That's actually a lie-- I have one picture that Katie and Claire took of me sacked out Tuesday morning. But then there's drool and that's awkward and doesn't nobody need to see all of that.
Dad and I were, for the most part, slap happily sleep deprived. One of us slept while the other drove so we didn't see much of each other, even within the confines of my sportscar.
Why the exhaustion, you ask?
Oh, just a little thing called a BABY!
More specifically, a little thing called Truett.
I am, of course, not nearly as exhausted as the two who formed this new little family. And the little bit of sleep deprivation I did endure was, hands down, worth it.
I didn't think I'd get to meet this little man. I mean sure I harassed him to COME ON WITH IT through voice messages and texting and in person every time I thought about it in the month leading up to his birth (don't worry, I always ended with "... but I'll love you unconditionally anyway.") But then on Thursday Dr. Simmons was all like, "this baby isn't coming within the next week" and hope was lost. It was actually kind of nice to have a definite "no" and set my mind to packing up for school, resigned to meeting Truett over my fall break.
Then along comes Friday afternoon, when Mom and I are trying to pump ourselves up to a last minute Wal Mart run by laying around watching Project Runway on the couch (likely strategy, I know) and Steph calls questioning whether or not she'd just experienced her water breaking. After Mom assured her 9 different times that this was indeed happening, we squealed for no shorter than 5 minutes and tried to ourselves comprehend that this was, indeed, happening. Pretty soon we kicked ourselves into high gear, no Project Runway required this time.
Critically, Emily and I called Steph to sing "I'm Coming Out," as if from Truett's point of view. We wanted the world to know, we had to let it show!
Critically, Emily and I called Steph to sing "I'm Coming Out," as if from Truett's point of view. We wanted the world to know, we had to let it show!
The thing about *almost* grandparents, apparently, is that they experience some type of weird relapse to their roles 30 years prior at the onset of labor (28 to be precise. And by precise, I do mean to the day). Mom kept suggesting things all frantically and Dad would be reassuring and accomodating and all "what do you need me to do?!" Thoughts like, "Oh no, the room isn't ready" and "I didn't even get to paint my toenails" come rushing back to the new grandmother as naturally as they came with her own labor.
But this time her children get to laugh at her.
We beamed as we entered Chic-Fil-A and then again when we showed up at the hospital.
We beamed pretty much everywhere we went the entire weekend, despite exhausted exteriors. Luke and Stephanie included.
I might still be beaming.
We laughed a lot and prayed a lot and listened to Selah a lot and waited a lot.
I remember hugging Luke and saying (just hours after his 28th birthday had come and gone), "next time I see you, you'll be a dad."
And then at 5:08 a.m on August 21st.
Christopher Truett Smith.
7 pounds, 9 ounces and 20 3/4 inches of great.
With his precious nose and tiny toes and big feet and the most adorable little profile.
Okay, am I right?!
Maybe I'm just biased, but the kid is awesome and club-can't-even-handle-him-right-now kinds of great. After 17 hours of adoring the brilliance of God's handiwork, I certainly couldn't handle it anymore. So I drove a thousand or so miles away.
Or at least that's how we're spinnin' it. School was a minor factor.
Aaaaaanyway, that's the way we became a party of 7, and I can't get over getting to be a part!
1 comment:
fa-reaking love.
Post a Comment