Michael Hunter Johnson, Part I

I am 60 seconds old here.  
My nails are like my Aunt Mary's nails.

Yesterday, and three weeks early, Michael Hunter Johnson began his trip down the birth canal the long way, tilting his head up, back and to the side, which may have been a good view for him, but it is also the road less travelled.

By time he arrived this morning he had the obstetrician, the anesthesiologist, 3 residents, and 2 nurses in the room to support Miranda and Richard.

Three other nurses were giving Hunter a thorough check-up and clean-up on other side of the room.

What do you mean, I'm not allowed to crawl yet?

Since I am a new baby lover, I think he looks cute: purple extremities, no meat on his scrawny legs, and a brown toque with a tassel on his head (how Canadian).

He was making the minimum of noise – enough to present himself as alive but no lusty crying, just a peep or two and then a good look around.

Miranda has waited a long time for him and she was enjoying his soft new touch.

You can hold my hand, but just for a while since I don't know you very well.

Richard has predicted he will be a lover of the arts. I am happy that he will play in my backyard.

There is more fun to the story – Sunday, Miranda’s assignment to Richard was to get the baby seats installed in both her car and his Toyota Scout.

Miranda drove Richard to work in the morning and things went downhill for them so they went right to the hospital.

She didn’t have time to take the hospital outfit she had just purchased, nor did she have time to pack some toiletries.

OK.  Whose in charge here?

And in the “How To Have A Baby Class” next week is the lesson on birthing positions, so they got first hand-coaching without having to listen to any of the theory on that matter.

More pictures to come, for by now, Mike has only been in the world about five minutes.