A Week Ago At This Time

(which is four forty-five AM)I was just waking up from my mid-labor nap, feeling restless and grumpy. I am currently hanging out with a wide-awake Eli, but again feeling distinctly rest-less. And fairly grumpy, because I keep thinking about how in three hours we have to leave for the doctor's office, so there will be no sleeping in for me this morning.
I can't believe he'll be a week old tomorrow. It seems impossible that it's been only a week, but also impossible that it's only been a week. Wasn't I just being wheeled to recovery? But then again, hasn't he been here forever? Hasn't the house always smelled like a diaper pail?

Twelve hours later. Just woke up from a nice, drug-laced nap, which felt like heaven after a long morning of doctor's office, hospital, and errands (picking up necessities such as donuts and industrial-sized pads.) I ended up leaving at eight fifteen with Eli and not getting back until noon. First it took forever at the ped's office because of all the new patient paperwork I forgot I had to fill out for him, and then he ended up looking kind of jaundiced still, so we got sent to the hospital for another blood draw to check on the bilirubin levels. I hadn't stopped to eat breakfast, and I had foregone the pain pill in favor of driving legally, both unfortunate choices. By the time I was leaving the hospital, I was so hungry and tired and achy in all sorts of body parts that one of the old, frail looking volunteers asked me kindly if I was all right, or if I needed him to carry the infant seat for me.
I was all right, of course, although let me just say that I think when our hospital spent millions of dollars on new patient ammenities and an extended lobby/outpatient area, they might have thought to include a freaking chair somewhere in which a mom could nurse her screaming baby! So that the mom does not have to stand in a bathroom stall for twenty minutes with a furious infant yanking on her knockers.
Beyond that, thank goodness lots of people, including many of you, reminded me of the insane weepiness which follows birth. I cannot stop crying, over completely random things. This morning, waiting outside the hospital for the valet service, I saw a little girl about Addy's age playing in the fountain and I got all teary and nearly burst into a weeping fit in front of about twenty people. Because... ? I cry if Addy is happy with the baby because it's so sweet; I cry if she's angry because I feel so bad for springing this new sibling on her. I cry if I'm hungry or tired or sore or if Jim forgets to affirm my self-worth every hour on the hour. I cry more than the baby does, seriously.
Apart from that, I am very happy with this new guy who's moved in here. I am especially happy, and things seem simple and very handle-able, when I have taken a pain pill and all the children are asleep and I am eating a delicious meal brought to me by someone else. It reminds me of being in the hospital, which, frankly, I love. I don't understand why people are so desperate to leave the fresh crisp sheets and the nursery at night (I had him brought back for feeds, don't worry!) and the pain pills and ice water brought to you cheerfully any hour of the day.
'Kay, just got back from cleaning up a poo explosion which was dropped literally in my hand. I think I am done trying to write coherently- let's just have pictures, shall we?