Cora

Borrowed

“Remember, there’s no greatness in the future. Or clarity. Or insight. Or happiness. Or peace. There is only this moment. Not that we mean literally sixty seconds. The real present moment is what we choose to exist in, instead of lingering on the past or fretting about the future. It’s however long we can push away the impressions of what’s happened before and what we worry or hope might occur at some other time. Right now can be a few minutes or a morning or a year, if you can stay in it that long. As Laura Ingalls Wilder said, now is now. It can never be anything else. Seize it.”

From “Stillness Is the Key” by Ryan Holiday [Book]

Learned & Thought

And just like that, we’re a family of five. If you count our pup, Gizmo. We do.

Today was our baby girl’s due date, but she had other plans and arrived on Christmas Eve.

That morning, we had a routine checkup at 10:30 am. Everything looked good. The doctor mentioned she could do another exam, but said it might lead to cramps or an earlier arrival. We decided to pass and enjoy the holidays (or so we thought).

By 2:30 pm, Dana had just finished a batch of thumbprint cookies, jumped in the shower, and started getting ready for the evening festivities. About thirty minutes later, I got a text from her that said, “cramping now.” I was in the middle of a few chores and rushed in to check on her.

The pattern was familiar. She would move from intense pain to calm and coherent within minutes. It reminded me of Mylo’s birth, which lasted over 24 hours. Earlier that morning, the doctor had warned us that women often downplay pain with their second child and wait too long. We called the doctor, and even though Dana sounded composed on the phone and the doctor wasn’t convinced it was labor, we decided to head in anyway.

We gathered our things and arrived at the hospital around 3:40 pm. I will never forget that seven minute ride. I tried to stay calm and not drive like I was the getaway car in a heist. Dana could barely sit in the seat and was letting out all kinds of sounds.

We pulled into the ER. I ran inside and told the staff my wife was in labor. The woman at the front desk looked up from her holiday cookie, clearly panicked, asking if we had called ahead. I rushed back to help Dana into a wheelchair, alongside a security guard who seemed completely unfazed. We made our way to the maternity ward as the pain escalated and Dana screamed.

Baby Cora Noelle arrived at 3:54 pm.

I am still amazed by how quickly the room went from one nurse to a full team, everyone moving right into place and working together to bring Cora into the world safely. At some point, I thought to myself that there is probably a Barrel lesson in there about clear communication, defined roles, and trusting the plan, but I will save that one for another day.

Once again, I am in awe of Dana. Mylo’s birth was long and intense in its own way. This one was wild and beautiful all at once. There was no time to think or plan, no time for discussion or medication. Dana was incredible and unbelievably powerful.

Two hours later, she walked herself to the room where we would stay for about 24 hours before heading home on Christmas evening. About an hour after Cora was born, I went downstairs to move my car from the ER entrance and let them know we now had a baby. I was so glad I didn’t try to park.

We celebrated Christmas on the 26th and, of course, Mylo didn’t know the difference, though it will be a good story to tell him one day. From putting out reindeer food after we got home from the hospital to unwrapping his gifts on his own, it felt like seeing the holidays through his eyes for the first time. It was a Christmas I will never forget and changed the holiday forever.

If I’m being honest, it is all still setting in. Being a father of two. Being a girl dad. And everything that comes with both. After Cora was born, she was being evaluated and started crying. I came over to meet her, and as I spoke to calm her, she settled almost immediately. That has happened a few times since, even though she doesn’t cry much. It caught me off guard. She had only been in the world for minutes, and already there was a responsibility there, a sense that my voice mattered to her and that I was meant to show up in that role right away.

Mylo moves between ignoring his baby sister and showing her real care and empathy. I took him to school this morning, and he looked around the car at the empty seats, reciting everyone’s names. Cora. Mommy. Daddy. Mylo. It’s these small moments I know I’ll carry with me as we watch these two grow up alongside one another.

Cora is so peaceful that you forget she is even in the room at times. But there is a quiet strength to her. Poor Dana felt it when she was still in the womb, constantly pushing and kicking. Within a day or two after birth, she was already lifting her head while lying on my chest and occasionally trying to bust her way out of her swaddle. She sleeps most of the day, but when her eyes are open, I love looking into them, wondering what she sees and who she will become, even just a week from now.

There was a moment on a retreat this summer, during a meditation, when I had a clear image of a little girl. We didn’t know the gender then, but I remember thinking it had to be our baby. Seeing Cora for the first time confirmed to me that it was. A little female version of Mylo.

Her name feels even more right with her here. Cora carries a sense of strength and steady growth. Noelle points to light and new beginnings. Born on Christmas Eve, she arrived during a season that already invites people to slow down, gather, and reset. Her arrival was fast and powerful, and what followed has been calm, grounding, and full of light.

We knew there would be a contrast between the kids, a newborn and a two and a half year old, but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely. Mylo seems to be maturing by the day, forming full sentences, articulating what he wants, and taking small risks, like going down the four stairs to our living room without holding the railing. Meanwhile, Cora is just beginning, learning how to open her eyes and experience the world around her. It has only been five days, but the days already feel different.

As for me, gratitude does not feel like a strong enough word for how I’m feeling. I sometimes wonder why I take on as much as I do between work, life, and everything else, knowing life could be simpler if I wanted it to be. But what has always pulled me forward is the chance to keep learning and growing through it all.

Welcoming Cora has only deepened that in ways I’m coming to understand now and in the future. I feel the weight of the responsibility, but also a real pull to lean in, curious about who I become through it and how our family continues to evolve. Sharing this time together with Dana, especially during the holidays and surrounded by family, is deeply meaningful.

Our routine is slower than usual, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned with Mylo, it’s that there’s a lot to experience in that space. I’m doing my best to stay with what’s unfolding while still holding excitement for what life looks like one, two, three, four, five months from now. Life feels full. And alive.