Dec.
19, 1999 - Sunday
I have a son and he is the most beautiful baby in the world. Be it biology,
some mystic force, or just amazement that he's ours, my world scope has now
seemingly shrunk to just past his little round face, long dark hair, and his
mother's lips. I have to admit I'm captivated and thus a stereotype, but that
seems immaterial and I am thrilled. And though his little head processes only
the most basic human impulses and sensory perceptions these days, he already
represents so many possibilities and perhaps that's really the root of the fascination.
On the other hand, I can stare at him for long periods being overwhelmed by
nothing more than present.
He wasn't quite what I’d expected when he was born, though who knows what
would have been. I suppose it was that I'd see his mother's eyes or my cheek
bones right away and he would be unmistakably ours. Instead, he, like most babies
I'm told, was dark and shriveled and rather Mediterranean in appearance. But
it didn't take long for him to begin struggling to open his eyes and then, after
a couple hours, peering around inquisitively, comprehending little but looking
brilliant nonetheless. And sure enough, he WAS unmistakably ours.
Over the next couple days in the hospital Harry had several visitors and several
more email well-wishes, for which his mother and I are very thankful. We are
overjoyed with Harry and elated to share that with friends and family. Thank
you all.
Those hospital days also included several tests - blood tests, hearing tests,
weigh-ins, temperatures – to make sure he was healthy and, comfortingly,
he passed all and they finally sent us home. Imagine that: they just let us
take him. Actually, truth be told, they did make us sign for him! But after
that, we walked out, put him in our car, and then it was just the three of us
starting our new life.
Some people say that the birth of their first child was the greatest day in
their life. I'm not sure about that for me. It was fantastic no doubt, in all
that word's definitions. But after 36 hrs without sleep, concern for his mother
and 19 hrs of labor, and just the overwhelming nature of it, emotions were both
profound and ragged. Maybe once more time has passed I'll look back on his birth
as what I remember most. But, for now, I most remember getting home for the
first time, tired, and simply laying on the couch with Harry's tiny frame in
the crux of my arm. Maybe it's not my greatest moment in life. I have years
to reflect on that. It was, however, our moment my son and me - one of extreme
joy, pride, humility, love, and tears. I understand why people do this. He is
adorable. He is our son.
