When my wife went up for the Caesarian section, I just stood by the elevator waiting for them to come back down. The doors opened and the nurse came out ahead of the gurney with my wife on it. She had a bundle of blankets in her hands. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Is this one mine?”

I took him in my arms. I looked at his little face. Such a cutie! I walked down the hall back towards the obstetrics ward. “He doesn’t need his wife anymore,” I heard my wife’s uncle joke. I hadn’t tried to keep up with the gurney at all.

I wasn’t sure if I’d cry when I saw him the first time. I didn’t, in the end, but I felt an enormous sense of pride and happiness. I saw the grand potential of a new life spread out in front of me as I walked down the sunlit hallway. Each door, each branching passage, all were glowing with different bright possibilities.

At the same time, I also worry about his safety. I suppose it’s a rite of passage. My parents always tell me it’s their job to worry about their children. They do even now. Maybe I’ll be the same way when my kid reaches my age.