Two days in the hospital, the labor and the delivery and the stream of nurses offering instructions and advice and the being awake all night, all of it, it didn’t sink in at all; it was all so divorced from everyday experience that it was easy to forget this wasn’t just some temporary detour, some weird vacation. (A couple times I even caught myself looking out the window of our room and wondering what town we were in.)

It wasn’t until just now, when we’re finally at home alone, the dog settled quietly onto his bed as he does, we settled quietly on the couch as we do, and the TV show ends and Emily hands me the bundle that has been quietly sitting in her lap, and which I’d sort of forgotten about, and it looks up at me and burps. And it finally sinks in: it’s real. I have a son.