Coming home

First off, let me explain something to you all. Before my son was born, I had never changed a diaper in my life...or even ever really held a little baby. I was 32 years old, and scared for the first time in my adult life. I was more frightened to hold our baby than I was to watch the emergency C-section unfold before my eyes...that was actually kinda cool. So when the doctor handed me Finnley Chester O'Shea for the first time I thought to myself "am I doing this right?" and "what if I drop him?" These doctors and everybody are all watching me!  As it turned out, I wasn't doing it wrong, I didn't drop him, and no one yelled at me...but it's possible I may have peed my pants before he did that day. So everything went well during our stay and we're about to get discharged, and I'm beginning to wonder "when are they going to give me the instructions?" There is no way these well-educated professionals are actually going to send him home with us, right? I mean, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING! Nikki read the books, I didn't. Nikki has a lot of friends with kids, I don't. But when it came down to the moment of "he's yours, you can take him home," we both may as well been clueless. Regardless of our confidence, we make it outside and Finnley gets his first breath of fresh air. I then proceed to spend 20 minutes or so trying to figure out the mechanics of the car seat (it was deceivingly easy), even though I read the instructions and installed the base the week before. Lucky for me, the hospital is only a mile or two from our house, because that drive home was unnerving. I felt like I was driving 15 mph, and for all we know, I was. Needless to say, we didn't leave the house until our first doctors appointment.