Free at last

Woody's home now, and seems to be settling in nicely. That first 24 hours is, as most parents will probably tell you, a terrifying and profoundly uncomfortable time. Woody didn't want to sleep, and he was just cranky and uncooperative in every way. By the next morning Maggie was telling me "I don't know if we can do this" and I was having to do everything to assure her that yes, we can make this work.

And my bravado seems to be more or less true; Woody's twitchiness that first day seems to be mostly explained by his being unused to his new surroundings here. As he's gotten more used to the different sights and smells and sounds and bed, he's getting more and better sleep and has been eating and generally a lot more pleasant. I called my mom (Grammie) on Saturday and issued the complaints we had against Woody (he's not letting us have any sleep, he's being fussy all the time, he's puking when he does eat, which is not often) at the time. She had this reaction that I can only describe as "cackling", where she chuckled about how sucky it is to be a new parent and told me about how every baby does this and I did this and how we should just suck it up. When Maggie called her mom that day, I could hear her doing the same thing over the phone. I have come to the conclusion that the Grandmother Cackling is probably an experience that is common to most new parents, where we call our mommies and our mommies delight in the comeuppance that has finally been delivered. I wonder if in 25 or 30 years (not before that, son) Woody will call Maggie and get the same sort of treatment.

This weekend Mag and I took Woody for his first walk. We loaded him into his massive Radio Flyer wagon (along with his oxygen and his monitor) and wheeled him to the park. It really made me feel great to see him fascinated by the colors and sights of normal life. He never felt the wind on his face until Saturday, and he definitely noticed it.

Maggie and I are on a divided responsibility schedule for the evening cares; she handles everything before 2 am and I handle everything after. As long as I get into bed by 10 or so, it seems to work out great. 4 hours guaranteed plus another couple of bonus hours in there ought to be enough*. I figure I'll sleep when I'm dead.

So now I'm back at work, and Maggie's taking some leave to hang out and take care of Woody, and she's not sure she can co it, but I have eminent faith in her. It's a strange time to be sure, but it's really fun so far and we're having a great time.

*As George III is supposed to have said, 6 hours is good enough for a man, 7 for a woman, and 8 for a fool. But then again he was crazy.