Somewhere back there, I took a different turn.

Four days ago I walked into an operating room. 45 minutes or so later, they rolled me back out, drugged, stitched, and now finally able to look at the unexpected turn life took awhile back. His name is Oliver, and he's awesome.

Sure. I admit to bias. But it's all true.

There are relevant details... 20 inches long. 8 pounds, 13 ounces. Dark hair. Dark blue eyes. Interestingly, all these details change. He's already lost a pound. His hair color and eye color may change. The fact that he's awesome? Not budging on that one.

Awesome, as in awe inspiring. He reminds me of good things. Love and patience and light. He reminds me to look at my other children and savor, even when I'm frustrated and angry and overwhelmed.

Despite some sound advice, I spent as much of the first 24 of his life out here in the scary world as I could just being with him. A smart person probably would have sent him on down to the nursery and get some sleep. And the following day, my body was screaming at me. But my heart needed to cushion the transition from being pregnant to having an infant. It did my soul good to stare into that tiny face and breathe it all in.