I have to work hard to calculate what day it is according to the calendar; all I know is that the divine Miss M is five days old. She is really sweet. Bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked. C is totally smitten with her. Nurses like a champ. She actually slept six hours last night and the night before, which means we make up for it during the day with frequent snacking, which is tiring for me. As her only food source I do wish that the Intelligent Designer had built some redundancy into the system, but hey! six hours at night! I’ll take it for however long she’s willing to give it.

When she was about an hour old, the midwife suggested that if I felt up to it and all was well with the babe, we could come home a day early. How did she know that I would like nothing better? It is a testament to how much less traumatic this birth was than the last one that I was ready and excited to leave early. I looked at my watch as we got into the car; we had been in the hospital for exactly 36 hours.

I think this must make me some kind of weirdo. When we were at the pediatrician’s office on Friday (more on that below), I was chatting with a woman waiting with her two boys; somehow it came up that we had left the hospital a day early. “Why?!?!?” she asked with a look of horror. Even Mamala asked if I was sure—wouldn’t I rather stay in the hospital and get some rest? I asked whether she was planning to empty out my garbage can at 11:00 p.m., check my blood pressure and temperature at midnight, make me sleep on a plastic mattress and R on a narrow chair-bed, or walk into my room unannounced, clutching birth-certificate paperwork. Since she was not, I assured her that I would get much more rest at home. And indeed I have.

About the pediatrician: three-day newborn visits are not typical. We were urged to make an appointment by the neonatologist in the hospital, who detected a “click” in her left hip. This could be due to relaxed joints from the birth process, or it could be a sign of hip dysplasia (sometimes called dislocatable hip), a completely correctable condition when caught this early. In fact, I had it myself, and it is somewhat hereditary, although I was a breech baby, which makes it more common.

Now, the bad news, which really isn’t that bad: Hip dysplasia is treated with a brace that holds the legs in the correct position for the hip to form properly, usually for 3 months or so. You’re welcome to google a picture of the brace, but I’ll not post a link here until she is officially diagnosed. It definitely qualifies as a contraption, and was enough to make this post-partum mommy cry at the thought of her little angel having to wear it.

The good news: When we visited her pediatrician she really had to grind away at manipulating the hip to get it to click (which made M furious and resulted in more post-partum mommy tears). R had watched them do it in the hospital and said it was much easier to elicit the click right after she was born. This may suggest that it’s already starting to resolve itself, indicating that it might be related to the birth rather than a permanent condition. In fact, our ped is betting that it’s NOT dysplasia (although we are having an ultrasound on Tuesday to be sure). She said normally the hip makes a definite CLUNK, and hers is more of a small click. (Don’t you love the technical terms?)

I will, of course, let you know what happens.

I opened my jewelry box this morning to put some things away and it felt very chaotic and silly in there, like what is all this stupid stuff?. My weird mind went right to that scene from Thelma and Louise where they’re deep into the desert and Louise (Susan Sarandon) slowly takes off her rings and bracelets and earrings and gives them all to that old guy at the gas station. And even without all those things, I think for the whole rest of the movie she looks absolutely gorgeous.

So, yeah. I haven’t put my contacts in, I am wearing my purple fleece robe and slippers and keeping things simple, because this isn’t the time for anything superfluous. I like it for that reason.