The new baby (name is TBD and will be announced when official) is doing fine - she entered the world at a solid 8 lbs., 6 oz, and, I believe my son said 18.75 inches - she's a sturdy little thing already, and I won't be wasting my time knitting any useless newborn sizes! Big Sister Supergirl is excited and delighted. Mom is exhausted but feeling good. My son reports that Supergirl knew the day and time the baby would be born (predicted it to her father the day before) and that she was a girl, because, "I asked her, and she told me." Yeah.
And the former co-worker sharing his cancer battle on Facebook? He's still very sick but appears to be out of imminent danger at the moment, and was feeling well enough this evening to lay an EPIC (but gently phrased) smackdown on his many commenters: he's not dead, he's not on hospice, he's had a very rough few days, and he'd appreciate if everyone would refrain from spreading rumors, sending pestering private messages/emails, etc. I'd say he's feeling much better and his oxygen level is obviously fine at the moment, because he cranked out many lengthy, flawlessly phrased, spelled and punctuated paragraphs. When I'd read all those posts basically "remembering" him, I kept thinking, "Christ, people, he's probably READING this!" He was.
His friends are good people - the tone has already shifted to sharing funny stories and videos along with the prayers and well wishes.
But it's Sunday night and I have to get up and go to work tomorrow. The fine day is over, and the grind commences at 5 a.m.