on Friday the 2nd of September our second son, our third child, was born.  All in all everything went very well.  It was a planned ceasar section, as nobody wanted to risk my wife going in labour again.  The months leading up to that date have been very tense and emotional, thanks to a cocktail of flashbacks to the pregnancy of Juno, a lack of trust of my wife in her own body, and the fact that it's been a very physcically demanding pregnancy.  The moment our son was born, that all fell away.  For the first time in about 15 months, I could stop being the shoulder to cry on, and I'm not ashamed to say that I cried myself as all that tension slipped away.  He's here, he's healthy and he's doing fine.

We left the hospital after 5 days and 4 nights, glad to be home again.  But of course, fate couldn't let that happen.  Oh no.  24 hours later my wife started shivering and making fever.  4 hours on and we were back in our car on the way to the hospital.  Add another 4 hours and my wife was back where we started, in the same hallway, but 3 rooms further down, having such a high fever that she was not allowed a blanket and had icepacks on her lap and arms.  Uterus infection.  Has a fucking even lower chance of happening to you than the rupture we suffered little over a year ago.  Good news was that she could keep breast feeding though.  Anyhow, she had to have antibiotics given to her intravenously for 48 hours, and then we could only leave if she was free of fever for at least 24 hours.  We were back, we loathed it, and we weren't even sure when we could leave.

But by now that's also behind us and we're back home.  Here's hoping all goes well from now.  It should, but I've learned not to just trust in those things anymore.  Here's to our second son, may he's life be happy and free of sorrow.