...or is it day three? Second full day with a baby in tow now on it's way to completion.
Day one was a dream - he was a little sleepy angel. After spending all night crouched over the cot either abusing the snot-sucker because he was sniffling or sitting very quietly trying to hear him breathe, we woke him at 9am to feed him, took him for a stroll in the park and the whole day seems to have a lovely golden glow around it. To be honest, I don't remember much of it already - telephone calls, emails, one friend visiting and Charlie being angelic.
I stil haven't had that big rush of motherly love although I would call myself 'quite a lot' obsessed with him on one of those five-point scales ("How obsessed with your child are you? 1. Not at all, 2. not very much, 3. somewhat, 4. quite a lot, or 5. totally"). He's certainly the best new gadget we've had in this house considering that he doesn't actually DO anything but pee all over the walls, floor and nearest parent when being changed. He's certainly endlessly entertaining (see '4' on the above scale of obsession) in terms of watching him move and he's certainly quite lovely to have around for no particular reason but... well perhaps this is what it's about.
How is he? He's sleeping a lot, feeding a lot and being quite alert. He opens his eyes and tries to look around, he lifts his head up a little bit, he's managed not to crack a nipple and he's having advanced poos about which the midwife has been very encouraging (how is it that someone praising your son's new poo is suddenly really satisfying?? What is this motherhood thing anyway? It's suspect, I tell you that much).
How am I? Up until today I felt great. Well, you would do really. Considering that there was no opportunity to ask for any drugs at all during what is laughingly referred to as the 'delivery' (as if one has just dialed up a pizza), I popped him out on a home-made cocktail of adrenalin and endorphins followed by a massive serotonin chaser. I felt fantastic afterwards. No stinging, no aching, no pain - I felt flexible, un-stressed and very, very relaxed. Charlie was sleeping, feeding well and generally being the model of the perfect newborn. Best of all, I am no longer pregnant, a fact about which I cannot find sufficient words to stress my joy.
This fantasy lasted until this afternoon, when after entertaining the neighbours, the midwife and two sets of friends and having a nice glass of champagne I fell asleep in the livingroom. I woke an hour later with the imprint of the coffee-table engraved in my ankles into an entirely different world. Here, I seem to have done my back in, my nether regions have been in a fight with a baseball bat, my hands and my jaw ache, I'm losing my voice and I have lost the ability to sit upright or hold the baby without worrying about dropping him. Charlie for his part has now picked a favourite boob and spends ages fighting off the other one as if it was possessed by the devil and he has decided that sleeping alone is a bad thing.
In this new world I really, really need to get some sleep. So perhaps that's what I should do.