The bobbing pink and white balloons tied to our mailbox signal
that the stork has finally stopped circling and has landed.
My husband, Chris, and I welcomed Emma Jean Barbazette into the
world Jan. 7, 2003, at 12:34 p.m. For those of you dear readers who
have been following my pregnancy, you know that we have been
anxiously awaiting her arrival.
The bobbing pink and white balloons tied to our mailbox signal that the stork has finally stopped circling and has landed.
My husband, Chris, and I welcomed Emma Jean Barbazette into the world Jan. 7, 2003, at 12:34 p.m. For those of you dear readers who have been following my pregnancy, you know that we have been anxiously awaiting her arrival. After nine days past her due date, we decided to check into the hospital and help speed her delivery. Twenty-six hours later, our beautiful daughter was placed in my arms. Weighing nearly eight pounds and measuring 19 inches long, our rosy-cheeked little girl has a glossy cap of brown hair and blue eyes that melt my heart.
It wasn’t an easy delivery. There’s a reason they call it labor, as the old saying goes. But those moments became a distant memory after I hugged our little angel. All the clichés are true. Seeing our healthy, beautiful daughter made every labor pain and unslept hour more than worth it.
And the nurses at Saint Louise Hospital, where we gave birth, helped to make our experience not only bearable but memorable. Unfailingly professional and caring, they put me at ease and made me feel comfortable despite the mysteries and messiness of giving birth. A special thanks to Susan and Michelle who stood by me in my roughest hours.
We’d also like to thank our doctor, Kari Bertrand, for helping us bring our baby into the world. Caring and energetic, she has been a partner the past nine months in helping keep our little one safe and healthy. During the last few moments she cheered me on, keeping me motivated, respecting our wishes to the very end.
When Emma finally slipped into the world, she was placed on my tummy. I gazed at her face and instantly fell in love with the little being that I had cradled in my womb for the past nine months.
Now that we’ve arrived home, life could not be sweeter. Our little Emma is content to eat and sleep in her mom’s arms and have a diaper change and be cuddled by her dad. And I know all you moms out there are going to absolutely hate me for this, but I can’t help but gloat. Our sweetie pie sleeps through the night. That’s right, six hours at a time. What can I say? I know we’re lucky – and we’re praying it lasts.
I’m also happy to report that our miniature dachshund, Lucy, has taken a liking to our little peanut. She’s become a protective mother, lying at my feet while Emma eats, following us around the house, all the while never letting the baby out of her sight.
Our past few days have been a little slower, a bit more leisurely. Matters that seemed pressing only a few short weeks ago disappear from our consciousness. Our daughter is at the center of our lives. During her waking moments, we stare into her big, blue eyes, her little bow of a mouth curling into a shy smile, mesmerized by our voices.
And when those beautiful blue ones shut, her lashes kissing her face, we stare at her angelic face and her chest rising and falling.
“Can you believe it? Can you believe we’re sitting here on the couch with our daughter?” I asked Chris earlier this week.
“I know,” he said, gently nodding his head.
“We’ll never be the same again,” I said.
And we aren’t. We are now parents, with all of the joys, responsibilities, challenges and obligations.
In the blink of an eye, everything changed. Pink and white balloons now bob in the breeze, signaling our daughter’s arrival.
Welcome to the world, Emma Jean.
