Exciting times. Baby James was born this morning at 6 am! He has two hands and two feet, and all the other parts seem to be in the right place.
You should be grateful that I won't go into further details on my birth story. I'll leave the details within the hospital (and burned forevermore on my brain and that of my darling husband.) I once read that a woman's birth story is like a person's dream of the night before: no one really wants to hear it, but the person who experienced it loves to bore listeners. And they are too polite to refuse to listen.
That particular rule is similar to the "my baby is cuter than other babies" phenomenon. It's not a selfish or egomaniacal reflex. It's just what happens. Before Sunday morning, I was frankly ambivalent about newborns. I was never one of the women who goes crazy with well-expressed excitement at seeing a new baby. They looked roughly the same, had no magical powers over me, and frankly seemed more of a hindrance to a normal life than an enhancement.
Then, James dropped from my body, and suddenly, everything changed. The fact that I am responsible for the life and well-being of this little munchkin has made me adore him. It's simply the tried and true management principle: give someone ownership of a project, and their commitment and performance will dramatically increase.
Now, I just have to somehow use the equipment, knowledge, and books I have acquired over the past nine months to take care of this little guy. I have motivation, but how will I perform?
No comments:
Post a Comment