Just about two days ago we had rolled in to the operating theatre to deliver Abbe by caesarean. Since his big brother came to the world after a really hard marathon delivery - which also ended with caesarean - the doctors had promised to cancel the attempts early if it didn't start by itself this time. Said and done, my wife struggled for a few hours, but when nothing seemed to help, we ended up in the operating theatre. Lots of people in the room, green clothes and hairnets (despite my two millimeters long hair do), baby scream, "it's a boy" and the mandatory cutting of the umbilical cord. Perhaps even more symbolic with a caesarean than normal childbirth, but still.
Actually, there is a big advantage with caesarean, at least for us fathers. We get that first trembling hour with the baby, just to ourselves. The mother is being sewn up and sorted out. I mean, she has just gone through a fairly large surgery.
So there I sat. Proud as a rooster with a tray of sandwiches, tea, juice, Swedish flag and a compilation CD they apparently give to new parents. On the tray was also a small sign with facts and figures. Born: March 16 at 11.18 pm. Weight: 3900 grams. Length: 50.5 cm.
Filled with that total happiness that only newborn children can give you, I was looking in awe at my little baby boy. He's so fine.
But. He seems a little tired.