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November 6, 2001

I have to take a second here to thank all of my very generous readers for the e-mails they've been sending to Andy and I. I wanted to answer each one of them, but there are just too many...I'm sure you'll understand. Each one was read and enjoyed and is saved for Quinn to enjoy when she's older. Thank you so much! You guys are just the best. Special thanks to the crazy generosity of those who sent presents--Amanda, Erin, Keli, and Aleta...and to Robyn, who sent flowers to the hospital! You all rock.

Part one of this story is here.

Lastly, there was the euphoria.

Many members of my family came to the hospital the morning Quinn was born. I saw them as Quinn and I were wheeled out of the operating room--my mom and dad, sister Julie, and brother Kevin were all standing in front of the nursery window, which was right next door to my room. Unfortunately, Quinn was being wheeled ahead of me, so my lame attempts to flag them down to say hello were ignored.

"Hi! Mom! Hey!" I called to my mom's back.

"Julie! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?" I called to my sister's back.

"Kevin! Hey! Hi!"

"Dad?"

They were all gathered around Quinn's cart, which was eventually taken into the nursery. Then they gathered at the window to stare at her.

Apparently, my time in the sun was over.

Inside my room, I was moved into my bed, introduced to my Gina, my nurse, and told that I had to be alone in "recovery" for an hour. The door closed behind the orderlies and it was just me and Gina.

I cannot express how happy I was at this point in my life. I don't even think "happy" begins to touch how I was feeling.

"Gina," I told her as I settled in to my bed. "You and me. BEST FRIENDS." She smiled at me politely.

"Do you know that I just GAVE BIRTH?" I asked her. "I am not even kidding! I am someone's MOTHER. Hey! It's 8:45! At 9:00, we are going to watch OPRAH. What do you think of THAT?" I turned on the TV and smiled happily at my new best friend, Gina the Nurse. She did nurse-like things every so often, but mostly she just sat by my side and listened to me talk.

"So where are you from?" I asked, focusing all of my attention on her, batting my eyelashes.

"Wonder Lake."

"GINA!" I screeched. "I WAS BORN IN WONDER LAKE! YOU ARE MY PEOPLE!!"

It was probably a very long hour in Gina's life. It was a very happy one in mine. And it only got better.

When my hour was up, my parents were allowed to come in and see me. No sign of Andy, who was still hanging out with Quinn.

"HI MOM AND DAD!" I hooted when they crossed the threshold to my room. "I MADE A BABY!" They, of course, had spent the last hour with her. They'd held her. They'd touched her. They could identify her in a lineup. Not me. I couldn't even picture her...I'd only had two fleeting glances of my child. It turns out that Quinn was born with low blood sugar and "poor muscle tone," so they were keeping her in the nursery to feed her and do some tests. I had to wait until 11:00 to meet my daughter. But again, it was all good. Because look at how happy we are to see each other!

The entire day was a crazy parade of family and friends coming in to meet our little bunny. I grew loopier and loopier (if that's possible) as the day went on, considering that I'd had no sleep the night before and had been through quite a draining day. My c-section went very well, there were no complications, and I'm pretty much all healed up now. Quinn's blood sugar returned to normal after her first feeding, and the only complication she has is hip dysplasia, which requires her to wear a little harness for a month or two. She's had it on since day 2 of her life, so she isn't fazed by it at all. Here she is modeling it for you.

I sometimes wish I could be back in the hospital with her. All of my nurses were so nice and compassionate. They fetched me drugs, water, and food whenever I asked. There were no chores to worry about, and no housework to fret over. And there was no stress about whether Quinn would sleep through the night or not because at about 10:00 p.m., I'd wheel her into the nursery and go to bed alone.

Every morning at about 6:00 a.m., I'd buzz for my nurse and ask her to bring Quinn in to me. I'd have the nurse lift Quinn out of her little cart, and I'd settle her on my chest. I'd use the time to check out her little hands and feet, or to stroke her head, or to rub her back and just get used to the fact that she is my child...for the rest of my life, she is my child. Then we'd sleep together until the sun woke us up.

I may be 31 years old, with a lot of days behind me and (God willing) many days ahead of me...but I will always remember those mornings--the room mostly dark except for a small overhead light, the warm weight of my newborn daughter on my chest--as some of the best of my entire life.