They actually let us take him home.
Oh, we have some books. I’ve read things online. Friends and family have given me advice. But like most complicated new gadgets, I often struggle to see how to put theory into practice.
For instance, they tell me to feed him approximately every two hours, to burp him, to put him to sleep on his back, and not to use baby powder because he will inhale it and get lung cancer.
They tell me when to vaccinate him and how to take his temperature, but they don’t tell me how to keep him safe forever.
They don’t tell me what it feels like to be a human dairy, they don’t tell me what it feels like to be dragged from sleep many times in the dark of the night when the rest of the world is asleep, and they don’t tell me what it feels like to have my heart ripped out every time I see those eyes.
He eats. A lot.
He poops. A lot.
He cries. A lot.
I cry. A lot.
Something as simple as going to the store with him is an extraordinarily complex procedure that rivals early transcontinental voyages via covered wagon. The diaper bag alone requires a checklist of supplies. Then he has to be fed, changed, and dressed (at which point it’s time to feed him again). He has to be strapped into his car seat like a little fighter pilot (at which point he promptly poops in his diaper).
However, we are learning new skills. How to cook, eat, and clean with one hand. How to change diapers in the dark. How to sleep without moving. How to get through the day without sleep. And how to live on Oscar time.
Between Lightning 