I want to be excited. I really do. But I am utterly exhausted. That I'm-so-tired-I-want-to-cry kind of exhausted. I've been in labor since late afternoon, have spent from midnight to 1:15 trying to comfort our toddler who inexplicably woke up crying, and have gotten a grand total of two and a half hours of sleep, knowing that I am about to enter a 24-hour period of sleeping about as little. It's like preparing to run a marathon and then the morning of the race being told you have to run a 10K first. Exhausted before I've even begun. On top of that, my mind lists the things undone: going to the grocery store, running laundry, and cleaning my bathrooms, and Tuesdays are my tough-to-find-babysitters day on my spreadsheet. After weeks of being prepared, I'd finally let myself relax since I had a few more days until my induction. Ah, God's humor for those of us who are control freaks. Not very hard to rattle us.
So, after making Phil start a load of laundry and calling a few of my angel friends to set up childcare for Moo until my mom could get there that afternoon, we head to the hospital. I (finally) get an epidural around 5:30 a.m. and thank the good Lord above for modern medicine. I do love me an epidural, y'all. I love feeling present and calm during delivery, and mostly, I love not feeling that kind of please-let-me-punch-something-now pain.
Within 30 minutes, my water breaks spontaneously and not long after that it's time to push. To say this baby girl was ready to come out is an understatement. Two pushes in and the nurse says to the other nurse, "Um, go ahead and call the doctor to come back. We're ready to deliver." I call Phil, who had gone to grab breakfast, and he hurries back minutes before the delivery. Not to be too graphic, but the nurses literally had me close my legs so baby girl wouldn't fall out while we waited for the doctor. "I've delivered babies before. Don't worry," one of the nurses told me. Nice. So, the doctor comes in and half a push later, baby girl is in the world. Just like that. I have a daughter. 
She is perfect and alert and loved loved loved, and I can't take my eyes off of her or get enough of her newborn smell. Her daddy is smitten--teary even--and we're in that sacred place of looking at a miracle, witnessing life in all its fullness and emotion. And it's beautiful.We name her after two very special women in our lives, although on the blog we'll call her Noodle--for privacy. :) And she looks an awful lot like Moo did when he was born!
I was worried that it'd be like last time: that I'd have a baby who didn't latch well, that I wouldn't make enough milk, that she'd have reflux, that I'd physically feel like I'd been run over, that I wouldn't be myself mentally or emotionally, that I'd be depressed. BUT. None of that has happened--praise God. Really, it's nothing short of His grace. I've had a quick physical recovery and have felt like myself the whole time, and Noodle is a good eater and sleeper--as a good as a newborn can be. So, besides some serious sleep deprivation, which I can handle, it's been lightyears better than last time.
Moo has been at his grandparents' house for most of this week, so it's been nice to transition without simultaneously running after a toddler, but he has been so sweet to his sister. He gets all protective of her and wants to know where she is and wants to help her with the buttons on her swing. Of course, he has his moments of wanting us to put her down and play cars with him too, but on the whole, he has loved being a big brother and is so gentle with her. Again, praise God.
And as frustrated as I was about the timing of her birth, it turned out to be perfect in ways I couldn't foresee. But that's a story for another post. Until then, here are few more pictures to hold you over:
