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Last week was a bit of a blur. Maybe you noticed this newsletter was MIA. But at least I have a good excuse as to why. Here’s the official announcement my wife wrote. The parenthetical statements are mine.

We're overjoyed to tell you that Max (not Maxwell, not Maximillian — just Max) was born on Wednesday, May 24th, entering the world with loud shrieks that belie his peaceful demeanor.

Max gave his moms quite a scare when he was diagnosed with fetal growth restriction and ordered out three weeks ahead of schedule. He weighed 4 pounds, 11 oz. on arrival, but he has defied expectations ever since and is healthy and happy. Anna is recovering well from a planned c-section.

We're pretty content to stare at him and comment on his every yawn and sigh. He's pretty content to indulge us and nap 16 hours a day. We hope someday he'll forgive us for playing the Indigo Girls' 1200 Curfews album in the operating room.

(My notes: Birth is a miraculous and awe-inspiring thing to witness. My wife is amazing. The human body is absolutely incredible. And after a week of being this little guy’s mom, I can say as cliche as it sounds, that this seems like the hardest but potentially most rewarding thing I’ll ever do.

The Lion King moment captured above was fitting, as entered this world with a ROAR. So now, my little love… my son… my Max, “let the wild rumpus begin!”)

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I’ll do my best to be back next week, with some regularly programmed content and 5 great things I’ve been looking at and loving. But honestly, all I’ve been looking at this week is Max, and I’m certainly not mad about that.)