So much happened in the first 24 hours of Finn’s life–and there were SO many feels. Even now, just three weeks later, we’re having trouble remembering everything about that first day.

I want to remember, though.

What I do know is that–like much of the first few weeks–that first day was full of a myriad of emotions for both Sona and myself. We’d been in labor, and at the hospital, for nearly a full 24 hours before Finn was born (as I wrote about in our birth story). We were both exhausted, having slept only an hour or two in that time and have not eaten a real meal since we checked in.

Finn was born at 2:48 in the afternoon. Immediately after the delivery, the nurses took him to pink him up, checked his vitals, and made sure that he was  healthy and thriving. (There were a few scares during delivery, and they took him away before we could even delay cord clamping, which we’d requested.)

I must say this: the staff at Evanston Hospital, where we delivered, was amazingly attentive. We cycled through several shifts of nurses and residents during our time there, and they were all kind, patient, and reassuring. During the 24 hours of labor, especially, they proved to be reliable and steadfast.

The 6-8 hours that followed labor, though, were challenging for all of us–but mostly for me. And here’s the thing: I’m not really sure if I experienced the same kind of isolation and general left-out-ness that fathers experience immediately following the birth of their children or if my experience was somehow made more difficult by the fact the I was Finn’s second, non-biological mother.

Nonetheless, in the hours after Finn was born, the focus was, understandably, on Sona and Finn. She was repeatedly referred to as “the mother.” I was able to hold him for a few minutes after the nurses got him cleaned up, but then they quickly took him from me, handing him to “the mother” for skin-to-skin and feeding. And there he stayed–for a long, long time.

(We did manage to sneak in our first selfie before they took him; it’s the only photo we have together from his first day of life.)

Of course, we wanted Sona to do skin-to-skin right after birth, and we were anxious to see whether or not Finn would latch quickly. (He did, thankfully!) But I guess that I expected to get to do skin-to-skin, too. I know I’d seen fathers do it, but I hadn’t explicitly asked. I hadn’t advocated for myself. That was, I think, my mistake.

After about 90 minutes of Sona having skin-to-skin, the nurses helped us pack up for our move up to the maternity ward. I took Finn from Sona, helping her into the wheel chair, but the nurse was quick to tell me that, “The mother carries the baby up to the maternity ward.” So, she took him and gave him back to Sona for the ride up.

The thing is, I think the nurses at Evanston Hospital are spectacular, and I really think they did their very best, making sure that we were all taken care of. I just think that my own insecurities about being the third wheel began to bubble up in those moments after his delivery, and that was likely due to lots of factors, including our exhaustion, the heightened emotions, my mama bear instincts kicking in, and, maybe, a little innocent confusion about how to address TWO moms.

Once we got up to the maternity ward, where we’d spend the next two days, the baby nurses took Finn to the nursery for his first bath. Since Sona had to stay in the room to recover, I was able to accompany him on this adventure, and I was, selfishly, happy to get him to myself.

I’ll never forget those couple of hours, watching Finn get his first bath, holding his little hand, and staring in complete wonder at our little son.

Those moments are particularly special because, as soon as he came back to the room, I had to leave to take our family back to our place, care for our animals, take my first shower in nearly 36 hours, and grab some dinner for Sona and myself.

While I was gone, the nurse came in the room and gave the whole how-you-care-for-baby spiel, which, as you can imagine, I was really bummed to have missed.

I was exhausted from the whole thing, and I was probably more emotional than I would have been had I been rested and fed and, you know, sane.

At around 10:00, I got back to the hospital, relieved Sona’s sister, and–for the first time–the three of us were alone.

Somehow, as sleep deprived and emotionally spent as we were, Sona and I sat up in the hospital bed and ate some take-out sushi while our son slept next to us.

Finn slept pretty soundly his first night, waking up only to feed, as expected. Since Sona was breastfeeding, I was adamant about assuming all other responsibilities. And, even still, I’m usually the one changing diapers, picking out outfits, and soothing Finn back to sleep.

Those are responsibilities I protect fiercely. At first, I did it because I thought it’d be the only way I could bond with him. Now, I do it because it’s the only time I get him to myself, especially with a nonstop parade of friends and family visits.

That next morning, after going through the photos of Finn’s first day and realizing there weren’t any of me with him–or of the three of us–I cried. Looking back, I was just throwing myself a little pity party. There was my warrior of a wife, so sore she could barely move, and I was whining about not being in any photos.

But I think I was just overwhelmed. Being a mom is hard; being a new mom is REALLY hard. I was hit so hard with a full-on crazy love for Finn, and I was terrified that he wouldn’t love me back. Or that he wouldn’t know I was his mom. Or that other people wouldn’t know that he was MY son, too.

Those were all my own hang-ups, of course, but they are hang-ups I imagine a lot of other co-parents experience.

After I had a good cry, Sona–being the saint she is–pulled herself out of bed, grabbed my camera, and insisted on getting some photos of Finn and I doing skin-on-skin.

I needed it in that moment, because I needed to feel like I was one of Finn’s moms, too. Now, three weeks later, that just seems silly. Finn is our son–both of ours–and a photo or two doesn’t change that.

But there were some growing pains in those first few days, mostly born out of a love so big and wild that it couldn’t be tamed. It scared us then, and it scares us now, but it’s so, so good.

Finn is now 2.5 weeks old, and–judging by our very scientific method of having Sona get weighed with and without him–he’s up to 8.5 pounds. I put a pair of PJs on him the other night–a pair he’s only worn once before–and the legs were so short on him that they only fit with his knees bent.

This is all to say that, sadly, our little boy is getting bigger much more quickly than we are comfortable with. Suddenly, all the admonitions from parents, warning us how quickly babies grow up and how desperately you’ll want them to stay small, make sense.

It’s pretty easy for me to say that the past couple of weeks have been the best in my life. Everything you hear about being a parent is absolutely true. Having Finn has forced me to re-focus, pushing me to better understand what is important–and what is not. Since Sona and I have been lucky enough to experience maternity leave together, we’ve spent these weeks in a complete baby bubble, happily holed up in our small apartment, ignoring everything that isn’t a dirty diaper or a hungry baby. We are tuned out from the world outside of our home and completely tuned into our life as a new family. (I’m a little concerned about how we will tune back in, but I’m sure I’ll write more about that transition as it happens.)

We’ve also managed, better than I expected, to get back to what we consider our “normal” daily lives. Finn has, for the most part, been a champ, allowing us to take him on long neighborhood strolls, sleeping as we got Saturday morning pastries and lazily browsed the farmers market, and snoozing contently in his car seat or stroller as we have braved quite a few restaurants.

Facebook friends and family have commented with awe, saying how well we’ve done in these first few weeks. They are surprised that we are getting out so much, going for coffee, having nibbles at a wine bar–all with Finn in tow! These comments mean a lot to us, because–like most new parents, I imagine–we are hungrily seeking validation. Are we doing the right thing? Are we being good parents to our son? Are we experiencing a “normal” newborn phase?

We have, I think, been doing pretty well. The first couple of weeks, especially, were considerably easier than either one of us had anticipated.

But we’ve also been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And this week, with the third set of house guests we’ve had since Finn was born (there are 3 more coming), it dropped.

My parents came into town on Monday night. We were so excited to have them meet our perfectly behaved son and to show them just how well we were fairing. We weren’t suffering from severe sleep deprivation! Our home was cleaned, and our laundry was done! We made chocolate chip cookies! And pasta! And our baby was sleeping through it all!

Then, Tuesday, when we took Finn out for a walk and lunch, he started to meltdown. And he kept melting down. We stopped twice in two hours to breastfeed on a bench, something that Sona was just THRILLED about.

Eventually, we just took him home.

Wednesday, he woke up fussier than usual. He wouldn’t go down for his naps without screaming.  He seemed completely unhappy. “Something is wrong with him,” Sona and I said to each other. Where did our perfectly behaved newborn go? And who was this gremlin that took his place? By Wednesday afternoon, we’d called the pediatrician, concerned about his endless screams and, well, his poop.

This is all to say that, even in the midst of this bliss-fest, things are TOUGH. Don’t worry, Finn is fine. He may have some acid reflux, but he didn’t have a fever, and the doctor isn’t concerned. But–his moms? Well, let’s just say that we haven’t been at our best during these past 48 hours. There were tears–and not just baby tears.

At 4AM this morning, as Finn slept on my chest (the only place he was happy), Sona and I laid in bed and sobbed. We’d only slept an hour. “This is really hard,” we both said. “What could we being doing better? Are we giving him everything he needs? Will we ever get more than 3 hours of sleep, again?”

Finn has spent the past 48 hours having intermittent temper tantrums, and we needed to have ours.

Let’s get real, y’all: having a baby is hard work. We are only 2.5 weeks in, and we’ve probably only seen the tip of the iceberg. You can come to no other conclusion than that our bodies–and minds–must be engineered for motherhood. Because no matter how tough it gets, our love for Finn kicks in, surging through us like a shot of adrenaline, giving us just enough motivation to keep going.

Many moms have told us about how much they struggled with their new babies–babies who were loved and cared for and happy. But there was a struggle. And we’ve struggled a bit, too, this week. I guess we’ve joined the club.

This morning, we had a jam session with our little man, singing and dancing and being silly, despite the difficulty of the past few days. A friend of ours nailed in when he said, “[Parenting] is the hardest job that you’ll ever love doing.” He was absolutely right.

So, it’s not all cafe lunches and farmers markets with our Instagram-ready baby strapped to our chests. But that’s okay. I’m sure there are going to be more tears–from both the grown-ups and the babies–but we know that is part of this adventure. And we’re so thankful for all the moms we know who honestly and graciously cheer us along with their own stories as we write our own.

 

 

Some Insta snaps from the past week:

Last Sunday, Sona and I went to brunch. I posted a belly photo on Instagram, joking that we were “brunching this baby out.” Three hours later, we were on our way to the hospital.

As we walked out of the brunch restaurant, Sona asked, “Is there something on my pants?” I looked and saw a huge wet spot. We immediately called our OB, excited and nervous. She told us to come on in to the hospital to check things out. We FREAKED. Was this real? Were we really in labor? But–we hadn’t showered!

We drove home, took quick showers, grabbed all of the bags we’d packed, and headed to the hospital. After getting checked in and monitored for a bit, our OB came in and informed us that, although Sona was having contractions, her water hadn’t broken, and she was in very early labor. She said we should go home and wait it out, but she asked to monitor Sona for 20 more minutes, just to be sure.

As she left the room, Sona was nearly in tears. She was SO ready to get the baby out, and she was tired of waiting. Just as I’d talked her down, the doctor came back in and said, “You know, you’re contractions are actually 5 minutes apart. If I break your water now, I think we’ll be able to move things along rather quickly.” Sona and I looked at each other, eyes bright, and said, “Let’s do this!”

Nearly 22 hours later, after hours and hours of laboring, including several hours of pitocin, our son, Finn, was born. Despite a few scares, he was delivered vaginally, and he is perfectly healthy! Sona was a warrior. Truly, I never loved her more than in those wee hours of Monday morning, holding her in a tiny hospital bed, telling her that she can do this over and over again.

Here are some photos that tell the story of our day. Yes, they are revealing–revealing of just how scary and wonderful and painful and wonderful and long and WONDERFUL those 22 hours were.

 

These next two photos–taken just minutes apart–are from before and after the epidural. You know, just in case you were wondering what kind of difference having one can make.

 

Because many  have asked and many have wanted to ask–

This photo is from the day that Sona and I made our son: November 18, 2014. I’m not telling this story because I think we owe anyone an explanation. I’m telling this story for a few reasons: First, we want to be completely transparent with our friends and family but, more importantly, we want to be completely transparent with our son. Also, I want to tell this story for all of the other same-sex couples who will–or who have–already lived it. I searched the internet for days, leading up to our insemination, trying to find stories that were similar to ours–trying to confirm that others have been down the same path, and that the path led to happy, thriving families.

Mostly, though, I’m telling it because I am (we are) so proud of our family—proud of how we worked, consciously and mindfully, to bring this little dude into the world.

So, here it is:

Sona and I always knew we wanted children and, for a very long time, we planned to adopt. We’d really never discussed all of our options. The truth is, I’ve felt moved to adopt since I was very young, never having felt the need to carry my own biological child, and Sona just went along with it.

Then came anesthesia school and her OB rotation. If anything, you’d think that watching mothers writhing in pain as a small human was pulled from them would deter any would-be moms and make adoption look even more appealing. But, for Sona, it changed her mind: she wanted to carry her own child.

Since I would never ask Sona to give up this experience, and since adoption was going to cost well over 25k (a minor side-note), we decided to move forward, knowing that she would carry.

The next step was really the most difficult; we had to decide who would be the biological donors. It wasn’t difficult because we were emotionally torn—distressed over which decision would be best. It was difficult because there are SO many options available, and many of them are very costly.

We could ask a close friend to be a sperm donor. We could try to find a family member, on either side, willing to donate; that way, we’d both have a biological connection to our child. (We had some moms who volunteered their sons’ sperm, but I won’t reveal any names). J We could go with an anonymous donor, using a sperm bank that is close to home and more cost effective. We could use the out-of-state sperm bank; they have a much better reputation but charge the big bucks. We could use Sona’s egg. We could use my egg. We could do reciprocal IVF. We could do an in-office insemination. We could do it at home (hello, turkey baster!). We could buy one vial of sperm and cross our fingers, or we could buy $10,000 worth of sperm and hedge our bets.

The list is exhaustive, and we were exhausted.

Ultimately, after over two years of going back and forth, we decided that Sona would carry, using an anonymous donor from a sperm bank. I think we both decided that our lives would be easier if we didn’t actually know the biological father. Though, we recognize that, in some ways, this is a self-serving decision that works better for us than for our son (but that’s another conversation).

This decision meant two things: we would have to find a donor, and I would have to accept that I wouldn’t be a biological parent. Believe it or not, the latter was easier. I won’t lie: when we decided that Sona would carry and that we would use her egg, I felt a twinge of something—guilt? Sadness? Jealousy? I don’t really know. Whatever it was, it passed quickly, because I was—and still am—so much more excited to be beginning this adventure with Sona than I am regretful that I’m not contributing my own DNA.

So, we found a donor. We used the expensive out-of-state sperm bank (for lots of reasons that I’m happy to discuss with anyone who is interested). And, each month, we waited, impatiently, for our maybe-baby-to-be to arrive in a very large dry ice tank, packed inside of a very large brown box, stamped “THIS SIDE UP.”

I’ve never been so anxious about missing the FedEx guy.

What do we know about our donor? Well, he’s tall, for one. (Good luck with that, Sona.) He’s super smart—a computer whiz. He’s blonde, like me, and his facial features are very similar to mine: big brown eyes, full lips, and similar nose. In fact, we have a few photos of him as a baby and child, and he looked a lot like me—even had the exact same teeth. (Hope you got braces, eventually, dude.) His ethnic heritage is pretty much identical to mine. He has a completely clean family medical history. He’s an ENFJ. He’s great at math, played lots of sports, and, when he was 10, he wanted to be a tiger. SOLD!

As weird as it sounds, whoever this guy is, I kind of love him. And I don’t mean in a you-sound-so-awesome-and-cool-I-want-to-be-your-friend kind of way. I mean that I love him in a whoever-you-are-you-gave-us-the-best-gift-of-our-lives kind of way. Not a shred of me envies him. There’s nothing but gratitude here. And curiosity, of course! Because half of the puzzle is kind of a gamble, and we’re so excited to see who and what our son turns out to be.

So, we got the sperm in the mail, and we did in-office inseminations (mostly, because I didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good turkey baster). Sona meticulously charted every bodily function—and I mean EVERY BODILY FUNCTION—for months, trying to perfectly time the insemination. We know more about getting pregnant now than we ever thought we would.

Basically, with donor sperm, there’s a 12-hour window. If she didn’t ovulate within 12 hours of the insemination, she wouldn’t get pregnant. And, to top it all off, our sperm was being shipped from the West Coast. It took 2-3 days to get here. So, we had to guess when she’d ovulate, order the sperm with enough of a cushion that, if she ovulated early, it’d still be here in time, and cross our fingers. Once the sperm was shipped, we had 7 days until it was no longer usable. The stress of it all was unbelievable!

I told people at work that I had to miss a meeting because I had something personal to attend to. I didn’t tell them that I was waiting for FedEx to deliver my baby.

All the doctors told us it would take 5-6 tries—and that’s only if Sona is perfectly fertile. It’s only a 20% chance each time. The first time, it didn’t work out for us. I think we went in too late for the insemination. We took 5 pregnancy tests that first attempt.

Attempt #2 didn’t look so good. We ordered the sperm too late. Sona’s ovulation tests were showing that she was off her usual cycle. She wasn’t supposed to ovulate for at least another 48 hours, and we only had 1 day left before the sperm would be unviable. Even our docs told us that it was bad timing.

Nonetheless, we didn’t want to waste $1000 worth of sperm. So, we went in for our pre-scheduled insemination, anyway, joking the entire time that we might as well just squirt the sperm out the car window. We just accepted that we’d be going for try #3 in December.

And, as they say, the rest is history. We got pregnant. Sona—magically and unexpectedly—ovulated just a few hours after the procedure. 10 days after that, we took a pregnancy test and confirmed what I think Sona already suspected: it worked.

We got pregnant on our second try. Now, Sona is six days away from our due date, carrying our son who was conceived in a doctor’s office in Lincolnwood, using sperm from a donor who, I hope, still wants to be a tiger.

And this is one of the reasons I’m writing all of this. Lots of people—with the best intentions—have been tiptoeing around me, assuming, I think, that I’m sad to be missing out in some way and that, by acknowledging or asking about the process, they’d be salting a wound.

The truth is: I couldn’t be happier. This is our baby, y’all! Our story. Whatever path led us here, whatever process we chose. I believe that this is exactly what we were meant to do as a family. If we had chosen another route, if we had gone with another donor, if we had waited 10 more hours that day—we would have a different baby.

And we don’t want a different baby, we want OUR son. We want Finn Atlas, and we can’t wait to tell him how much we worked—and how many stars aligned—to bring him into our lives.