NINE DAYS WORTH

Zoe is nine days old today. That means for the past eight evenings, I’ve had every intention of updating this site… but instead spent hour after hour just staring at her. In her crib. On the changing table. In her mother’s arms. In mine.

So if you’ve checked out this page since Sunday, April 24, hoping for an update, I apologize. And to the neighbors cursing the jungle where our lawn and landscaping once was, I apologize. And to my co-workers who once got projects back a lot faster when I did a little work at home, I apologize. I’ve been very busy. I’ve been staring.

Now that Sonja and I have nine days of parenthood under our belts, there’s so much to share that I don’t know where to start. So here’s the plan: I’m just going to start writing. A lot. I’ll try to keep it somewhat chronological and sensible, but it’s all really quite a blur. Basically, I’ll spill everything on the table and you can sort it out. Once I’m done, I’m going to cut it into manageable chunks and post something new every day. That’ll make me feel better about starting this darn (parents don’t say damn) blog and then not refreshing it often enough.

Let’s start on the morning of Saturday, April 23:

“We’re having a baby today.”

That’s what I heard the moment my eyes opened. How’s that for a wake-me-up? Like usual, my early-bird wife had been awake for several hours. Typically, on a Saturday, I would sleep for several more. Instead, she was hovering over my pillow with a big smile.

She clicked off sign after sign. Symptom after symptom. I countered each with a quote from Sheri Bayles, the talking-head nurse on our Lamaze class DVD. That sign can happen two weeks before labor. This symptom can mean you’re still a full week out. Sonja was hearing none of it.

“We’re having a baby today,” she said. “So get up and help me finish the nursery.”

We worked hard for hours. Outfits were washed, folded, sorted and put away. Shower gifts were unpacked and assembled. Assorted lotions and powders and wipes were strategically placed. Everything was scrubbed. By 4 p.m. our house was officially baby ready. Sonja claimed her burst of energy was “nesting,” one of the final signs. That can happen up to 48 hours before labor, I reminded her. It won’t be 48 hours, she said.

She was right. As usual. About 4:30 p.m., we started timing contractions.

At first they were eight to 10 minutes apart and Sonja was in an oxymoronic state of painful vibrancy. By midnight they seemed to be striking with machine-gun rapidity. That vibrancy was replaced with agony. At 1:30 a.m. we were in triage at St. Joseph Mercy Hospital. By 4:30 a.m. we were in a delivery room.

The real story is about to begin.