Just wanted to hammer out a quick observation between bouts of fussiness, if I can. One of the biggest changes I've noticed after two and a half weeks of parenting is that my thoughts are a mess. Lis and I have a joke that we've become excellent multitaskers. By this we mean, we are very good at starting multiple projects; unfortunately, we rarely seem to be able to finish any of them. Something happens when you don't hit deep sleep for days on end. There's this persistent, low-grade tiredness that creeps in under everything, and it wreaks havoc on your concentration.

I've seen this in other parents before, but I always thought it was because they were being constantly attentive to their child and so couldn't focus fully on the conversation. As it turns out, now that I'm actually experiencing it, the issue is that I can't be very attentive to anything. I wonder how the writers and the thinkers do it when their kids come along. I'm happy that I've been able to push on with some of my creative work, including a revamping of my Living City proposal (here), but my goodness, the thought of getting lost in the throes of creative inspiration seems practically impossible. This has definitely been a time of some key cognitive rewiring, but I'm confident I'll come through it with insight.

All of the fuzziness aside, junior is insanely adorable and a true joy. He's already above his birth weight, and chubbing up more every day. We also discovered this afternoon that he absolutely loves the white noise setting on his baby chair, so maybe, just maybe, some restful moments await. I have to say that so far I love being a parent. It's hard when baby fusses all night and you don't get more than 15 minutes of sleep in a stretch, but the apocalyptic cuteness as the little one stares into your face in amazement seems an adequate, indeed inordinate recompense.
 
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There we are on December 23rd, our last night out before junior decided to make his grand entrance. The setting is the van Dusen Gardens Festival of Lights, a lovely and brilliant annual display of over 1 1/2 million bulbs. It's the strangest thing looking back at this picture. We had no idea that not a half hour later Lis's water would be breaking and we'd be in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.

The idea of having a special mythology surrounding your birth (and other life events) is both comforting and even potentially inspiring. I'm happy that John will always be able to hear about how he was surrounded by lights when he decided to start making his way into the world. We can visit the Festival each year and tell him the story of the night he was born, how we were there oohing and awing and how he must have just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Already, every time we drive by the gardens they've taken on this almost mystical quality in our minds.

It's nice, too, that he'll be able to look back at the photos of the night he was born, and see two very happy and in love parents. In a strange collusion of serendipity and grace, we managed to get a thoroughly documented picture of the evening and our quest into the wee hours of the morning when he was born (4:20am to be exact). One of the coolest little things that happened actually had to do with our camera settings. Because we were shooting at night when we were at the gardens, the photos were set to take in maximum light. There's this long series of colorfully lit bulbs surrounded by darkness, and then all of the sudden there is a single shot of Lis lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by whiteness, looking positively luminescent.

I'd like to think that the universe was strictly conspiring on our behalf that night, but either way, we can always seize the experience and claim it for ourselves through the joy of self-narration. Maybe that's the way it always works, but it can also be nice to let go and imagine that our own local lives can intersect with grander, more mind-boggling machinations of the world at large. In the retelling, the connection seems more and more plausible, and from a sense of connection, the world can take on the aspect of a more welcoming and, dare I say it, miraculous place.

 
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What can I possibly write that can begin to explain the joy I'm feeling right now? I'm blogging this from my couch at home. On my right hand is my cat, Cinder, who I've had for fifteen years. On my left hand, kicking his legs a little and cooing ever so gently is my four day old son, John Ryan Melsom. Lis is taking some well deserved sleep in the room.

Five weeks early. These words can be pretty scary when you're expecting a baby. If you live in a country with great medical care like Canada, your baby will probably survive by virtue of the amazing medical technology and knowledge that's available, but you're still looking at two to three weeks in intensive care, possible feeding tubes, incubators, phototherapy, and prolonged familial separation. Sometimes babies don't make it. It happened to my parents. In the BC Women's and Children's Hospital where we delivered, there are all of these tiles on the wall commemorating children who were born in the hospital and its predecessor, Grace Hospital, and some are dedicated "in loving memory." I teared up when I saw this today, because I knew very directly just how lucky we were and are. This was the same hospital where my parent's twins died in 1989.

So how is it that I'm sitting here at home with my baby boy by my side? Part of it became clear when, upon our  preparations to leave the hospital today, a meek little woman came into the room holding a clipboard. She asked Lis and I if we'd be willing to participate in a research study on new parents' response to crying. We said yes without hesitation, and it was in no small part because not one day earlier my mom had told me that when she was staying at Grace Hospital in 1989, she had participated in another research study. That one was on the the syndrome that was complicating her pregnancy, and she even told us that the doctor had stated to her -- correctly -- that they would be able to cure it within ten years. They do now, all the time, and this kind of dedicated, patient research that guided our boy's amazing first few days in the world. Through a very simple combination of a dedicated feeding plan, skin-to-skin temperature regulation, and a couple simple (though unpleasant) tests to measure for jaundice, our boy stayed healthy through these crucial first days.

I have to say, though, that I do also believe there was an element of the miraculous and a strong little will to live in all of this. One of the pediatricians was emphatic in stating to us that we were able to go home as early as could be imagined for a baby born this early. As any proud parent, I'd like to think our little guy is special, and that the angels were watching over him, and I do think they were (along with the caring thoughts of our amazing friends and family). The little guy did better on his APGAR score than I did when I was born, and I was a week overdue. To me, that's a clear sign that he wasn't even really premature. He was ready. In another post, I'll tell the story about how the Festival of Lights where baby John made his first announcement factors into all of this. but for now, I'd better wrap things up because baby is stirring and who knows when I'll be able to sit down to write again.

I'll be talking about all kinds of thoughts I've had this first week as they come to me. They might be a little scattered and appear at the most random hours, because we are most definitely on the feeding clock at this point. To any parent who has suffered complications in pregnancy, and to all the ones who had things go swimmingly, I just want to say that each birth has meaning, and each baby is awesome in its own right. I also want to encourage anyone who has the chance to support and participate in infant research, because it has real, actual effects on children's lives. There's love in the air at our house, and our hearts are out there with all of our wonderful and supportive relatives and friends on all sides of the globe. Welcome to the world amazing baby John! We already love you more than all the words in the world could express!