Our Jack was born on August 6, 2009 at 10:22pm, weighing in a ginormous 10lb 8oz, which translates to 10.5 pounds or 4770 grams. Insane! He was 22.5" long.
John Ryan Quattrocchi, to be known henceforth as 'Jack'. I still look at him sometimes and can't believe he's mine to keep, even though he'll be three months in less than a week. Un-freaking-believable. I can't believe he's only been here less than 90 days; it feels like I have had him forever and can't imagine life before Jack. It also, simultaneously and contradictorily, feels as though he must still only be days old, with years left to smell his tiny head and look at his tiny fingernails and gaze in awe at his tiny, perfect sleeping face.
Who the hell am I kidding? There is nothing 'tiny' about this baby.
When I was pregnant, I read every book, blog and article I could find on pregnancy and delivery. I lined up a midwife and a doula. I chose a pre-natal class run out of a midwife office that was the most holistic, all-natural, fuzzy, birth-art making class I could find. I wrote a birth plan. I took vitamins and D supplements. I gained the ideal 26 pounds, and I knew exactly how my labour and delivery could (should?) go. Too bad Jack never engaged, too bad I was induced at 11 days late due to low fluid, and too bad I ended up on the operating table after 28 hours failed induction, still at 4 cm dilation with Jack's head swelling from being beaten against my pelvis for ten hours. When the midwife looked over at where Jack was being suctioned as Steve prepared to cut the cord, and said: "He's big, ten pounds at least. Maybe more!" all I could think was "that explains everything." That, I suppose is a different story.
I seem to have a lot of untold stories from the past few years: the story of how we decided to move back to the Raincity of Vancouver, how we finally hiked the West Coast Trail last summer, how we applied for almost every co-op in East Vancouver and decided to start trying for a baby a little early since it might take six months to conceive (yeah, not so much six months!), how I thought it would be a good idea to go through my second trimester while taking full-time classes and working 40 hours a week, how I fell off a short bus... lots of stories. I gave notice at a job in a Sharpie written note. Steve started running the art co-op he was a part of setting up over ten years ago. We moved into a fabulous two-bedroom co-op with a view of the world when I was seven months pregnant. I got my first A+ in post-secondary education, and walked across the stage to get my BA in English during convocation, only to leave my row three minutes later to go nurse my infant son.
I had a son.
