Andrew is one week old today. Hard to believe! He is so precious. He is cute and perfect and smells good and I am just in love with him.
The boys are adjusting well to their new little brother. There has been a slight increase in fussing, partially attributable to having been spoiled by grandparents for the last two weeks. DS2 (oh, let's call him "Timothy") has only asked me twice to "put him down" in the bassinette or bouncy seat, and yesterday wanted to know what Andrew's favorite color was. DS4 (we'll call him "Christopher") will pat him and give him a kiss, and explains things to Timothy. They are both very helpful.
My recovery is going pretty well. I'll post a birth story here, of course, when I have time to write it. But I'll just say that while most of labor was a piece of cake, the actual birth part was extremely intense. Everyone tells me I had great control and didn't make a whole lot of noise, but all I remember is groaning and roaring and saying things like, "get him out!". But other than being tired and my gimpy hips which are taking their sweet time returning to normal, no major complaints. I had a small tear which I elected not to have repaired and boy, am I happy with that decision, at least so far. I guess I hadn't realized the extent to which the pain and swelling I experienced with the first two was not a normal result of childbirth, but was due to the trauma of the suturing. I wish more of an attempt was made to prevent perineal tears in childbirth. It would make a big difference for a lot of women.
His second night out, Andrew blessed us with 5 hours of sleep, then after a quick snack another 3 or 4 hours. By the third day, however, my milk had started to come in and sleep was hard to come by. I'm thinking, I don't care if he does eat every 2 hours, as long as he actually falls asleep in between feedings. By the fifth night we were back to a normal sleeping and waking pattern.
More when I get a chance.