Day Seven...

At least, we think it's day seven. When you tend to only get five hours of sleep a day in random spurts, time flies fast.

For those of you who don't know, we experienced the arrival of a stowaway!

Penelope Mae Mosey was born on January 4th, 2013 at 5:28 PM

Penelope Mae Mosey on day one!

DNA test results are inconclusive, but this photo is proof of my fatherhood.

For those of you who have children, you will know what I mean when I say that the last seven days have been a whirlwind. I find it difficult to believe that in only seven days we have timidly transitioned from being an expectant married couple to being a family of three. It's a heavy draught for me to swallow, and I've even been here for all of it. I can only imagine the reactions of my acquaintances as the news has been passed round. Outright shock and denial. Me, a father?

Shocking as it may seem, it is fact. And each morning and night I marvel at the beauty and miracle that is my baby daughter. She is currently sitting on my chest as I lounge on our sofa writing this blog. I'd like to imagine she is flattered that I am writing about her, and is voicing her opinions in each coo and moan.

This blog post has been Penelope Mae-approved.

In these seven days, we've had a lot of drama in The Flat (our affectionate, Brit-inspired name for our apartment). Without going into too much detail about breasts and feeding off of them (for all you little boys and girls out there that might cry "ICKY!!"), there has been a bit of trouble in paradise. Whether because of some oversight or mistake on our part or our daughter's, Penelope has not been gaining the weight her pediatrician hopes that she would. She was and is a petite little thing, but the desired flab just won't stick. We've had two appointments in three days, with another scheduled "weigh-in" tomorrow morning. If we don't have our desired results, we may have to opt for some more intensive feeding options.

As far as we can tell, the problem does seem to lie with Penelope. When it comes time for a scheduled feeding, she becomes violently agitated. She kicks and screams, and even when she latches, she lets go. Then, in a fit of frustration, she cries that she lost her latch. It's a vicious cycle, and while it does showcase her remarkable lack of self-awareness (a hallmark of seven-day olds, I imagine) it also reveals her independence and stubbornness, both qualities I tend to value. However, I tend to value these quite less when they prevent me from sleeping at 3 in the morning.

Other than said drama, Penelope is doing extremely well. Beth and I like to look for different ways that we believe that she is better than all the other children her age, and some that are older. We can already tell that she's a smart girl, much like her mother. And she has my fingers and toes. We love our little hobbit/Chipotle burrito/munchkin.

Penelope Mae on day seven!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Here, at the Beginning of All Things...

I'm sitting on my couch, thinking. Which is a dangerous thing for a first-time father the night before his wife is induced into labor.

The past nine months have been indescribable. From crisis to crisis, from elation to elation, and between every single momentous occasion, time has flown. Penelope has grown from being a lump, to a bump, to a basketball-sized parasite in my wife's belly.

I feel that my first response to my reflections is to say thank you. Thank you to our families. Thank you to our parents, and brothers (and brothers-in-law). Thank you to friends and co-workers. Thank you to anyone and everyone who made my wife feel special and cared for. Thanks to those of you who gave us shower gifts. We would not be this prepared for Penelope Mae if it weren't for you. Thank you for a stroller/car seat/baby carrier set (I mean you, Brandon and Kelci!). Thank you for thinking of us and our child, and for giving your time and energy to help us be better parents.

I cannot believe I just said that. I'm going to be a father. You know, I read somewhere that becoming a father is a little more emotionally rough than becoming a mother. It said that the mother has nine months to expect, encounter and feel changes that are coming. For the father, it literally happens overnight. One moment, you're just an average joe (in my head, I'm still the seventeen-year old naive boy I was seven years ago). The next moment, you're a father. In a matter of hours, you go from being an oblivious, useless human being to being a provider, caretaker, and protector of a small life full of potential. I wish I could adequately convey the intensity, scope and depth of emotion I feel tonight.

As a final word before the hectic day tomorrow will be, I'd like to say thank you to you, my readers. I know there aren't many of you. But I have felt your excitement and support (all three of you! haha) throughout this journey. Thank you for reading, and I hope you continue to do so.

And now, in the immortal words of Don Herold:

"Babies are such a nice way to start people."