This is the 2000th post in Blogalicious history, so I'll recognize that milestone by writing about a much larger one: how we left the house on Thursday as a two-person family and returned on Monday as a three-person family.

Before Thursday - The wife had appointments on Monday and Wednesday, the upshot being the baby was pretty damn big (estimated 9 pounds 14 ounces) and had to come out. Induction was planned for Thursday, causing us to scramble a bit to tie up loose ends and make ourselves marginally less ill prepared for being parents.

Thursday - Got to the hospital at 7 am, and by 7:30 the wife was hooked up to IVs delivering, among other things, oxytocin, a hormone used to kick-start labor. Prior to this we did have a discussion with the OB on call regarding c-sections, as he had some concerns related to the potential size of the baby and potential injuries from shoulder dystocia. We decided to give induction a go and see where it led.

It led nowhere, or at least to a place in its neighborhood. After 12 hours, there were no contractions to speak of, only some back pain. While you hear that labor with the first baby is long, this was a little dispiriting. The new OB on call came in and went back over the issues we'd talked about in the morning, allowing us to weigh the options between continuing induction or going with a c-section. We finally decided to go with a c-section, thinking that the results of the induction was a sign that a standard delivery might not be the best choice.

Once the decision was made, things moved swiftly. The c-section, paraprhasing the description given to us, was five minutes of prep, five to ten minutes to get the kid out, and a half hour of putting my wife back the way she was found. The wife was wheeled to the OR, and during her prep I got to put on scrubs. Let's just say that there are apparently not that many large surgeons, or if there are they get their scrubs to order. The best fitting part of the entire outfit were the booties I put over my shoes, a bad sign indeed.

I went into the OR, where most of the wife was flanked by surgeons and nurses, so I (thankfully) did not get to see what was going on there. I was seated up by her head, where there was a drape up to keep us from seeing the gory bits. I fought to keep myself from sliding off the stool - scrubs and polished metal seats don't interact well - while the wife was trying to scratch her nose against the inside of the oxygen mask. We were quite a pair.

And, as described, within ten minutes of my arrival we had a baby (sadly, if it had been later we would not have gotten him for free). And, as my wife thought, we had a boy with a pretty full head of hair (pregnancy heartburn signifying hair is apparently not an old wives' tale). He was crying away, which is understandable given that things were now awfully cold and bright.

But the first thing I really noticed about him was his umbilical cord. It was huge. The doctor who delivered him compared it to a garden hose in size, and the nurse in charge of cutting it was a bit puzzled at first with how she was going to do it (I wanted no part of it, as I've never quite bought into the dad cutting the cord thing). Once that got done (and once he celebrated his own arrival by shooting off his personal water cannon, so to speak), we were off to the nursery.

Once there, they confirmed the OR staff's statements that we did, indeed, have a big baby. He weighed in at 9 pounds 6 ounces, and while that was a half pound off of the ultrasound estimate, it's safe to say that he was big enough that a standard delivery would have been harrowing for mother and child alike. At some point both of us wound up back down in recovery with the wife, and after a few minutes of getting acquainted we all made our way up to the room we'd call home for the next few days.

Friday - During our first round of doctor visits, our OB stopped in and asked how Thor was doing.

Thor?

Turns out that when the delivering doctor asked us what we were going to name our son, the wife said Thor, spoofing on his size (though he does not have long, blonde hair, nor does he wield a hammer). The doctor went and put that on the chart, in what I hope was him going along with the joke. Then again, with some of the names bestowed upon kids now, Thor might not be that bad.

Still, it did raise a point - we had not yet decided what to name the kid. By the time we made a decision, the kid had three nicknames - Thor, Jethro (courtesy of my brother) and Cheeks, which was given by one of the nurses given his big, round cheeks. After some discussion, we did what my dad did with me, and used the reverse of the paternal grandfather's name, landing us with Joseph John Coen.

The rest of the day was spent resting and getting used to young Joe's rhythms for eating and excreting. We got a first-hand introduction to meconium (NSFLunch) that night, and after I changed the diaper solo Joe gave us a second first-hand intro twenty minutes later, one that was a three-person job to remedy. This, in combination with the Egypt-themed book I was reading would lead to a fourth nickname, Poopenkhamun. I still use this when the dreaded "curse" has claimed another innocent diaper.

Saturday - Another day resting and getting used to our son. The wife was recuperating pretty well, and was able to move around much more than the day before. We had our first spate of family visitors outside of my in-laws, who'd come down on Thursday morning in anticipation of a new grandchild. We also made the decision to bottle feed, which was difficult given the strong preference given to breastfeeding in our birthing class and in pretty much every pregnancy publication out there. I will give big ups here to the nurses and lactation consultants at the hospital, as they worked hard to help us get to a decision and fully supported it once it was made.

Sunday - We were all getting a little bored with the hospital by this point, and while we could have stayed until Tuesday, we decided to leave on Monday. I'll admit to being a little worried about not taking our full compliment of days, as I figured one more day of nurses to help with the baby and take care of the wife's incision couldn't hurt. But with the baby getting a clean bill of health and the wife recovering well (by this point managing post-op pain with ibuprofen only), there wasn't much point in staying.

This being our last night, we got to enjoy the hospital's traditional celebration dinner, which is a couple steps up from their regular fare (though their regular food wasn't bad, certainly better than what you'd think of from hospital food). I can't say I ever expected to have rack of lamb at a hospital, but they did a nice job with it.

It was also my last night sleeping in the convertable chair provided so dads can stay over. I did stay every night, more for the wife's sake than the baby's, as the baby went back to the nursery for overnights. That's apparently a somewhat controversial practice, as there's a strong school of thought that the parents should room in with the baby as much as possible. My thinking is that the last thing the wife needed while on the mend was the baby waking her up at some ungodly hour. There'd be enough time for that once we got home.

Anyway, the convertable chairs aren't particularly comfortable, but I've slept in worse.

Monday - There's an odd feeling to leaving the hospital with a baby. Both the wife and I were expecting that someone would stop us before the maternity ward doors, knowing that we're not as prepared as we'd like to care for a newborn. But as we pushed the call button to let us out, no one came running to save the baby from his parents. The doors swung open, and we walked out into our new life together.