Our adventure started on December 10.  [Though if you want to be a stickler, our adventure started like 17 years ago.] My water broke hours after our family Christmas card shoot, while I bent down to put laundry into the washing machine.

It was unexpected.

We played Scrabble on our phones to pass some time.  I lasted three rounds before the pain made it hard to concentrate and I unabashedly asked for each of the drugs available.

This is when I used my words with the anesthesiologist after two hours of pushing, two epidurals and some back labor with a baby facing adorably, painfully, sunny-side-up.

During our leisurely trip down to the operating room, time moved slower than it ever has in the history of the world.

These procedural images during the surgery were taken by an on-call doctor/photography enthusiast, since Blum had to be on my side of the curtain.  Thanks, Dr. Noname.

We met.  It was awesome.  Me, shaky from drugs and adrenaline; Blum, calm; Simon, small and squeaky.

The next several days were a blur of boobs and diapers and friends and family visits.  We barely slept.  I questioned whether this remarkably beautiful baby was, in fact, ours.  Multiple times.  Then I saw the photos.