Latifah is a Boy Named Jackson

Kate's entry summed it up.  My sister gave birth yesterday to a 7 lb 8 oz. baby boy.  It was the first time that Kate or I had ever been even peripherally involved in a childbirth, and it was amazing.  Steph was a trooper, with a record fast labor (7.5 hours), and a granite composure (of course I did see her for the first time after the epidural was administered, so I can't speak to her unmedicated state.)

Most of you that know me know that I don't believe in miracles.  Not the supernatural, violate the laws of physics type.  The universe is plenty miraculous without them.  And childbirth definitely falls into the category of an astounding yet perfectly explainable, mind-bogglingly complex, and utterly beautiful miracle.  To think that Stephanie and John, starting from a single cell, were able to, in nine months, cook up a perfectly formed mini-human is incredible. It's akin to a skyscraper, with a built-in set of blueprints, assembling itself from the dirt of it's foundation.  A building which then adapts to it's surroundings and grows ever more complex as time goes on.  That's miraculous at first blush.  Then add to that the fact that even the process of self-assembling humans has itself been tweaked, evolved, and self-assembled from chaos, and you have one the most beautiful, unlikely and elegant miracles in any corner of the universe.

This was the first time I'd seen a baby fresh from the pot.  It's amazing how alert and engaged he already was.  When he wasn't sleeping, Jackson would look at you, react to you, and smile (I swear we saw him do it.)  He was already finger-gripping and murmuring to himself.  With all that can go wrong in development, it's awe-inspiring that so many babies, like Jackson, come out flawless.  It's a perfect demonstration of the potency and resilience of life.

Welcome to the world, Jackson.

Don't take any wooden nickels.