He is here.

He is here.

 

I couldn't believe the text I just read. I just let Kat know that I was two minutes away from the hospital and she responded with "He is here." What? (followed by a couple f-bombs. Luckily the kids weren't in the car with me.) How could I have missed it? We thought we have one or two more hours until the pushing so I left the room to drive to the rental house and bring the kids and Uncle Kevin to the hospital. Halfway into the 10 minute drive Kat texted to let me know the pushing had begun, so I knew I had to turn around. Surely I'd make it in time, I thought. I missed the birth by about 5 minutes.

 

As frustrating as the miscalculation seemed at the time, upon further reflection we were glad it was just Kat and Connie in there together. They had bonded all morning since the 4:30 am pick up time and red eye drive to the hospital. And even though Connie said she was ok with me being in the room, I sensed it was better for all of us that I missed a few minutes of details.

 

My absence also ensured Kat would cut the cord- an experience she has never had, having been slightly preoccupied during the birth of our first three children.

I ran into the room just after they placed the baby in the giant combined basinette, warmer, and scale contraption. It looked as if this device could make a mean expresso for all I knew.

But there he was! Our baby boy! And the most important thing is that this baby was safe and healthy, and crying. Crying! Good, healthy crying. Connie looked relieved and Kat was smiling. Joy. Relief. Wonder. Amazement. Was he ok? Was everyone ok? I think so.

My reaction was similar to when I met our first three children. Tears of joy. Hugging Kat- except we were both standing up this time. That was a new feeling.

I was able to hold him almost immediately. I forgot how light babies are. And the whole neck support thing- better get used to that again, I thought. We took pictures. So did Connie. The flow of text messages, emails, and social media posts began.

 

 

His scores were good and he appeared healthy. What's the catch? I thought. It will be 72 hours until the withdrawl symptoms manifest. Still a long road to go.

It only took one look to confirm we had the right name picked out. Elijah Luke Kanary. It fit him. I just couldn't bring myself to write it, or say it, until I actually met him. I have developed a reputation amongst our friends for my superstitious nature here- refusing to talk about baby names "until I meet the baby." Well I finally I met him. And he is definitely, most fittingly, Elijah.

My sister pointed out that his initials spell out the name ELK, a "majestic" animal in its own right.

Elijah Luke Kanary, born 1:37 pm Eastern time on April 22, 2014. Weighing 7 pounds, 6 ounces. 19 and a half inches in length. A majestic little boy, indeed!

Connie couldn't wait to get out of there- and since her 5 am arrival had been ensuring every staff member- including housekeeping- knew of her desire to leave early. She had been down the adoption road before and wanted to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. We couldn't be certain if it was to seek comfort of familiar surroundings, people (and possibly substances), or to avoid the painful feelings and emotions she would (once again) feel after offering a child to another family for adoption. Maybe it was all of the above. Or none of the above. It didn't matter. We understood.

Later on while the baby was in the nursery for his bath I went to check on Connie. She spoke briefly about the birth father- who had refused his parental rights long ago. He specifically requested that she not send him pictures. He didn't want to see them. Or him. "I want to send him a picture, just so he'll see," she said. Then she broke down. "What kind of person....doesn't want to see their baby? He doesn't even care. He doesn't care. Doesn't care about anyone, but himself" she sobbed.

I tried to comfort her. Reminding her that she cares. And that mattered. That means something. She loves and cares for this baby. And she's a good person. I didn't know what else to say.

We convinced our adoption attorney Mark to get to the hospital as quickly as possible to get the signings and witnessings done so the parental rights paperwork can be finalized. Once that's done we can have "custody" of the child in the hospital- especially with Connie wanting the early departure. There's a risk we won't or can't all get back into the same location again tomorrow.

Strutting into the delivery room in a dark window pane-patterned suit, Mark brought a stack of papers, a ball point pen, and a full-fledged live court reporter with a rollerbag suitcase full of gear. In less than one hour the initial round of paperwork was done. Connie wanted to be certain her four months of post-partum living expenses (in cash) would come along with Mark. It did.

The epidural had worn off just enough that Connie could begin to feel her legs and walk. So "AMA" (Against Medical Advice) she decided she was ready to leave. Less than 5 hours after giving birth. A record time for any birth mother, according to Mark.

In a whirlwind of hugs and kisses, Connie, her mother who came to drive her home, and Jojo (who had just met her biological little brother) were gone. We'll see them again at least once before we leave for Kansas- as we had agreed upon.

Kat couldn't wait to get her hands, or rather, two other specific body parts, on this baby. We planned and hoped to have the opportunity to breastfeed this child- as we have been blessed to do successfully with our first three. Kat had been studying, pumping and preparing for this day for weeks. We held on loosely to the hope that nurturing our child in this way would be possible. While my request to publish pictures was denied by my "editor," I am happy to report that Elijah is latching on and feeding well thus far in his first few hours with us. In fact just tonight one of the nurses complimented him on his "excellent latch." Well done, son. Well done.

Mark shared some slightly discouraging yet not surprising news- the ICPC (acronym for Interstate Beauracracy for adoptions) for the state of Florida is backed up- and the approvals are taking longer than usual for other adoptive familes. In some cases paperwork that was sent in over a week ago hasn't even been opened yet. We should expect the worse, which could put us in Florida for another two weeks. Maybe more.

The hospital staff graciously offered us our own recovery room so that we could care for Elijah until his discharge- which could be as soon as tomorrow, maybe the next day. The room was ready, and now that our kids were there, Mark suggested we roll Elijah into the new room so they could meet their new baby brother for the first time. After greetings of wonder, amazement and cooing, a round of supervised baby holding, and plenty of sheilding our new son from the sneezes and coughs of our youngest daughter, we settled into our new room. Mark said goodnight, knowing he'll see us tomorrow or the next day for more paperwork. Later on I would take the kids back to the rental house so that Kat could spend the night with Elijah.

But for the moment, the first moment ever, it's just us in the room. The new us. Kanarys: Party of 6.

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