Day 1:
(At the hospital) These pangs are worse than I remember. I am never doing this to my wife again. Heh, as if avoidance ever guarantees safety.
The baby is stuck on their way out for what turns out to be 27 seconds. I watch the way the doctor looks at the nurses and I assume the worst. I feel faint and they tell me I am pale, but if my wife can keep going I will, too. I don’t notice (thank God) when a nurse gets on top of her and pushes from the outside.
It’s a boy! They asked me who I wanted to make the announcement and I said, “I guess whoever notices first.” But in their wisdom, they position him to my face and I make the announcement. This is the reveal I didn’t know I wanted.
We are in new territory. Two boys and a girl: a ratio my parents and in-laws didn’t have. My wife and I have our own family. Except that he somehow feels like someone else’s kid.
Day 2:
(Overnight) It’s my turn to hold you and I call you Stephen. Which, you’ll learn one day, is not your name. Nor your brother’s name. Nor a name we considered for you. So, I must be tired.
We’re not starting new or from scratch; we’re starting over. Except it’s one of those if-I-knew-then moments, except it’s since-I-know-now.
(At home) Anytime I hear of siblings meeting their baby brother or sister, they’re reciting an oral history or watching home videos. So, I made sure to pay attention when my children met each other for the first time. I hold that memory now and will pass it down orally and watch the videos with them.
I’m not used to his name yet. I wasn’t practicing it during his gestation, since I didn’t know whether he’d be a him or a her. And we didn’t settle on a boy’s name until three weeks ago. So, his isn’t a household name for me yet.
My daughter seems set apart, the only girl.
The joke about having a third child is that you’re going from man-to-man to zone defense. It’s a stupid joke—unoriginal. But I have the math figured out: If I hold the baby, I can’t take care of the other two, so my wife can cover them. Haven’t we been building the two-on-one technique for two and a half years? Or I can take the two older ones while my wife has the baby. Everyone got it? One, two, three, break!
Day 3:
We made it through the night, which is more than I can say about the night before. The nights are really hard.
Because getting our firstborn to bed has been a battle. But if this is just a phase, it has to get better, doesn’t it? One day a time.
I can see why grandparents forget the ropes in 30 years. In under three years, I’ve forgotten some of this.
Day 4:
Thus begins another day at a time, as the five of us. Plus my mother-in-law: our gracious, visiting servant.
I’d like to pay more attention to the baby and be a help. But it’s so easy to be on my phone or reading a book while holding him.
I realized I’ve felt distant from my third-born because I didn’t know who he was until four days ago. We knew his siblings’ sex and name before they were born, but because we kept his sex a surprise, I didn’t know who he was.
Day 5:
Also, I remembered I’ve been distant because there’s nothing for me to do for him. His only interest is milk.
So, I’ll take the big kids and you take the little one and we’ll meet up somewhere sometime.
Day 6:
I keep talking to my third-born as if he’ll respond. I forget his only interest is milk. So, I’ll wait. Because infancy is its own stage and doesn’t last long.
Hey bud, I haven’t seen you too much. I’ve been fending off your siblings from your mother and doing chores and errands. So, it’s good to hold you. You are no longer a stranger; you are my son.
Day 7:
I’ve been imagining you’ll be a third wheel because your brother and sister are best friends. But I’m starting to see how y’all will make a tight trio.
Here’s how I know you won’t be a third wheel: I haven’t thought that for our friends with three kids. Those families just are a three-kid family. We’re just now growing into it.
– Scot Bellavia
