Hi there. Guess what? I had a baby a week ago. Not that you’d know it, since I haven’t posted anything about it. I managed to get some photos up on Flickr before the realization of having two children, both with an affinity for filling diapers at an alarming rate, finally sunk in.

I’ll put together a birth story over the weekend, but I’m pleased to say everything went extraordinarily well. I went in for an induction Thursday night, had my water broken late afternoon Friday, ordered an epidural at 5:30 pm and started pushing at 10:04 pm.

Wilder Wellington was born 20 minutes later.

At a jaw-dropping 10 lbs. 8 ozs. The general consensus among the doctors and midwives was 9-9.5 lbs. I made the nurse weigh him twice to be sure. Despite being almost 2 lbs. heavier than Emerson, he was a lot easier to birth. Thank god for that. If I would have known the size going into the delivery, I think I would have gone on strike. Or on vacation. Let somebody birth the Christmas turkey.

He is lovely. I don’t know what else to say right now. He is just simply gorgeous. He looks a lot like his brother, but with darker skin and more hair. (And a smaller head, for which my nether regions are grateful.)

It is a week later and he has already gained his birth weight back. After several nights thinking our house was an all-night afterparty, Wilder slept 11:30 pm to 6:45 am, only waking once at 3 am to gorge himself at the milk bar. I forgot how heinous the whole “milk coming in” process was. Picture flaming hot coconuts. Now stuff them under your skin. Comfy? Now attach a vacuum lined with tattoo needles to your nipple and turn to “puree” for 25 minutes every three hours. Joy.

For me? I’m doing so much better than last time that I could burst with it. Despite a belly that looks like Laura Flynn Boyles’ alien at the beginning of MIB 2, I feel great, taking some iron for anemia, and have dropped 25 lbs of fluid already. I think I spent an hour yesterday just getting reacquainted with my ankle bones. (why hello, you’re so…so, delicate and boney, aren’t you?)

All in all, despite the nonstop bitching about the heat, I would totally recommend summer babies. Sitting on the porch swing, rocking the baby in the breezy, dappled sun, watching Michael draw chalk trains on the driveway with Emerson, drinking iced coffee…not a terrible start.

My two boys. I foresee a future that is lightly perfumed with sweaty athletic socks.