The message, “Happy Birthday Father Blair,” was carefully scribed on a cookie and perched on the cake that my parents brought to our house last Sunday. As their well-meaning Engrish announced 48 hours early, today is my 28th birthday, marking yet another year of my existence on the planet. And what a year it’s been.

I was halfway through my classes a year ago, clueless as to whether my work was going to pay off in the end. I was rightfully proud of my postbac grades up to that point, but my undergrad record was still dismal and nothing could be done about it. The MCAT was too far away to be a top priority, but too close — and too important — not to add to my list of anxieties. Yeah, I was under a lot of stress. I was also happy, so much happier than I had been in previous years. It felt good to be busy again, but I’d been busy before; the difference was that I was finally taking care of myself, had finally found what I wanted and was working full speed to reach for my dreams. It was a daily struggle with textbook, problem sets, and exams, but it was a struggle I relished. Don’t get me wrong; it’s also nice to take a break from it all, and right now I’m being kept busy for entirely different reasons. I’m still as happy as ever. But there are days when I wish I was once again waist-deep in my coursework. I’m sure I’ll wonder what the hell I was thinking in another year.

A year ago, Kim and I had talked about starting a family, but (obviously) hadn’t actually started one yet. I’d be lying if I said it was an easy choice for me to make, and I pontificated on the subject in October. I’m still a little scared and uncomfortable with parenthood. I’ve always been excited about it, though, and I’m starting to understand why it’s just so cool to be a dad. Emerson shows little flashes of herself throughout the day, and those are the moments I remember when she’s asleep or when she surprises me in the middle of a diaper change. Sometimes I look at her and imagine her as a child, adult, mother. I find myself eager to see how she develops but hoping she could stay this small and innocent for just a while longer. I’m going to have a hard time coming home and having to study with her just outside the door. As a matter of fact, I’m less worried about my workload as a medical student than my ability to be a good father while also being a medical student. She’s going to be nine months old when I start, and I predict that I’m going to be a lot more interested in teaching and playing with her than I will be in the minutiae of human anatomy. At the same time, I think I’ll be consumed with my studies and extremely motivated to be a top student. This will be a challenge, to be sure, but I’m sort of looking forward to it.

My friends would probably say that I’m far too concerned with my age, and that I’m too young to feel old. Maybe they’re right. The truth is that I don’t feel old at all, but I am rather scared at the increasing speed of time. I can’t believe that I’ll be almost 29 when I finally start medical school, that I spent so many years spinning my wheels when I could’ve swallowed my pride and changed paths much earlier. I’m happy with the way things are now but I do regret the risks I never took, the choices I chose not to make over the years. I think this past year is evidence of what can happen when I learn to merely acknowledge the fear of the unknown, to take risks and choose the paths that aren’t always safeley lighted.

For the most part, Emerson’s got one mode of self expression: Eyes tightly shut and bulging from their sockets, mouth wide open and wailing. There are some more gratifying moments, though. It happens every once in a while. Lying in my arms, eyes open, Emmy will raise her head slightly and gaze at me as if she has something to say. Sometimes I see a hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth, maybe a little joyful twinkle in her eyes. Other times, her mouth is slightly open and round, with those same bright brown eyes open in wonder. Sometimes her brow will raise, as if she were questioning my latest gesture; other times it will furrow, as if deep in thought or (more likely) disturbed by something. In these rare moments, slowly becoming more common, I see flashes of the real Emerson. There are the faint clicks of firing neurons, connections being made, the foundations of her humanity being laid one experience at a time. I’m drawn to her in those moments, the handful of times where I feel like I’m really making an impact in her short and precious life. I look forward to the days when she’s hit that critical intellectual mass; when I’ll learn more about her personality, satisfy and stoke her intellect and sense of wonder. Then again, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll look back and wonder how it happened so quickly.

Like all good parents, we bathed Emerson in the kitchen sink last night. Her first bath was actually less traumatic than I expected, and it was nice to have a clean baby again. Of course, she promptly filled her diaper within a half hour of being toweled dry.

The majority of Emerson’s umbilical cord fell out last night, and the rest of it came out earlier today. She now has a little semi-inside-out navel, and I expect it to be fully “normal” in a few more days. I came home more than once last week to what I swore was a vastly larger baby; I’m sure she’s growing, but I’m a bit surprised to see just how quickly (yet subtly) it’s happening. She’s still so delicate, so helpless; of course, her lungs are anything but when she’s upset.

Tonight’s wine: 2003 Trimbach Riesling. Have you noticed a preponderance of Rieslings in these reviews? I have. Anyway, this wine is from the Alsace region of France, which is located along the northeast border (butting up against Germany, perhaps my favorite producer of Rieslings). Riesling makes up a fair portion of Alsace’s varietal output, although one can also find a good Gewurztraminer or Sylvaner. The Trimbach I brought out tonight is a plain old AOC varietal, sort of the base-level wine available from the region. Nevertheless, even the basic can fetch a decent price over here; this bottle sold for about $16.

This wine is a light-to-medium yellow in the glass, with a faint grapefruit aroma when poured cold that shifts gently to notes of other ripe, nectary citrus fruits and hints of cantaloupe as the temperature warms by a few degrees. There’s also a surprising bit of alcohol in the nose, although it is not a big detractor. A mouthful of this wine is crisp without being overly tart. I’m reminded again of juicy citrus, perhaps mostly lime, mixed with cantaloupe. There’s also a classic Riesling mineral character that lingers into the slightly dry, slighty sweet finish. The finish itself is pleasant and segues quite nicely to another tip of the glass.

I really like this wine, although it has very little in common with Finger Lakes varietals of the same name. There’s something about the Alsatian terroir that imparts this refreshing, crisp taste to the wine, something elegant and delicate. Terry Thiese spoke of the “stones” that are featured in German Rieslings, and the same character is found here. What is so tantalizing is the balance between the mineral and the fruit, two seemingly incongruous notes that work together playfully on the tongue. I would pair this wine with any manner of light food, but I would prefer (as I do with most good wines) just to enjoy it alone.

One last comment: Some Grand Cru Rieslings from Alsace actually improve with age. I don’t know whether the same applies to this AOC wine, but it tasted just fine “fresh.”

Guys, let’s get one thing straight: Women are the most powerful beings on earth. If you don’t believe me, wait until you become a father.

(Warning: This story is perfectly family friendly, but it may be a little explicit for some.)

We headed to the hospital two Wednesdays ago (11/16) to start the induction process. We were registered by 7:30 that evening, and Kim got her dose of Cervidil at around 10. The idea was to let the Cervidil do its work overnight, hopefully leading to a cervix somewhat more dilated than Kim’s 1cm. Thursday morning came with no change, so Pitocin — synthetic oxytocin, the hormone associated with uterine contractions among other things — was begun and we proceeded to wait. Nothing happened until our obstetrician ruptured Kim’s water at about 1:30 that afternoon. We suspected something was happening when Kim’s contractions finally started to grow painful, and by 4:30 an epidural line was keeping her comfortable. Progress was slow, however, and Kim was only 3-4cm dilated by 7:00 that evening. That’s much smaller than we were hoping, but it was progress; we estimated that Kim would be ready to push by 2:00 am or so. I went home and grabbed a quick shower, then came back to spend the night at the hospital with Kim. We settled in for a nap, hoping that we’d wake up ready to push.

I was pulled back into consciousness just before 1:00 am; apparently Kim’s contractions were getting much stronger, and the epidural can only take away the pain. The pressure was increasing and Kim felt like she had to push, but we called a nurse to make sure. The verdict: only 6-7cm. For the next three hours, I let Kim strangle my hand as she rode through contraction after contraction (at two-minute intervals) trying her hardest not to push. Finally, at 4:30 am on Friday, Kim was nearly completely dilated at 10cm.

The first attempt went relatively well: Hold breath, push for 10 seconds; repeat two more times. This went on every two minutes for three hours, by which time Kim was at the ragged end. Gasping for breath, her legs were constantly shaking from the effort and she was no longer able to hold her breath for even five seconds. On the bright side, I could make out the very top of our baby’s head when Kim’s doctor used her fingers to expand Kim’s birth canal and inspect her progress. The doctor and nurse on call rolled Kim to her side, which gave her lungs more room to expand. We pushed for another hour. Towards the end, Kim’s obstetrician (who had stayed up with us since Thursday morning) had brought out the suction device and attempted to help with the baby’s progress. On both of those occasions, the top of the baby’s head was within an inch of exiting the birth canal. She just wasn’t close enough, however, and we’d all run out of options.

The obstetrician gave us the news quickly but gently: “Kim, I know you’re giving it everything you’ve got, and we’ve all tried so hard to make this work…. But we just aren’t as far along as we should be. We can’t risk the baby’s health, so we’re going to go for a C-section.” It only took a moment for the news to sink in, and it hit rather hard. Kim’s head dropped to the pillow, too exhausted to cry, but the disappointment was palpable. The doctor called for the C-section at 8:30 am; by 8:35, I was sitting by Kim’s head in the OR and the obstetrician had just made her first cut. What happened next is still a bit of a blur, but I very distinctly remember standing up just as the incision was made in Kim’s uterus and our baby was pulled out. She let out a lusty cry, a welcome end to 36 hours of work and perhaps the most beautiful sound we’d heard in our lives.

Emerson, meet the world. World, Emerson. Born on November 18, 2005, at 8:40 am. 6 pounds, 13 ounces, 20.5 inches, 9 and 9 on Apgar.

It’s hard to describe everything we saw and felt in those last moments. Like the anxiety I felt as I waited outside the OR while Kim was prepped and draped. Or, before that, the combination of relief and disappointment as the anesthesiologist rushed in to deliver a bolus prior to surgery. Even before that, there was the restlesness mixed with exhaustion and helplessness as I sat by Kim for 36 hours, holding her hand and trying to be useful. I did everything I could, but in the end, I know that Kim did all of the real work. It’s one thing to stay awake and play the moral backboard; it’s entirely different to be a mother. I have no words to describe what Kim must have endured, what mountains she climbed to deliver Emerson to her mom and dad. It was an awe-inspiring, life-changing experience, one I’m not likely to forget.

Emmy’s been out here for nine days now, and we’re slowly settling into a pattern. The first couple of days were just blurs; crying, diaper changing, feeding attempts, pain management, and trying very hard to get in an hour or two of sleep when we could. Kim’s incision is healing nicely, which takes the pain mostly out of the equation; everything else has remained the same. I never thought that four hours was a lot of sleep, but these days it’s the exception. And once again, despite my best efforts, nothing I do can compare to Kim’s patience and reserve. She’s the one who feeds Emerson 8-12 times a day, while somehow balancing the demands of her own body and all of the regular stresses of normal life. I can only take away so much of that workload. I feel guilty whenever I sleep through a feeding, or fall asleep before one is over. I feel like I can’t form as tight a bond with Emerson, and in somes ways I can’t; in other ways, I realize this is only a temporary thing. But once again, I’m reminded of the power that women hold in this world. I could never have done something so beautiful in my life.

Despite the lack of sleep and occasional frustration, we’re both very happy new parents. I’m working on posting some new photos, but as you might have guessed, there are a lot to process. Stay tuned! (I also can’t believe I have to work tomorrow, but I suppose it was bound to happen at some point.)

Ooops….so sorry for the lapse, folks. I’ve been rather busy, and I feel quite guilty for not updating my journal in so long. Of course, the problem with putting off updates is that the news keeps piling up, which only makes the task harder and makes me feel more guilty.

I have a lot of medical school news to share. In fact, I got an email the other day from a previously unknown reader who was curious to know where I was in the whole process. On the off chance that there are several of you anonymous readers out there, I promise to update you all very soon. First, however, there’s something a little more important that must be made known:

Our first indication was in early March, the way many couples find out — the home pregnancy test. “Wait a minute, there are two lines here!” Kim exclaimed, and there was much jubilation. She’d been ready and willing to start a family for some time, but I had been hesitant for a number of reasons. For one, I had felt supremely unprepared for fatherhood. I barely felt comfortable with taking care of myself; how was I ever supposed to take care of a vulnerable, impressionable little baby? Furthermore, and perhaps more importantly, I had no idea what I actually wanted to do with my life. The frustrations of my previous career and the lack of direction for the future convinced me that I was not in a position to have any children of my own.

I promised Kim that I’d be willing to start our family once I knew what I wanted to do — once we had stabilized our finances, started our nest eggs, and all of the other things that people are supposed to do. All it really took, though, was for me to focus on medicine. Once I actually jumped ship and dove into my schoolwork, I started to notice little changes within myself. It was still a very scary experience to see and hold a newborn baby, but suddenly I felt a bit of excitement and longing at the same time. Cheesy commercials — the kind that depict children growing into adults, going to college, getting married — started to pull at my emotions when they’d never so much as grabbed my attention before. The thought that Kim and I could bring new life into this world, experience the miracles of development, birth, and growth, began to look less intimidating and more exciting. I finally realized that, while still absolutely terrified, having children might not be such a bad idea any more.

Of course, financially speaking, this is not the best time to be expanding our family. We cut our family income in half 18 months ago, we’re about to take on massive debt, and the first years of medical school are well known for their intensity. With less money, time, and energy than before, it may not be the “best” time to do this…but there is no “best” time. Part of my delay in coming around was based on the belief that I was not prepared enough for fatherhood. The truth is that I’ll never be prepared for fatherhood until I’m a father, we’ll never have enough money for parenthood until we’re parents, and we’ll never have enough time for our baby until we have one ourselves. What’s more, I don’t see how our financial or time situations will change appreciably for several years. I don’t want to chase after toddlers as a middle aged man, and I don’t want to be wheelchair-bound before they get out of the house. The time to start, therefore, is now.

I’m still terrified. But you know what? I’m also excited, very excited. I can’t wait to meet our baby, can’t wait to watch h__ grow and learn more about the world around h__. I fully expect there to be problems along the way, and I’m sure I’ll wonder why I ever wanted to do this. In the end, however, I know we’re making the right choice by starting now.

Oh, what’s that? Did I leave out something in that last paragraph?

We’re having a girl. She was rather coy about giving up her gender at the 20-week ultrasound exam. Our technician wasn’t able to figure it out; every time we tried, our baby kept her secret to herself — legs crossed, umblical cord in the way, whatever it took to hide her identity. The doctor was eventually brought in, but he didn’t have much luck, either, until the very last minute of the exam. Our baby did a little cartwheel with her legs, and in a split second, he saw what he needed to see. We confirmed it during the 28-week ultrasound and “4-D” ultrasound scan; the picture above is from that visit. She’s due 11/10, with a scheduled induction date of 11/17. Kim’s doing very well; she’s getting tired more easily, and going up stairs is no longer easy, but that’s all to be expected.

So there you have it. More news later; for now, I need to geet ready for the last F1 race of the season. Nothing like staying up to watch a live race being held in China.