I've only written a daylog once before, and I probably won't again after this, but I can't shake the feeling that my other daylog needs a follow-up.
On May 29, 2001 I wrote about how my wife and I had decided to have a baby. We chickened out after that and went back to taking precautions for a week or so before deciding again that we really did want to try. Fast forward a few more weeks and I come home from uni late at night to find my wife with with her "I have something to tell you" face on. She shows me the test and there's the line, clear as day. It seems we got lucky after only a couple of tries, which really hammers home to me the importance of being careful if you want to enjoy yourself but you don't want to make another human being.
An interesting nine months follow, and some days are better than others. I particulary remember one very up and down day. In the morning we go for the first ultrasound, and I see my child for the first time. In the afternoon I visit my grandparents in hospital. Grandpa had a lung infection, among other things, and was quite sick. Grandma had fallen over while visiting him a few days earlier and had broken her hip. I show them the ultrasound photos, and I'm glad my grandpa got to see them, as he died a few days later. That evening my wife and I have a nice dinner to celebrate our second wedding anniversary. When we get home there's a phone message from my brother that sounds important, and when I call him he tells us that he and his wife are also going to have a baby. Late in the evening my wife and I are watching The West Wing, and a news break tells us something we can't quite believe. After The West Wing they switch over to continuous live news from America and we watch a few thousand people die on the other side of the world. Ugh.
Fast forward several months and, eight days late, our son is born on March 26, 2002. His name is Andrew Callum, but we call him Cal. I particularly like this, as secretly in my mind when I call him Cal I'm thinking Kal-El. I have a photo on my desk at work of me in my Superman t-shirt holding him in his. He's now almost six months old, is rolling over like a champion and is the cutest baby in the world (with his little cousin Gemma, born exactly eight weeks later, a close second).
I don't get to spend as much time with him as I'd like to, as I'm not only working full time but am also studying law part time, but every second we spend together is a joy.