Delilah's Birth Story, Part II

Missed Part I? Catch up here.
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Delilah’s birth was abrupt, to say the least. There were none of the usual get-ready-you’re-really-having-a-baby warnings like my water breaking or contractions that intensify over many, many hours. I didn’t labor, but by no means was her delivery easy! 

My doctor said that, in his 25-year career, he had never had happen what happened to me. Complications with an external cephalic version are very rare — less than a 1 percent chance! A placental abruption was not something anyone expected, but all the medical professionals who heard my story later assured me that I had been in the right place at the right time. Given how easily the placenta tore away from the uterine wall, it could have happened any time — at home, probably— and the outcome would have been very different. Fortunately I was in a hospital (the one of my choosing, no less), with an IV and an epidural already on board.

I knew the risks associated with a version, but I also knew they were unlikely and I had total confidence in my doctor. So while it crossed my mind to go ahead and pack the hospital bag, I didn’t. Greg and I truly didn’t think we would need it! I can now attest that you really don’t need to bring anything with you to the hospital. There are certainly things that are nice to have, but you can get by without much! For a week I had nothing more than the clothes I came in. I didn’t get to use the special (and expensive) hospital gown I ordered… I didn’t even have the luxury of my own socks. I donned hospital-issued apparel. When Greg was finally able to go home after Delilah was born (around midnight), he said he would try to rustle up all the items on my “hospital bag” packing list. But I told him not to bother. I just needed him to go and come back as quickly as possible. I told him to just grab my contact lens case and solution, my glasses, and a few toiletries so I’d have a clean face and fresh breath. All that mattered was our sweet baby girl, and us both being there for her.

The hours and days following Delilah’s birth were a whirlwind. We didn’t get a free moment to call our parents to tell them the news until about four hours after she was born! 

Immediately following her arrival, I wasn’t able to hold Delilah right away, not just because I was on an operating table and being sewn up but because I was shaking uncontrollably. Something about the medication they had given me for the version, coupled with the actual c-section, caused my arms to shake vigorously and my teeth to chatter as though I was freezing cold — even though I wasn’t. When the nurse brought Delilah over to me, and when Greg held her next to me, I longed to hold my baby in my arms but I was afraid I would drop her I was shaking that badly. I asked the medical team around me, when will I stop shaking? They apologetically replied that my body would calm eventually. The feeling slowly faded over the next hour or so… because I was still trembling in recovery.

The three of us in recovery, an hour and a half after Delilah made her grand debut via emergency c-section Oct. 23, 2017.

That’s when I finally got to hold my girl skin-to-skin, and we had some lovely bonding time just the three of us: Mommy, Daddy, and (at that time) yet-to-be named baby girl. But this bliss was cut short when the nurse tested Delilah’s blood sugar levels. They were dangerously low; they needed to give my hour-old baby a bottle of formula. I was heartbroken and couldn’t watch as the nurse fed her. I turned away from the sight, tears streaming down my cheeks. After some time had passed, the nurse tested her blood sugar again and it was still too low. Delilah had to go to the NICU for an IV. I was still a bloody mess; I had to stay in recovery. I told Greg to go with our daughter, so she wouldn’t be left alone. While Daddy endured watching the NICU nurse poke his daughter’s tiny hand countless times, trying to find a vein, a still numb-from-the-waist-down Mommy got a long and thorough sponge bath from two kind recovery nurses who were taken aback by the sheer volume of blood.

Skin-to-skin with Delilah in the NICU. See that tiny IV?

After getting cleaned up, I was wheeled on a gurney from recovery to the NICU and reunited with Greg and Delilah. It was then, several hours after her birth, that I was finally able to try breastfeeding — while also trying to avoid pulling on the IV and monitor wires attached to my baby. When I first saw Delilah laying in the clear NICU bassinet, surrounded by monitors, a heat lamp overhead, I told Greg to take a photo. He asked, did I really want a picture of her like this? Yes. It’s her story.

Delilah hooked up to monitors in the NICU the night she was born.

Delilah’s stint in the NICU was expected to be short — she was deemed to be rather healthy aside from the low blood sugar — but over the next few days it seemed that new problems kept cropping up that prolonged her stay. First, she had some reflux issues and, because of her prematurity, she couldn’t clear her airway of the fluid, causing her to “desat" a few times. In layman’s terms, she couldn’t breathe, her blood oxygen level was dropping (desaturating) and a NICU nurse had to rush in to clear her airway for her so she could breathe again. Fortunately, we were never there to witness this frightening occurrence. But just knowing about the incidents left Greg and I terrified for weeks even after coming home that she would “desat” in her sleep.

Another complication was that Delilah was jaundiced, which is why she looks a little yellow in all of her early photos. Her bilirubin levels were on the cusp of needing phototherapy treatment. Poor baby had to endure several blood draws over the course of several days to monitor the situation, but after one good poop to literally get the bilirubin out of her system that problem was taken off the watch list.

Yellow, jaundiced baby.

While Delilah’s blood sugar eventually stabilized and her IV was removed two days after birth, another problem emerged: she was losing weight. It’s normal for babies to drop as much as 10 percent of their weight after birth, but Delilah had lost 13 percent, going from 5 pounds 9 ounces to 4 pounds 12 ounces. The neonatologist recommended a strict formula feeding schedule (with limited breastfeeding time) to get weight on her quick.

IV removed, but Delilah looked skeletal.

Pinpricks from placing her IV.

Greg feeds Delilah a 2-ounce bottle of formula. 

During our baby’s stay in the NICU, Greg and I felt a little like zombies as we walked the hospital halls back and forth between our room in the Mother Baby area and the NICU. We made the trek every three hours so that I could try to breastfeed Delilah, and strangely we never saw any other parents making the trip. It seems all the other new parents in the Mother Baby wing had their little ones in their room, not the NICU.

Fortunately, I was healing from my c-section rather well. Delilah was born at 6 in the evening on Oct. 23 and I was able to move from the gurney to a wheelchair early the next morning. Gratefully — and surprisingly — I wasn’t having much if any pain, though the nurses encouraged me to keep accepting the pain meds. I used the wheelchair for about a day but after enough successful trips from hospital bed to bathroom and back again I decided to give walking to the NICU a go. All the nurses were shocked by how quickly I was recovering; one called me a “rock star.” I sure didn’t feel like it (or look it!). All I cared about was getting to my baby.

When we weren’t in the NICU, we tried to rest. But the days felt like a constant barrage of visits from doctors and nurses. We were definitely suffering from information overload, and we scarcely had any alone time with our new little babe. Everyone kept asking what her name was but we hadn’t had an opportunity to really sit down, marvel at our daughter and finalize the decision. There were two frontrunners before birth but I wanted to make sure it felt right. I wanted to see her, hold her, get to know her, and yet the stress of her delivery had put an unexpected cloud over the whole experience. Finally, on October 25, while Greg and I had some precious quiet time with our daughter, and I breastfed her, we came to a decision. We both agreed that we had always felt she was Delilah. Delilah Wren Thilgen.

Skin-to-skin after a breastfeeding session in the NICU on Oct. 25, with our freshly-minted Delilah Wren.

I wrote our daughter's name on the message board in our room (and in the NICU, too).

Though Delilah dealt with many issues in her first days on earth, the main issue keeping her in the NICU was the reflux/desatting incidents. And honestly, we were afraid to have her released from the watchful eyes (and monitors!) of the NICU too early if she was going to continue to not be able to clear her airway. We had already gotten used to, and comforted by, those monitors that showed her heart rate and blood oxygen levels. So when the doctors decided to keep her another night in the NICU we were slightly relieved. But we were also worried, because we didn’t know how long she’d have to stay if she kept desatting.

But on Thursday, Oct. 26, Delilah finally got the green light to bust out of the NICU. Although they told us she was going to be released, we were surprised by how quickly it happened. So when the NICU nurse suddenly wheeled a bassinet into our room, I cried the happiest tears. Greg and I embraced; our girl was finally with us.

Out of the NICU and in mama's arms, the morning of Oct. 26.

Finally, on Friday, four days after Delilah’s birth, a technician came in to perform her hearing scan. I kept wondering when the hospital would do this routine newborn test. (I assume they wanted to wait until she was out of the NICU.) Greg and I were optimistic; we had witnessed her respond to loud noises several times already. But we were nervous, too. Maybe she had some hearing loss after all? I held my breath as I watched the nurse conduct the test. Greg and I sat close on the hospital bed, looking on in silence. My parents and brother also happened to be in the room at the time. We all were quiet, waiting. The tension was palpable. Then came the results: she passed! Such sweet relief. 

With my incision healing nicely, I was technically discharged from the hospital on Friday, but I was permitted to continue to stay in our room since Delilah was still a patient. The next day, Oct. 28, with Delilah’s weight going up and her jaundice continuing to subside, she also received her discharge papers — we were allowed to go home. 

Swaddled to perfection by hospital nurses, on the morning of her release.

Dressed in a newborn-sized footed pajama (sleeves rolled way up!), ready to leave the hospital. 

Our little bird was just a tiny thing at 5 pounds even. The going-home outfit I had planned to dress her in was size 0-3 months — much too big. The smallest outfit I had for baby was a gifted newborn-sized pajama (the only one I had!) that my best friend brought to the hospital from our house, and even still Delilah was swimming in it! Thankfully our infant carrier was designed to fit preemies, and the hospital even performed a test to make sure Delilah could ride safely in it. And yet Greg and I still fretted over whether or not we strapped her into the seat correctly. That 30-minute drive from the hospital in Walnut Creek to our house in Alameda felt like the longest car ride ever, and I spent the entire time hunched over the car seat stressed, eyes fixed on my little miracle, making sure she was breathing.

Motherhood and worrying go hand in hand.

I detest this photo of myself BUT this is what you look like after six days in the hospital. When you're going home with your sweet baby, you slap a smile on your bare, haggard face and capture the moment.

In the car, on her way home to Alameda...

We arrived home around 5 p.m. and, I imagine like most first-time parents home from the hospital, we were feeling overjoyed, anxious, wholly unprepared and exhausted. I didn’t sleep a wink that night as I stood vigil over my baby girl, jumping at every noise that came from her bassinet and periodically staring at her to watch her chest rise and fall. Each movement brought a sense of reassurance — she is stronger than she looks. And that first long, sleepless night at home served as a reminder — I am stronger than I think. We are stronger than we think. Together, Greg and I will do anything for our sweet Delilah Wren. 

Conceiving, carrying and delivering our baby girl was a difficult yet amazing journey that tested and strengthened our marriage, our faith. But it is true what they say: this is the greatest adventure of our lives. It began Oct. 23. Any hardship, any sadness, we experienced in bringing our baby into the world and getting her home is all wiped away with this simple truth: parenting and loving Delilah is the very. best. thing.

Tuckered out on her first night home, Oct. 28.

Delilah's Birth Story, Part I

Delilah’s entrance into this world was completely unexpected. Traumatic, really. Her birth and the days following were some of the hardest and saddest of my life. And yet, of course, meeting her was the happiest moment of my life, too. I cried tears of joy. Therein lies the common theme running throughout Delilah’s birth story: a mixture of emotions, a pendulum swinging wildly between immense gladness and profound grief.

I had hoped and planned for an unmedicated labor and vaginal delivery. A “natural” birth. We all know how that turned out. (Spoiler: It didn’t.) But let’s back up. Because Delilah’s birth story doesn’t start on Oct. 23. Her sudden early arrival into our lives was put into motion days before.

Aside from the fact that we had to use IVF to conceive, I considered my pregnancy rather uneventful. But one issue did crop up that threatened to throw a wrench in my “natural” birth plans. At my 20 week ultrasound, Greg and I learned that the placenta was too close to my cervix and that if it didn’t move out of the way I would need to deliver via cesarean section. This issue with the placenta usually resolves itself as the uterus (and baby) grows and fortunately we found out that — finally! — at almost 34 weeks, it had moved the requisite two centimeters away from my cervix. Hooray! However, at the same appointment, we learned that there was now a new reason I might need a c-section: baby girl was breech.

We hoped that she would turn on her own, and I tried to give her a nudge in the right direction by doing an exercise designed to get my “butt in the air,” as recommended by my OB. (On the ground, on all fours, head to the floor!) But no such luck. At my Oct. 20 checkup, Delilah was still breech. Since I was 36 weeks pregnant, the chances that she would flip on her own were slim to none. Baby girl was starting to outgrow her cramped quarters and my amniotic fluid would only decrease in the weeks ahead, giving her even less wiggle room. I had already read up on external cephalic version — a procedure in which the baby’s position in the womb is manipulated manually, from the outside — and my midwife recommended that we schedule an ECV for the following Monday if I still wanted a shot at a vaginal delivery.

So on what was the first day of my maternity leave, Greg and I drove to the hospital in Walnut Creek and went up to Labor & Delivery for my 9 a.m. appointment. (When obtaining visitor badges from security the guard asked, “Are you delivering today?” to which we quickly replied, “oh, no!” I’m sure I made a joke about needing baby girl to cook a bit longer. And then, I kid you not, as I approached check-in at L&D a nurse spied my still comparatively small baby bump and commented, “You don’t even look pregnant!” Little did anyone know that I wouldn’t be pregnant for much longer.)

After getting prepped, my OB, Dr. Wells, came in to perform the ECV. But after poking around on my tummy — to get a feel for baby’s position, to see how moveable her head was and to see how I would tolerate the procedure — he gave devastating news: He wouldn’t do the version. Not because of the baby but because of me. Despite my attempts to relax, I was tensing up and visibly uncomfortable with the moderate amount of pressure he was applying to my abdomen. My doctor felt that, whether I wanted to or not, I would fight the procedure. My abdominal muscles were too tight. In order to turn the baby Dr. Wells really needed to dig into my belly and, given how I was reacting, he felt that if he went through with the version I would be in excruciating pain, and most likely it would not be successful.

I was heartbroken and pleaded with my doctor to go ahead, insisting that I would calm down, that I would relax, that I would get into a “zen” state. I didn’t want a c-section and I would bear the pain of the version. Dr. Wells was unconvinced and, though disappointed, I trusted his experience and decision. I knew going into the procedure that he wouldn’t do it if he believed it would be unsuccessful or pose a risk to the baby. But he did offer me an alternative: I could try the version with an epidural.

I had conflicting feelings about this option, though. It seemed counter to everything I was hoping to achieve. I wanted an unmedicated birth, so why would I get an epidural in order to have one? We tentatively scheduled to return to the hospital that evening, at 5:30, for the epidural-assisted version, and in the meantime Greg and I went home to further think over this option. I spent the rest of the morning and that afternoon debating back and forth. I called my mom. I texted my best friend. Greg was on board with whatever I decided. Ultimately, it seemed to me that an epidural was inevitably. Either get it for the ECV or get it for a c-section. The ability to have a vaginal birth was important to me, so I decided to forge ahead with a medicated external cephalic version.

We drove back to the hospital and I was prepped once again. The anesthesiologist came in to start the epidural, which was painful but not unbearably so. Still, my sweet husband teared up watching me have to get the very thing I had been trying to avoid. I was also given a shot with medication aimed at relaxing the uterus. When the time came to start, the epidural was still mild — I wasn’t in labor, after all. They just needed me to be numb enough to be comfortable and not resist the version. After once again checking out baby on the ultrasound monitor, Dr. Wells fully lubed up my belly so it was nice and slippery. He placed his hand low on my abdomen and did one small upward movement. Immediately, I felt a wet warmth between my legs, but it took me a few seconds to realize that I needed to communicate this feeling to my doctor.

“Something is happening down there,” I said. “Something is coming out of me.”

The doctor lifted the sheet across my lap and his face said it all. The way he looked at the nurse, stunned and concerned, I knew what was coming. What I didn’t know was why, but I found out later that I had a placental abruption. With one small movement gently shifting upward baby's bottom, my placenta had torn away from the uterine wall and the fluid I felt pouring out of me was blood — a lot of it.

Dr. Wells took a long breath before speaking.

“Well, I think the best thing to do is get you delivered.”

And with that I went into a strange, trance-like state. A weird sense of calm washed over me. I let my head fall back into the bed pillow and stared at the ceiling. I knew I had no control over what happened next. Greg, on the other hand, was hysterical. He leapt out of his chair, his hands grasping his head in disbelief, a look of confusion and fear on his face. This part is a bit of a blur, but I think I told Greg “it’ll be OK” as they wheeled me out of the procedure room, straight across the hall into the operating room.

It all happened so fast that Greg couldn’t come with me, but luckily I was already prepped for a c-section. The IV and epidural were already started. There was a flurry of activity around me, as the medical team finished prepping me and themselves for surgery, and the anesthesiologist upped my epidural. Within minutes, I could feel Dr. Wells cutting into me. Yep, I could feel everything, I just didn’t feel any pain. But that didn’t make it any less scary. I kept asking for my husband, I wished to hold his hand. I could feel the doctor spreading apart my insides in order to get to the baby and although it didn’t hurt it was a frightening sensation. I think I started crying out, “Oh my god, oh my god,” and a nurse asked if I was OK, to which I exclaimed, “It doesn’t hurt, it just feels crazy!”

Next thing I know, I felt — or at least, I believe I felt — the doctor pulling Delilah out of me. I couldn’t see anything, but I distinctly remember visualizing what I was feeling. And yet, because of the shock of it all, it took a moment for me to realize that the baby I heard crying was mine.

She was here.

In a matter of minutes, Delilah was born. At 6:08 p.m.

Remarkably, only nine minutes had elapsed from the time they wheeled me out of the procedure room to when Delilah took her first breath. Nine minutes. Those nine minutes simultaneously flew by and felt like forever. 

Outfitted in scrubs, Greg was finally allowed into the room about five minutes later. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to cut the umbilical cord but he did get to see and hold our daughter first. She was weighed and measured and probably cleaned off some while I lay on the operating table, still in that surreal state, a bit disconnected from reality. I didn't snap out of it until a nurse eventually brought Delilah out from behind the surgical drape. She was bundled up in a blanket. All I could see was her tiny, sweet face and I instantly broke into heavy sobs. 

A few of those tears were for the way everything unfolded; it wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. But most of those tears were out of true joy at the sight of my girl. I never really imagined what she would look like, and seeing her for the first time felt a little like a surprise. 

She was early, but she was perfect. I wasn’t ready, but she was mine.

There's more to the story... Stay tuned for Part II! (Update: Here's the link to the rest of the story!)

Are You Breastfeeding?

I want to share something that happened last week. First off, it is a good thing that I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt and to think the best of others. These traits served me well in the interaction that I’m about to share, as someone not as kind or tolerant — or simply in a bad mood — would likely have told the other person to “mind their own business” in not-so-nice terms. 

Anyway, one night last week I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things, including a can of infant formula. As I checked out, the clerk inquired, “Do you have a young baby?” to which I replied yes, she’s eight weeks. The next question came as a surprise, especially given what I was purchasing. “Are you breastfeeding?” she asked. Taken aback, I paused for a few seconds, considering my words before replying “a little bit.” (Which, I admit, is somewhat of an odd reply.) Standing at the checkout, a line of people waiting behind me while the clerk bagged my goods, I quickly and briefly explained that my daughter came early, so we needed to use formula to get more weight on her. This isn’t the whole story, but it was the easiest explanation to give in the moment. 

An early attempt at breastfeeding, two days after Delilah's birth.

Of course I shouldn’t have felt obligated to explain or defend myself and, yet, I did. Fortunately, I’m not that easily offended. I know this checker meant no harm by her seemingly innocent question. (And, to her credit, she did not give a judgmental look or word in response.) But truly it is too personal of a question for a complete stranger to ask. And it is the kind of question that has the power to send a new mama spiraling. Even though I wasn’t offended, I left the exchange feeling sad. A fresh wound was poked, a current disappointment brought front of mind. I always planned to breastfeed, exclusively, for as long as I was able. Within an hour of my baby’s birth that plan started to deviate, and within days it was completely derailed. 

There are many reasons breastfeeding has not come easily, to Delilah or I. Because of the nature of the delivery — an emergency c-section — we weren’t able to do skin-to-skin or initiate breastfeeding immediately. When she was eventually brought to me in the operating room, she was bundled up in a blanket and Greg tried to place her head on my chest. But I only had her next to me for a short while. I didn’t get to really hold her and do skin-to-skin until more than an hour later, when I was moved to the recovery room. While there, a nurse tested Delilah’s blood sugar and found that it was dangerously low; they had to give her a bottle of formula. I was so disappointed I couldn’t watch. I had to look away from my baby, and I tried to hide my tears. 

The formula wasn’t enough to raise her levels, so Delilah was whisked away to the NICU and put on an IV. It was in the NICU, several hours after her birth, that I was finally able to try breastfeeding. While Delilah’s blood sugar eventually stabilized and she was taken off the IV two days later, she was losing weight. It’s normal for babies to lose weight after birth, and full term babies typically have enough body fat to tide them over until mama’s milk comes in. An up to 10 percent loss isn’t cause for alarm by hospital standards. But Delilah had lost 13 percent, going from 5 pounds 9 ounces at birth to 4 pounds 12 ounces. The neonatologist recommended a strict formula feeding schedule to get our daughter’s weight back on track. I was told a lot of different (and sometimes conflicting) information in the hospital when it came to breastfeeding, but the general consensus was to limit Delilah’s time on the breast to just a few minutes as her efforts to feed burned too many precious calories. (I was encouraged to pump in the interim.) 

A nurse helps to initiate breastfeeding and get Delilah to properly latch, several hours after her birth.

Working on breastfeeding in the NICU. Delilah still hooked up to monitors, but her IV removed.

Daddy gives Delilah a bottle of formula in the hospital.

With the formula feeds, Delilah did gain weight and she was 5 pounds even at discharge. But then, when she lost a couple ounces after coming home from the hospital, I was actually instructed not to breastfeed at all. Period. At least until her weight rebounded again. So I refrained, for a little over a week. I didn’t want to jeopardize my daughter’s health. But I have no doubt that completely cutting out my baby’s time on the breast severely damaged my already diminutive milk supply and hampered her ability to properly latch, deeply and effectively. When we were in the hospital, we were told our tiny, late pre-term girl had a strong suck reflex. She latched fairly well for her age and size. But an all-bottle-and-no-breast diet gave her what I would characterize as a sometimes lazy and shallow latch.

Clearly, our rocky start led to a litany of problems that have made breastfeeding a challenge. And our girl is still small. She continues to play catch up when it comes to her weight. Even with pumping, I don’t make nearly enough milk to sustain her slow growth. So formula it is. Other women may have given up breastfeeding entirely at this point, but I still try. I try to put her on the breast. I try to improve her latch. I try to pump more. I try to increase my meager supply. I still believe that “breast is best” so I breastfeed "a little bit" — meaning, I do what I can to give her whatever I can, even if it is just a measly ounce. (That’s a good day, for me.) But I also believe that, ultimately, “fed is best.” Babies need full tummies to grow. If I can’t do it, formula can. I’ve slowly made peace with that, but every low-production pumping session still stings. Every time Delilah pushes off my breast and wails with frustration, my spirit breaks.

It was with one seemingly innocuous question during a nighttime run to the market that all these memories, all my inner thoughts and quiet hurts, came rushing back — a sucker punch to the gut, a knife in this fragile mama heart that all too often is filled with guilt and feelings of inadequacy. So the moral of the story is, don’t ask a woman if she’s breastfeeding. It really doesn’t matter how she is feeding her baby, just that she is. 

And she’s doing the very best she can.

Breastfeeding at home. A wonderful bonding experience, even if Delilah doesn't get everything she needs.

Passed out after a breastfeeding session. Content momentarily, but still needing a bottle afterward.

Hello, Baby! Introducing Delilah Wren

Delilah Wren

born October 23, 2017 at 6:08 p.m.

weighing 5 pounds, 9 ounces

measuring 18.25" long

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind, to say the least. Much to our surprise, Greg and I welcomed our precious daughter, Delilah Wren, into the world on Monday, Oct. 23 via an emergency c-section. Our November baby decided to be an October baby (her birthday is just a week after daddy's!). She was born at 36 weeks + 4 days.

To say we were shocked and unprepared would be an understatement; I delivered her the very first day of my maternity leave. She didn't want to wait any longer apparently, or give her type-A mother the time she had banked on to get all her proverbial rubber duckies in a row. Delilah threw us our first curveball of parenthood! Nice one, little girl. At home, we didn't have the right size clothes, the nursery was in a disarray, we didn't even have a place for you to sleep (don't worry, we got one!). But we did have the most important thing we could ever provide for you: LOVE. We may not have been quite yet ready for your arrival, but we've loved you forever — since before you were conceived, since you were a dream in our hearts. We had already fallen head over heels when you were an embryo in the lab, and seeing you in the flesh was, well — words can't even express the joy. The tearful elation. The height of love. And it is that everlasting adoration for you that has and will continue to carry us through the hard moments, the long days and nights, as we adjust to parenthood and to living as a family of three. Plus two fur siblings, of course. They already love their baby sister, too.

I'll share the full birth story eventually (update: part I here!), but for now I'll leave you with a few more peeks at miss Delilah's beautiful, sweet, sleepy face.