It’s hard to believe Sajan joined us just two weeks ago today. He’s quickly become the center of our solar system and the outlet of all our love.
The night he was born we were surprised how disconnected from him we felt. He looked like an alien (no better way to say it) and it just didn’t hit us in the gut the way we were thinking it might. But our care and affection really started to ramp when got home Day 3.
The ride home with him was a special trip. For once I was thankful for heavy rush hour traffic. It made my one man secret service escort bearable through Austin’s god awful roads. Aunty and Uncle greeted us with an aarti at the door and surprised us with Sajan’s first birthday party, cake and all. It swelled our hearts to sing our very first acoustic happy birthday to him.
The early days have been long and drawn out yet satisfying. The Texas summer heat is in full swing. Pranitha feeds baby and I pick up the rest. She has a huge appetite (~3x normal) and is on a hearty recovery diet of home cooked meals and snacks. Loads of carbs, fruits, and veggies. Lots of methi in various forms. Lactation cookies here and there. Protein ladoos. Mild spice. As few leftovers as possible. No outside food. No milk for now. No cruciferous veggies. No ice. No crust from bread. We’ve started buying gallons of alkaline water in absence of a good home filtration system. Most of this guidance arrives from an international committee of aunts headed by Pranitha’s mom. I roll with it. It’s an approximation of India postpartum treatment here in Austin. All in service of nourishing mama and baby to the absolute best of our ability.
Each day brings at least one new and exciting first, lighting up our sense of wonder. Yesterday it was his first sponge bath, before that his first trip to the park. There was Pranitha’s first mothers day just five days after delivery. I won’t forget his first projectile pee onto the rug during a routine 7am change.
By good grace Sajan has been growing at a steady clip. All the traditional metrics of health looked good when he arrived, and other than a greater than expected dip in weight the first week he’s been doing well.
Every one of Sajan’s micro expressions get me, but my favorites surface when he’s dozing off. It goes something like: his eyes start to fade, flicker a few times, then a cross eye, a couple side eyes, and finally a fleeting smile before he’s gone. Right before the paps can snap a pic.
Sajan is a boob guy. He latches with conviction and he’s adept at motorboating, a skill I urge him to remember in twenty years. He’s got a finely tuned sense for his mother’s smell, a sign he’s near the Milkmaid™️, which offers a small batch tasting menu or an unlimited buffet depending on the day.
I want to remember it all, but there’s too much. The hiccups and sneezes. His perfect button nose and lips. The whimpers, quivers, squeals. The way all the blood in his body rushes to his head when he’s unhappy, turning him a deep red tomato. That paired with his frog jump off my of chest. His dramatics and antics more broadly. The way he can look like an old man, a monkey, and baby all in the span of an hour. The poops that make it seem like he’s been eating turmeric all day (“haldi poops”). The helplessness I feel when I cannot cure his hiccups. The eye bags. I simply cannot resist kissing him, even (especially) when he’s fuming. It’s all so tender. And I live for tender. I imagine him in a tux and joked to Pranitha that I’ve already begun writing his wedding speech. I guess this is what being a parent is. Doting on doting on doting.
I exclusively talk to him as an adult like we’re two buds having fun. The other day while handing him off to Mom for feeding I did a starting lineup intro: “At 7 lb, 11oz, from Austin, Texas. They call him The Latcher”. He’s also already on a steady drip of propaganda convincing him that dad is better than mom. And by default, when it’s just us I enjoy telling him about our day going through the most mundane details and decisions. Maybe I just need more friends?
Part of me thought that we were going to be a hole the first couple months, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised. There’s the work and the low sleep but none of it feels overwhelming. I pinch myself because it’s really a ton of fun. And when I’m having fun the idea of parenting dissolves into just enjoying time together. So I’m thankful we are safely above water and trying to cherish it all. This is what it’s all about.
Before it was just us three Aunty and Uncle were here for ten days when Pranitha’s contractions began. They were nothing short of heroic, letting Pranitha and I focus our time and energy on baby. We held “adult council” every morning to recap the previous night. How did he do? How did the adults do? How can we work together better? After they left our night nurse started, teaching us a lot and giving Sajan more reliable night naps a better idea of night and day. The support has been incredible, including the OB and pediatrician friends who are a text away.
I was also blown away at the outpouring of love from family and friends when Sajan arrived. Existing parents seem especially excited to welcome us into the club. I thought our wedding was something but this was next level. COVID took a heavy and extended toll on my family, but Sajan’s arrival has been an equally unexpected unifying force. Babies bring out the best in people. It’s also surprising how the cultural default is to hesitate before reaching out to new parents when they have a newborn. I know I’ve felt that way. I say the opposite! I’ve explicitly asked friends to call or FT at any time, connection is so valuable during this time.
Breastfeeding is really so remarkable. For one, breast milk changes in composition throughout the day to meet the babies needs (morning gives energy, night time helps baby sleep, etc) and can vary based on the child’s sex (i.e your body knows if you had a boy or girl). But what’s crazier is that some research suggests that small amounts of baby’s saliva flows back into mom’s body so that she can send baby exactly the right nutrients. It’s called “retrograde milk flow”, which if conclusive is simply too cool for my brain to handle.
Now when we play Dear Theodosia in the car, my ear hangs on this verse:
Oh, Philip, when you smile I am undone
My son, look at my son
Pride is not the word I’m looking for
There is so much more inside me now
Varun