's terrifically hearty and healthy. If I'd decided to go into the city, I would've still been on the road at that point, and experiencing relentless contractions without any pain relief. Here's to fast and close to home.

When they pulled Sylvie out and showed her to me, my main reaction was surprise. You'd think I'd have come to terms with this whole pregnancy thing by now but I was still terribly shocked to see that a small perfectly formed human being had just been pulled from my mid-section. And for the rest of the week, which I have spent in a drug-and-exhaustion-induced haze, things have continued to seem surreal. That first night, as a labouring women moaned up and down the hall outside my door like ghosts, I dreamed that every time a baby was born, the attending doctors and nurses and assorted onlookers rose in a standing ovation. The next day I realized that the wheels on the baby bassinets made a rattling sound like applause as they were transported up and down the halls. And I'm not too sure about the hordes of labouring women moaning outside my door, either -- a couple of days later I noticed that the elevator made a similar groaning sound.

Here is Sylvie looking slightly grumpy and hardly at all like a gerbil. Sorry for the blurry, poorly lit photo -- she only opens her eyes when the light is dim. I could only capture them at half-mast but I'll keep trying.

And here she is modelling her Zutano newborn kimono shirt and striped pants. I have found that since she doesn't cry all the time, unlike her brother at the same age, I am able to fuss with her wardrobe. She's only six days old and I've already started to play with her like a doll. She actually fell asleep while I was changing her into this. Shh, don't tell any of those overly maternal teenagers who want to have a baby so they will have "somebody to love." 

When I went to the grocery store today -- yes, I was able to go to the grocery store today! -- I couldn't resist these teensy tiny shoes.

Turns out they're not quite teensy tiny enough.

Okay, that's all for now. I've got oodles to tell you but I am still feeling fuzzy and fried. Like some kind of gourmet dessert made with peaches. Which is appropriate, because this time around, everything feels like that. Peachy. But still fuzzy and fried.

*Speaking of the choir of cows, I really did start to half-sing/half-moan along with the contractions when they started to come so close together. The room was full of people swarming around me, readying me for surgery, and I thought, "Hmm, this room is full of people, readying me for surgery. And I am sing-moaning at the top of my lungs. Or moan-singing. Hmm." And then I thought, "Oh well." And then I moan-sang a little more. David commented on it later. "You sounded like you were singing. I thought of taping it." And I have to admit, I almost wish he had. I suppose his sense of propriety stopped him. You'd never catch him moan-singing in public. Unless, you know, a small perfectly formed human being was attempting to emerge from his mid-section.

Comments

[Sue]

Congratulations!

She's lovely. I am happy for you that things are progressing well.

[e.e.]

amazing story, steph. so happy everyone's healthy and beautiful and resting. looking forward to more stories. and stories of luke and sylvie. love to all. xoxo

[daysgoby]

Have you read finslippy's birth story? I thought if it when you mentioned the moo-ing. http://tinyurl.com/nfpdjr

Welcome to the world, Sylvie Rosalind! May you always be as impossibly cute as you are at this moment.

[gigi]

Congrats. She's a beautiful baby and congrats to the big brother as well.

gigi

[Melissa]

Congratulations! Hooray! She's beautiful. I'm so glad everything is peachy, and I can't wait to hear (uh, read) all your stories. :)

(Also, though way less important: you can buy cute shoes at the GROCERY STORE?! What with that and the health care and the maternity leave, I totally want to move to Canada.)

[Gwenda]

Welcome to the world, Sylvie! Congratulations--and bloody show should really be a punk band.

[Maud]

Oh, Steph, she's gorgeous! And I'm glad you have an easy baby this time. Post more photos when she grows into the shoes.

[MayB]

Woot! Congrats! She is precious. I mean, not when she's all covered in slime and stuff, but otherwise? Totally cute.

[genevieve]

Cead mille failte (A hundred thousand welcomes) to you Sylvie. Fabulous name, Steph. And what lovely feet. I won't show any teenagers those pictures, I promise.

[Sara O'Leary]

Oh, look at the perfect little doll. And Sylvie's a lovely name - do you know Sylvie and Bruno? - look forward to reading the continuing adventures of Sylvie and Luke.

[Kate C.]

Congratulations! She is so sweet. :)

Glad to hear you are both doing well!

[Kathy]

I got her from Babelbabe's blog (she raved about yours and as a lover of books, I had to check it out.) Congratulations on Sylvie -- she's beautiful! As are her shows.

Where in NS are you? My mom's family, the Bellefontaines, are from Cape Breton.

[Mar]

Congratulations! I am amazed that you are finding the strength to blog about this after so short a time, quite a new area for the babies in literature...

[Katie]

Congratulations Stephany! She's beautiful. All best wishes and take care!

[MoDBev]

Congratulations! She is beautiful and I absolutely adore the shoes. My store doesn't have cute shoes like that.

I also have to say I love your imagery. I can hear the moaning ghosts flitting up and down the halls and the rattling applause of the bassinet wheels.