there was much rejoicing in the land . . . and then the hospital bill arrived

If Henry were a chicken for sale at the grocery store, his cost per pound at birth would work out to be $2,625.98. Per pound, people. And there were seven and a half of him. Fortunately for us, we send an indecent percentage of our take-home pay over to the folks at the insurance company, who are finally earning their keep.

The damage, incredibly, came to $19,957.42. That figure includes $376 in pharmacy charges, $11,700 for “semi private obstetrics,” and $386 for a labor room that was used only to store our bags while the baby was delivered surgically in the $4,538 operating room (where I received $1,159 worth of anesthesia). Had I known, I would have done a more thorough search for sample-sized shampoos or other value-add souvenirs in the labor room; $386 seems steep for three hours of luggage storage.

from the glad-it-wasn’t-me department

If, on a Saturday morning, after your wife has been awake for several hours feeding and soothing and entertaining the newborn, she taps your arm and asks you in her please-won’t-you-help voice to change the diaper, and you promptly fall fast asleep for another hour and a half, then wake up and ask your wife if she isn’t ready to hand over the baby so you can go ahead and get that diaper changed, but then the baby starts crying on the changing table and you’ve lost your marbles and you put the kid back in his pjs diaper-free, please don’t register shock or awe when the baby pees on your chest.

genetics

Burton’s eyes are Caribbean blue; mine are poop brown. We’ll have to sit tight for a few months before discovering which way Henry’s will go. But one inheritance, at least, is clear: That boy is wearing my furrowed brow.

fool for love

Never have I been so impressed with someone who offers so little. Honestly, if he were to post a personal ad, it might read: “SWM: eats, poops, and pees. Usually enjoys gas, except when it makes me cry.”

And me? Hopelessly fallen.

the footling arrives!

Henry Calder Flint, not willing to wait around, was born on Jan. 30. Seven pounds, nine ounces, and ten delicious toes.