nurses, ribbons and champagne

After three and a half days sitting in the hospital, talking on the cell phone, watching TV and staring at the sleeping baby, we were ever so ready to go home. I was growing tired of the revolving door of nurses, lactician consultants, hospital welcome teams, pediatricians, nutritionists and midwives. The postpartum nurses were the worst - just as you get really attached to one, she's off her shift and a newbie arrives who doesn't know your story, doesn't know how well you're baby is feeding. Over the next 12 hours you form a bond. Then she leaves without even saying goodbye.
My arm was sore from the automatic blood pressure cuff. I was sick of TV. And scott and I had hit our limit: three-and-a-half days trapped in a room together is a challenge for us. We are both very independent people and thrive with some time to ourselves.
Three hours after our slated checkout time, they finally let us go. Grumpy and hungry we made the trip home. Sawyer slept so hard in the car that at one point we pulled over so I could get in the back seat with him to make sure he was still breathing. (We have since installed a mirror).
We were overwhelmed on our return by welcome home decorations left by Susan and a refrigerator full of food stocked by Dawn. But the best thing was the stack of paper plates, cups, forks, spoons and napkins that Dawn left. (A mother of three, this woman knows what a new mom needs).
We were soon greeted by the dogs (Duncan was intensely curious, Tucker could care less), Justin and my parents. The family cooked up a gourmet flank steak dinner with french fries and succotash salad and cracked open a bottle of champagne to celebrate.
It's never felt quite so good to be home.