Erie Co., Pop. 921,390...plus 2

Yesterday morning I woke to the sound of muffled phone calls and an air of urgency and steadiness. From my room I heard my sister-in-law say, “…hospital…” and I knew: the baby was on the way. I woke up and was pulling on my pants when she rapped on my bedroom door. “You are a lifesaver…I mean, light sleeper,” she said, laughing. (I savored that little slip-of-the-tongue; Light Sleepers is the title of my novel.) “My mom’s on her way,” she added. “Nina may or may not go to school.” Overhead, I heard my brother’s footsteps. Nina was on the couch, watching DVR recordings of “Arthur.” She was sniffling, which meant she’d been crying. She’s funny, with moods that swing like a weathervane in March, so I ignored her. Bill came downstairs, followed by Camille, who was being cranky in her own way, and off the parents went for the birth of their first son. The girls and I watched “Arthur” together for a little while, then I read them an “Arthur” book. Susie’s mother arrived around half-past seven and I had a chance to try to get a bit more sleep. But the phone kept ringing: Bill, from the hospital, reminding me to drive Camille to preschool; Bill, again, reminding me to pick Camille up; Bill a third time, telling us that the baby was definitely coming.

At 10:45 the other phone rang: Susie, bright and chipper. “He’s here. Nine pounds, six ounces.” “Is he ‘wahee’?” I asked. “No,” she said, laughing again. I carried the phone upstairs to her mother. Bill’s skin the color of caramel that’s been allowed to darken about a minute more than necessary. Susie’s skin is really pale, and “wahee” is my brother’s old joke-Pidgin for “whitey”. (Susie’s vanity plates say “WAHEE”) Nina is pale, thought not as pale as her mother, and Camille gives indications that she will someday be a "brownie" like her father, though maybe not as dark. We’ll have to see how “the boy,” as we’ve been calling him, will turn out.

About 11, Bill called to say he was picking Camille up himself. He called back a few minutes later to ask me if I wanted to go see the baby; we picked up Nina on the way. The girls were super-excited, and I was as excited as they were. Standing in front of the nursery window, I watched as two nurses hovered over my nephew. Ian Joseph still had that purplish hue newborns have. An hour old! I’ve never seen a baby that newborn! Nine pounds, six ounces, and he’s already got quite a thatch of dark hair. I stared and stared. I watched the rapid flutter of Ian’s little belly as he breathed his first living breaths and thought about how much new information his body was being exposed to, second by second by second. I was reminded of standing at the window of San Francisco International, waiting for a PanAm flight from Seoul, South Korea, that was bringing my new sister. I thought of myself having been an hour old once. I thought of my birth mother. I thought of the toast I made when Bill and Susie were married, about family and the odd ways and means through which families grow. I found myself wanting to cry. I find myself wanting to cry even writing this. Nina and Camille had to be lifted and balanced on the railing. The nurses kept glancing up and smiling; my nieces, with their Amerasian looks, have that affect on some people.

We looked and looked and chattered and laughed, and my brother took a few pictures of us looking, and then we went to see Susie. For someone so recently in childbirth, she was in good shape, but tired, natch. My brother and I and the girls went to the cafeteria for lunch, passing the nursery on the way. I saw that Ian’s skin was already warming from purple to red-pink. By the time we returned to the nursery window after lunch, his skin had lost its reddish flush. Ian was looking even warmer and rosier, a healthy, hammy pink. We left the hospital reluctantly, going home to rest and nap and leaving Ian and his mother to do the same.