You were born bright and early on January 11, 2016 in theater room 1 weighing a healthy 6.8 pounds. It was not easy on your mother, but then again, what birth process ever is?
Before I go any further, I must sing your mother’s praises and regale you with her glorious failure in giving birth to you. If I learned anything about your mother today it’s that I’m deeply mistaken about her having a low pain threshold. She went full beast mode in the labor ward: she somehow turned a typical 24-to 72-hour induction process into a 12-hour episode and then breathed her way through five hours of contractions, a water break, pushing, probing instruments and fingers with barely any pain relief (there was a short stint where they let her use gas+air).
I was mostly useless and felt like a hapless cheerleader at a marathon urging your mother on by saying the same thing over and over. But when we finally reached the point where they would need to use foot-long rotating forceps and insert them in your mother, we called timeout and opted for the only pain relief option available to us, which was a spinal injection. A blonde, cheery youngish-looking doctor named Tom ultimately delivered you and he did a fantastic job.
So you and your mother are laid up in the hospital for another 24 hours as a result of the procedure – she because of the obvious and you because you had massive metal clamps wrapped around your head pulling you out. In the casual hours where we dozed in and out between your own naps, we’ve concluded you have my eyebrows, your mother’s nose, and a mixture of your eyes. Your mother swears she saw a dimple on your left cheek which would match hers. We have also observed you have a natural instinct when it comes to breastfeeding. Good job.
My last note is that I have been getting a lot of practice swaddling you, but I’m no good at paper origami let alone human origami, so I just wrap you like a burrito instead. You seem to like having your arms free to wave around anyway.