Ten

We opted not to find out what flavor kid we would be having, but for some reason we thought it'd be a girl. After a comically fast labor, I cut the cord and said to Jen, "Caspar's here!" She said, "Really?"

He came out all blue, not breathing, not crying or even moving. They said the labor was too fast, and the midwife hit the code blue button and people flooded in. Jen asked, "What's going on?" Her eyes were closed. I said, "it's ok" but honestly I had no idea, but I was determined to be calm. It was quiet.

The nurses were fussing and flailing and talking soothingly to Caspar, I couldn't see what they were doing. Then there was this cough and then came the newborn wail and we all exhaled. "See?" I said.

We washed him in the sink with warm water, and they wheeled in the fast food burger warming station with heat lamps. I don't remember why, but we had to stick him under the burger warmer for a few minutes before handing him off to Jen. He was still doing the little newborn cry, the little cry of, "this is not what I was expecting!"

We laid him there, to finish cooking I guess. I stuck my head under the lamps a few inches from him and said, "hello, little friend." Caspar opened his eyes and lifted his head up, holding it up with his neck and looked at me. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be able to do that yet," I said, "you must be pretty strong, huh?"

The nurse stuck a little hat on him and I picked him up and brought him to Jen. Both of them wiped out, bonding now with a "did that just happen?"

He's ten today. I'm writing this in his school parking lot on a phone. We live in the southeastern United States. We have a black president. We love baseball.

There are things and things and things that are now that were not ten years ago and things and things and things and all I know or care about is that he's ten and when we are in public he still holds my hand.