So, someone decided to fly the coop a little early. Welcome sweet baby Owen with the squirmy newborn faces, we are so happy to have you here.

While my friends and family and sonogram techs all predicted an early arrival, I was in the throes of denial. Prodromal labor can go on for weeks, right? Or in my case, about five or six hours. I am definitely NOT having a baby any time soon, I just need to print out 10 pages of documents on how to take care of Bean and tape them up around the apartment and also wash these curtain liners RIGHT NOW, might as well clean the tub while I’m at it, and also stock up on food to last us a couple weeks. NO REASON.

I’m also now 2 for 2 with water breaking in the middle of the night. It’s a breathtakingly dramatic way to go into labor: people to be woken up, family to be mobilized, racing through the fog-soaked, deserted San Francisco streets in the middle of the night, a panicked run through the ER. Highly recommended.

Delivery ended up being one of those miraculously uncomplicated ones. It left Dave and I staring at each other stunned all, “that’s it? It’s done? He’s here? We have a baby now?” Bean essentially went to sleep like any other school night, and woke up to my brother telling her she had a new baby brother.

I wholeheartedly approve of Owen’s dedication to efficiency.

We are both doing great. Dave is once again lucky enough to take a long paternity leave (and how this isn’t standard employment practice is beyond me). Bean alternates between adoring the baby and skeptical over this new obstacle to complete parental devotion. Luckily for everyone, Grandma is in town and, as expected, spoiling Bean with crafts and conversation and trips to the toy store and ice cream shop. Our cat has checked out and given up on the lot of us.

I hope you all have had a good week, and I hope to be back up on here periodically as naps allow.