Welcome Ian Alexander, born August 14, 2011.

Here are the things I'm certain of today:

• He squeaks. Like a mouse. Usually when feeding, although sometimes while asleep. Just a random, loud "SQUEAK!" then silence. It's adorable.
• He doesn't like to be cold.
• Or naked.
• He doesn't cry or fuss much.
• He's sort of a night owl, like me.
• He's also a long sleeper, like me.
• He could fart Dueling Banjos if he knew the melody -- he's that flatulent and that loud.
• He's the most valuable thing I've ever had in my life.

I never knew I could love something so much, this tiny little fragile life, and he's mine. I'm sure when he hits puberty, he'll hate me and I'll hate him, but for right now, I can't get over how much (and how differently from everything else) I love him. I didn't think I had any maternal instinct at all, but seeing his big eyes and his Doctor Who hair triggered it, and I won't let him out of my sight most of the time. I'm just now getting to where I let Gavin change his diaper without hovering to make sure he doesn't smoosh the baby or something silly like that -- ridiculous fears that I'm sure will go away. Eventually I'll be only too happy to hand Ian over to his father and say "I'm gonna take a nap. Enjoy his 'Diaper Change of One Thousand Poops' trick." Today is the first day I've trusted the baby monitor to let me know if he's unhappy while I'm in the studio writing this entry.

But I do keep running to the other end of the house every 10 minutes to look in on him myself. Just to be sure.

I miss having him all to myself; now that I'm not pregnant, I have to share his tiny movements and delicate little body with everyone. And it's oddly lonely, not having him so close (literally) to my heart. My body may have hated being pregnant, but I did like carrying the little guy this whole time. My only real issue was all the fluid retention, which caused pretty much every single physical problem I had. I still can't feel my fingertips and none of my rings fit anymore (and probably won't ever again), but the rest of me is mostly back to normal.

Mostly.

Seriously, do doctors really need to tell women not to have sex or use tampons for at least 6 weeks after delivery? Really? I don't plan on letting anything near my hoo-hoo for six months, not even the doctor. Not that it hurts much, but damn... after what it just went through, it deserves a nice vacation in the Bahamas or something.

But it was all worth it. Just for those random contented squeaks he makes, or that wide-eyed "Oooooo" look he gets when he sees or hears something new. And those little sideburns.

And yes, I've already decided that IF his hair doesn't fall out (I'm praying it won't), I'll make him a little blue pinstriped suit and long brown overcoat, muss up the boy's hair a bit (it doesn't take much to get the look), and he'll go as Ten for Halloween.

I knew he was a little Timelord. :)