He's Here

Last week Ben was delighted to receive a birthday package from Grandma Delys and Grandpa Phil full of magnificent books and even some spy gadgets. Ben says, "Thank you very much!"

Little did we know that another birthday was right around the corner . . .


The quick run-down:

On Thursday (June 18th) I woke up with a big contraction and it seemed as if my water broke, so I concluded that it was indeed The Big Day. All my previous babies had come late or were induced (or both), so this was an utter surprise to us 5 days early. In fact, we were pretty much still in denial that the baby was coming and therefore hadn't packed for the hospital, gotten out any baby paraphernalia, or even decided where we would put the baby when we got home. (Yes, I realize we had 9 months to think about all this, but hey, once a procrastinator always a procrastinator.) : )

Since my previous labors had lasted hours and hours, I took my time before waking Steven. So by the time I'd showered, packed, and Steven had gotten the kids ready, we were all surprised with how strong and fast the contractions were coming. Here's the happiest I could look between contractions.


Thursday was a VERY rainy day.


We rushed Sam & Ben to the Holbrooks' (friends from school--thank you, Joyce!) and William to Jairus's house (friend from church--thanks, Hillary!). I don't think I've ever been so impatient with traffic as on the way to Johns Hopkins Hospital.

[Note: Here begins the Too Much Information Section, so skip ahead if you don't want to know.]

So we made it to triage by 9 a.m. The doctor came and checked me, I was 4-5 cm dilated, and he said the best words: "You can have your epidural now." The nurses took their sweet time calling the the anesthesiologist and by the time he arrived the contractions were excruciating--the worst I've ever felt (which is saying something)--and coming remarkably fast. So I signed any paper they put in front of me and the anesthesiologist left to go get the goods.

I was clearly in exceptional pain, so he checked me again even though it had only been about 20 minutes and I was dilated to 9 cm! Wait! That can't be good, I thought. The nurse turned to me and carefully said the worst words: "This means it's too late for the epidural." What? No, you can't tell me that! I not-so-calmly replied. I asked for any of those other kinds of pain medication I'd heard of people having, but they just sort of laughed and said that by the time any of them kicked in I'd already have delivered the baby. O, the humanity!
So all I'll say about the rest of the delivery is that it turns out what I thought was a 10 on the 0-10 "Pain Scale" was really only about a 7 or 8. Apparently I only pushed for 7 minutes, but it felt like ages to me, and the baby was born at 9:53 a.m.--less than an hour after we arrived at the hospital! All of this was rather unexpected.
Nevertheless, I cannot deny that the excruciating pain and anguish were all worth it. I don't think there's much else in this world that would be worth it, but giving life to a beautiful new soul is definitely worth it. Here is what that new soul looked like with bruises all over his face--about as happy with the pain and anguish as I was.

And here is why the anguish was so painful. In case you can't see, it says "My weight is 9 lbs 15 oz" (4500 grams). Yes, that's right, almost 10 lbs. Now you may be thinking, "Yes, Cristie, but you've delivered two almost-11-lb babies in the past. Why are you complaining? Plus, didn't you wish for 'anything under 10 lbs' at Christmas?"

Okay, you're right. So my tiny little baby gave me my Christmas wish and technically came in 1 oz. under 10 lbs; however, hindsight has taught me that I should have wished for under 9 or better yet, under 8 lbs! Oh, and for an epidural. : )



That said, I give you

Abraham Moncur Charles

18 June 2009 9:53 a.m.

9 lbs. 15 oz. 21 in.

Here's the whole gang.

Sam's a pro at being a big brother.

Ben made sure to count fingers and toes.
And William is happy to finally have a baby of his own to play with (and, I suspect, to have moved up in the pecking order).

Many people have asked what Abraham's hair color is considering the Neopolitan brothers who came before. Here is a great picture of Strawberry, Chocolate, and Vanilla kissing their new little brother we like to call Caramel. Abraham's hair is a mixture of all three: it's darker blond than William's, lighter brown than Ben's, with a little of Sam's red mixed in to make a kind of Strawberry Blond.

Sam and Ben brought me beautiful flowers they picked from the Holbrooks' garden.

And another hero, Aunt Celina, was inspired to plan a trip to Baltimore for the weekend, which worked out perfectly with the early arrival of the baby. Thank you, Celina, for all your help! What a blessing.

Abraham's name comes from, of course, the original Abraham in the Old Testament (with a little Lincoln on the side). His middle name, Moncur, comes from my maternal grandmother June Moncur Waite. (If Abraham had been a girl we would have named her June.) Moncur is a favorite family name that comes from a group of Scandinavian Vikings whose families moved to Normandy, France and then generations later to the Dundee, Scotland area--they even built a small Moncur castle that I've visited. It comes from the French words Mon Coeur, meaning "My Heart," which we think describes Abraham perfectly.

Because Abraham was so big and bruised, he had a hard time breaking down all the extra red blood cells in his system and got a bad case of jaundice. Consequently, he had to spend an extra few days in the hospital in what we liked to call the German tanning salon.

Luckily, the stressful few days paid off and we finally got to take home our little bundle earlier this week. Steven's mom Angie arrived yesterday to stay for a week--thank you! And Cristie's mom Delys and step-dad Phil will stop here on their way back from a conference in England soon. We are so grateful for the support of all our friends and family. Thank you!