Libby Takes Over

Note: This post was transcribed by my Daddy.

Well, here I am! If you are reading this blog, then chances are you already know the following details.

1) My name is Elizabeth Virginia Gordon, but most people call my 'Libby.' Other names I've heard people call me include 'Baby,' 'Baby G,' and many words and phrases with root word 'sweet' or as Marmena and Granddaddy Al Hodge say it, 'schweet' - they are so nice to me that I don't want to correct them.

2) I was born 19 1/2 inches tall and weighed 6 pounds 10 ounces. (Note: I do not plan on sharing my exact weight forever!) I have blond hair, blue eyes, and I'm told long legs, toes and fingers. I'm not sure I believe that since everyone I've met so far has WAY longer legs and toes and fingers! Everyone seems to think I'm beautiful, which is fine because a girl never gets tired of hearing that. But someday people better stop judging me solely on my looks!

3) Everyone wants to know about me, and interest in me was growing even before I was born! How crazy is that? Talk about pressure! Well, since everyone seems so into what I'm doing, I thought I'd start a diary. Pretty ambitious I know for a two-day old I know, but like I said I want to be known for more than just looks!

Day 1: Freaky Friday

Friday started off pretty much like any other day. I woke up, did some stretching, shared some of Mommy's food she had the day before, did some more stretching, then nodded off again. Life, other than being totally cramped, was good. Then all of sudden the most horrible thing happened. Mommy started trying to push me out of her tummy. And she didn't do it an easy way like with her arms. Instead she used some combination of internal pushing and telekinesis to thrust me toward this tunnel that was way smaller than my head. The first thing I remember is this bright light, a rush of cool air and someone's voice saying "Look, you can see the head!" Daddy would later tell me that when he looked toward where the doctor was looking, he could see a lot of things but my head was not one of them. A few seconds later I was out in the open air, which required me to start breathing. Apparently this whole having to breathe thing is an incurable affliction, but I'm still doing it nearly three days later.

Things would only get freakier, because then my own father cut the cord that attached me to Mommy. Umm...HELLO!!! That cord was only life-sustaining, you know, and the psychological effects I'm still dealing with and will probably need counseling for one day.

From there I was weighed and measured like I was caught in some trout-fishing competition and then nearly drowned inside approximately 12 blankets wrapped around me. Meanwhile, Dad is taking pictures of me as if I were a fashion model showing off the latest in white cloth blankets with pink and blue stripes from the designers in Milan. All this time they won't even let me look out the window at the snowfall. And Dad tells me later that I shouldn't get my hopes up for snow more than about once a year, at best. Gee thanks Dad for raising a girl's spirits. By the way, thanks to my parents for giving birth to me during perhaps the coldest week in the history of Georgia.

Next I'm thrown back onto Mommy's tummy and told to begin breast-feeding. So let me get this straight - before, in order to receive nutrition, all that had to happen was Mommy had to eat 3 or so times a day. Now, it seems that Mommy and I have to both do work in order for me to eat, and we have to do this like 8 or 10 times a day. Yeah, this method is MUCH better for all involved. I'll talk about the other joys of breastfeeding later. The rest of my day pretty much only got worse. I was pricked, probed, prodded, tested, watched, wrapped like a deli sub, unwrapped and even bathed for the first time. And it seems the lady bathing me must have forgotten not only that getting soap in the eyes and water in the ears is unpleasant, but also that my screaming should have been an indication that maybe I wasn't enjoying myself. My day ended with attempts to get some much needed shut-eye that were continuously being interrupted so that I could nurse with my equally exhausted mom. Again, the point of this is what?

Anyway, through that rough first day I still got the sense that Mommy and Daddy loved me as well as all my grandparents who I met that morning. And judging by the vast interest in me there must be a lot of other people who love me too. So maybe there's a reason why I was thrust out into this crazy world on a cold January morning. And besides - things can only get better, right?