My son. The phrase felt awkward and strange the first time I said it, and I had to practise it a thousand times. I started saying the words to myself the day the ultrasound1 told us we were having a boy.
Finally, my son was born.
The nurse came out of the delivery room, holding a tiny, howling human being wrapped in a white sheet, his small hands and delicate fingers shaking nervously. “Baby Sanchez?” she asked, looking at the room full of expectant fathers.