How the Second Month Went

Dear Zachary,

It's really starting to sink in that you are a real, permanent part of our family. I'll confess, the first month I was still kind of holding my proverbial breath, half hoping/fearing that someone official was going to come along and be like, okay you've done pretty well keeping this baby alive, but let's be real here, you don't have what it takes to raise a child so we're going to give it to someone who actually knows what they're doing. However, you're still here, and the only people who have shown up unexpectedly at our door have been ADT salesmen, and they always come at the most inopportune moments, like after you've just gotten into the bath, or as you're screaming in hunger. But that's neither here nor there. Anyway!

At this point, the chronic sleep deprivation is starting to take its toll. The first month, I was still running on banked sleep and adrenaline and anxiety (i.e. OMG I have a baby whose life depends on me!!!), but now that you show no signs of expiring, the latter two are no longer there to spur me on, and so it becomes harder and harder to drag myself upright for middle-of-the-night feedings. Thankfully, a couple of weeks ago, you started smiling for real! Not just I'm-happy-I'm-full-of-milk smiles, but genuine, I'm-happy-to-see-you smiles! Your toothless grin makes it all worth it, and seeing you so happy is enough to melt this T's heart. You even had one full-bodied chortle a couple of days ago when the Zojirushi sang its little finished-boiling-the-water song, but it may have been a fluke, as we have been unsuccessful in getting you to laugh again.

Along with smiling, you've also started being much more interactive and personable, and I'm finding it much more rewarding to be home with you all day. There are still difficult moments (okay, they're a lot longer than moments), of course. When you won't nap even though you're tired, when you won't settle down and eat even though you're crying with hunger, when you don't want to hold still long enough to put socks on even though your feet are cold -- are you starting to sense a theme? -- I get glimpses of how much God must love us (and how frustrated He must get!). I want so badly to give you what you need, but you reject it, but I keep trying and trying. That's so like us humans with our Heavenly Father, it really makes it more real to me how big God's heart is. When you are crying with that heart-rending high-pitched wail and I can't figure out how to make things better for you, my heart hurts and I see the truth of Matthew 7:9-1, "Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!" So even though being a mom is hard, and I sometimes miss my old life, I have to thank you, baby guy, for giving me a more complete picture of how incredibly much God loves me. And I hope you know that love one day. In the meantime, I'm going to keep trying to keep those ridiculously tiny socks on your cute fat feet.

See? Even when you're sleeping the socks just start creeping down and off, like they've got a mind of their own...

Love,
Mommy


Likes:

• Kicking and punching at all the dangly toys in your activity gym. We were worried at first that maybe it was a waste of money because you didn't seem to like it much, but it turns out we just had to wait for you to get old enough to find all the bright colors and jingly/crinkly noises engaging. You get really excited when you kick the arch supports just right and everything shakes. 
• Having conversations on the changing table. After you're all cleaned up, you get all talkative with your coos and gurgles; you grin and kick and punch when we talk back to you. It makes it so that finding out you have a dirty diaper is almost fun. Almost. 
• Keeping handfuls of lint and cat hair in your fists. I don't know where you get it, but every morning when I wash your face and hands, you've somehow managed to acquire a bunch of fuzz in between your fingers, despite having your hands inside your swaddler the whole night. And then when I try to clean it out, you ball up your hands into fists and won't let go, like it's some kind of treasure. 

Did you want to see my fist? Here, let me show you. 

• Sleeping while being worn. Your longest naps are in the K'tan or the Ergo, and you even laugh in your sleep!
• The first five minutes of tummy time. You are really excited about sticking your head up and looking around. 

Your pediatrician says that your head control is at the three-month-old level. Way to be an overachiever!

• Music. Daddy busted out his guitar a few days ago and you were absolutely mesmerized. And then we brought you to church for Celebration Sunday and you were bouncing and head-bobbing and waving your arms to the music the whole time, totally engaged. 

• People. When new people come over to you at church and smile at you, you smile and crinkle up your eyes and bare your toothless gums, which all the old ladies find endearing. TBH, I find it endearing too. You sure know how to charm 'em, and now I'm a little scared that you might turn out to be an extrovert...

Dislikes:

• When Mommy eats brussel sprouts, cabbage, and other cruciferous vegetables. The resulting milk gives you the most incredible gas, which means you're up all night with tummy ache. 
• Your car seat. This is new and sad, as previously you were happy to sit in it. Now, if you're in your car seat, you are unhappy unless we are going over 35 mph. This makes taking you on walks and getting errands done very challenging. 

Sad face!

• Napping on your own for more than thirty minutes. This is progress since last month, when we couldn't even put you down to nap. Now, we can put you down, but you'll start crying your heart out 20-30 minutes later. 
• Hats. You've got all these adorable beanies, but as soon as we put them on you (especially since more than one well-meaning stranger has commented on how cold your bare head must be), you start wriggling and head banging and rubbing your head on your car seat/swing/bassinet trying to get it off. 
• Pacifiers. Last month we weren't sure, but now it's settled, you don't like fake nipples that don't have milk. 
• The last five minutes of tummy time. Holding up that 95th percentile head gets really tiring!

Ways you take after family members:

• Like mom, you only have one double eyelid, much to your 婆婆's dismay. 

• Like your dad, you enjoy a good fart or poop. 

• Like your big brother, you hate holding still to have your nails clipped. 

Names you've acquired:

• Baby guy: this is what we normally call you. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves that your real name is Zachary. 
• Bebbers: this is what we call you when you're being especially cute. It's like the short form of Baby Guy, which is your "full name" for when you're in trouble, e.g. have spit up all over yourself right after putting on a new onesie.
• Sir: only Daddy calls you this, when you look especially serious. 
• Burperino: again, only Daddy uses this, and its etymology is obvious. 
• Babby: only Auntie Emily calls you this. 
• 仔仔: this is being tentatively explored as a possibility, since 婆婆 thinks Zachary is too long to say. 

This is definitely a Bebbers face. 

How Dad Feels About It All

Zachary,

It's been 7 weeks now and you're the most wonderful, beautiful son a father could have but you also don't sleep. I love you so much but I would love it even more if you would sleep for longer periods of time. Okay with that out of the way, we move on to one of my favorite improv games, 3 things!! (Also because people like things in threes.)

3 things that make you special:

• You have amazing head and neck control. When I pick you up, you can't wait to fling your head around like a bobblehead. 
• Your farts are as loud as mine and that isn't easy to do. 
• You're a champion eater. I've never seen a baby pound that much milk in that little time. 

Flinging yourself around during tummy time.

3 things I'm afraid of:

• That you're going to be an explosive ball of energy and that your parents won't be able to keep up. You already kick and punch up a storm like a baby MMA fighter. 
• That you're going to be taller than 6 foot. You're in the 90th percentile in height. That doesn't happen to Chinese babies. 
• That you're gonna be a big troll when you grow up. You already troll us with your eating and sleep habits. 

Helping you work on target practice with your punches.

3 things I can't wait for:

• To be able to teach you to ride a bike so we can go on rides together around the neighborhood and have our own adventures. 
• For Mom to be able to teach you the wonders of Legos. Maybe we'll start you off with Duplos so you don't choke on any... 
• For you to learn how to throw and play catch. I really enjoyed those times I had in my backyard with your grandpa and I want to share that with you. 

You're a great catch, baby guy!

3 things you hate:

• Getting your face washed 
• Fitting your arms through shirt sleeves 
• Sleeping 

In this picture, we 1) washed your face and 2) changed your shirt so that we could 3) put you down for a nap.
You were not having any of it. 

3 things I want you to become:

• A great leader 
• Compassionate towards others 
• Not a jerk

That's a tall order for such a tiny baby guy. 

Love,
Dad

How the First Month Went

Dear Zachary,

We did it. We kept you alive, fed, and watered well-hydrated for one month. We've kept your litterbox clean diapers changed and trimmed your claws (I'm not crossing that one out, because really, those nails are like daggers!) and generally tried not to compare you too much to your big brother Walnut. Honestly, they should really be more skeptical at hospitals before they let people loose with brand new human beings. Despite all the baby classes, books, websites, and conversations I've had leading up to your arrival, there's really nothing that truly prepared me for reality. Swaddling cats and changing the diapers on mannequins is nothing like doing so on a real live baby (FYI, it's marginally easier to swaddle you than Walnut, and decidedly more difficult to change your diaper than a mannequin's. Mannequins don't have projectile poop in three installments, for starters). Still, we learned and tentatively feel we've got a handle on this newborn care thing. I think. Crap, now that I've said that, you're going to pull a fast one on us and prove that we know nothing, Jon Snow.

I mean, just look at that smirk. 

Remember how I said in your birth story how much you were like your dad in your punctuality? Well, it turns out that you are really like your dad in a whole lot of other ways too: everyone who sees you says that you look just like him (despite having my eyes and mouth), you are a champion farter and pooper, and you are an overachiever. It only took you one week to recover your birth weight (and more!), you're in the 80th percentile for height and head circumference (but not weight -- you're a skinny baby guy, despite gaining over two pounds since birth), you got over the ubiquitous Asian jaundice in no time at all, your umbilical cord fell off cleanly after only a week and half, and your latch has had the admiration of nurses and lactation consultants since day one.

Unfortunately, you compensate for your achievements by being really, really bad at sleeping. You know how I said that the baby websites and books did not prepare us? Well, that's really because of the lies they told about how you'd be sleeping all the time as a newborn. Sixteen to twenty hours a day, they said. You'll have to try really hard to wake your baby to eat, they said. Ha! Try twelve hours a day, and eating every hour on the hour, with fifteen minute naps in between. I have to laugh at all those well-meaning people who say nap when baby naps, because by the time I fall asleep (despite the sleep-deprivation, I find it really hard to turn off my brain enough to drift off -- all those things I need to remember to do, but somehow can't because of the dreaded Mommy brain phenomenon), you're up again, ready to eat for another forty minutes. Lather, rinse, repeat. And yet, it's strangely satisfying nursing you, maybe because it shuts you up so effectively, or that your milk-drunk face is so obviously blissed out. It almost makes up for the feeding log that, according to your Auntie Candy, looks like somebody just threw confetti all over the screen. The only consolation is that your pediatrician says that sleeping so little can be a sign of intelligence, and maybe you'll do calculus at twelve! If so, you'll have two years over your dad, who started calculus at fourteen.

Milk-drunk face. 

All this to say, having you in our lives is a constant discovery process. For parents who are used to being overachievers themselves (and therefore being able to work hard enough or research enough to get the answer to anything and everything -- I am a classic Hermione whose first instinct is to look for the answer in the library Internet), it has been a humbling process. They (who are they, anyway? I want to punch them sometimes for saying all these things) say that there are things you can only learn once you become a parent, and to be honest, I was, and still am, very afraid of what God might use you to teach me. I like having the answers, I like being selfish, and I like getting lots of things done. He is using you to teach me that I just need to depend on Him for strength and grace (because otherwise there's no human way I'm making it through what feels like one long, sleepless postpartum night), that humans (and therefore babies, since they are small humans) are messy and don't follow the book, that I am more selfish at heart than I thought, but can grow in that area (yes, I will sacrifice my sleep to make sure that you are full and have a clean diaper, and I will hold you until my arm wants to fall off), that it's okay to just sit and rest and enjoy you in my arms.

With a growing love,
Mommy


Likes:

• Eating. It is your favorite thing to do, and any time you're crying, it's the only thing that reliably calms you down. 
• Bottle-feeding. I know this sounds redundant since your first like is eating in general, but even more than my boob, you love drinking pumped milk from a bottle. It takes you all of five minutes to pound 2.5 ounces, which always makes your daddy really excited. After a bottle, you always sleep for a lot longer than if you had breastfed. 
• Spitting up. This is probably a direct result of the previous activity, since all that eating-your-feelings inevitably results in more milk than your tiny tummy can handle. You always look really smug after spitting up, although that might be me reading into your expression.
• Projectile pooping in the middle of the night. You get really smiley after squirting it out all over the changing pad at 3 AM. 
• Bath time. I'm afraid you're going to take after me and enjoy taking your own sweet time in the warm water. 

"Amazing! I could get used to this bathing thing!"

• Falling asleep in the car.  Again, just like me, you find it impossible to stay awake for more than ten minutes if the car is moving. 
• Going outside. If you're upset and you can't possibly be hungry, and I've checked your diaper, burped you and given you gas drops, then going outside is the surefire way to shock you into silence. You also love going for walks in your stroller and usually relax or even start dozing. 
• Staring at my face. You look absolutely entranced, and it's absolutely endearing. 

Dislikes:

• Being put down during naps. You'll be sleeping as sweetly as can be in our arms, but as soon as you're put down in your Pack-N-Play, swing, or bouncer, you start freaking out. How dare we try to restore feeling in our arms!
• Getting out of the bath. As soon as we lift you out of the tub, you sound like you're being tortured. But once you're dried off, things are good again.  

• Red lights. If the car stops to obey traffic laws, you protest. Loudly. 
• Clothes being pulled over your head. Because of this, we always pull your onesie down when taking it off, regardless of whether it's poopy or not. 
• Dr. Harvey Karp and his 5S's. Okay, that's more me than you. I resent the carrot that he dangled in front of me -- do these things and your baby will be the happiest baby on the block! -- only to find that none of those things work on you, my sleep-resistant child. 

Still deciding about / it depends on your mood:

• You're still deciding if you like being carried in the Baby K'tan. Sometimes you're okay with it, but only if I'm bouncing and swaying. Once you even deigned to fall asleep in it for long enough for me to write a rec letter. 

• Pacifiers. We tried four different brands of pacifier before finding one that you don't hate, but don't like either. You look really unsure when we give it to you, like you're trying to decide if you should cry or not. 

• That swing that your dad spent so much money on. It's always a toss-up, whether you'll sit in it or not, or whether you want the setting turned to high, low, or not at all. 
• Tummy time. Sometimes you almost seem to enjoy it, and you make all sorts of faces, but sometimes you most definitely are over it. 

Ridonkulous. 

Walnut supervises you during tummy time. 

People's reactions to you:

• Your 婆婆's first order of business (after cutting your umbilical cord) was to check whether you have double eyelids or not. This is so typical, I just have to laugh. 
• Your Auntie Emily managed to take four pictures of the placenta that nourished you, but none of actual you. 
• Your Uncle Derek said that holding you for the first time "exceeded expectations."
• On our first trip to the pediatrician, we stopped by Starbucks because we were dying so sleep-deprived, and a random old man walked by your stroller, looked at you, and said emphatically, "Future leader!"
• Your pediatrician actually proclaimed you an overachiever, because of your fantastic weight gain. 
• Your Auntie Elaine, upon finding out that we called you "baby burrito," wrote a little song for you based off of the lyrics to "Baby Beluga."

All wrapped up like a California burrito!

Ways you take after family members:

• You have a super long skinny torso, just like your mom. Despite being in the 37th percentile for weight, you are in the 81st percentile for height, and we know it's all in the torso because you are already too long for your newborn onesies. This means you have to wear the 3 month onesies, which then look ridiculous because you could fit two of you inside, they're so wide. 
• You like to poop after your diaper has just been changed, just like your big brother, who poops right after we clean out his litterbox. And like Walnut, you claw and kick frantically when you're not pleased about being carried. 
• You like to leave just one bite, just like your dad. You'll pound the whole bottle in three minutes, but leave just one little gulp of milk in there that you refuse to finish. 

Nope. Not having any of it. 

How He Made His Entrance Into This World

For as long as I was pregnant (and even before that), my mom reminded me that I was two weeks late; she had to be induced and, even then, it took something like 36+ hours of labor and the assistance of some forceps for me to be born. Because of that family history, and because of the common knowledge that first babies are always late, I assumed that Zachary would be late. But! I didn't take into account Eric's contribution to Zachary's genes.

One of the first things I learned about Eric was that he is very punctual. He claims to be a "time J," i.e. he is always on time, if not early to events, and gets very stressed if I make us late. In fact, he's so good with time that, when he was in Chem 6BL, he would write his lab reports the day he finished the lab, instead of starting at midnight the day that it was due...three guesses as to who employed that method! So I guess it's no surprise that Eric's son made his way into the world one day ahead of schedule, on Monday, September 22. I guess I should be grateful he didn't arrive one week early (like his dad's lab reports!) because I was still working up until the Thursday before. As it was, I only just finished washing all the baby laundry and setting up the baby stuff.

The last thing I did was hang up all the marine-themed artwork. 

On Sunday morning, the day before Zachary's arrival, Eric wondered whether we should go to church or not. I said that I felt totally fine and no different from any other day, so we might as well. It turned out to be a good thing we went, since we haven't been able to make it back since! Anyway, that night we joked about how some people say that having sex causes labor to start since semen contains cervix-ripening prostaglandins (Eric, ever the overachiever, won a prize at our birthing class by knowing that piece of trivia), so we might as well give it a try since I didn't have work the next day. Well...

At 5 AM on Monday morning, I woke up feeling strong cramps. Previously, I had been mildly worried that I wouldn't know when labor started; having now experienced contractions, trust me when I say there's no mistaking that feeling! The contractions were about ten minutes about and still very bearable, though not entirely painless. Walnut was a dear and sat very close to me on the beanbag chair while I timed them. Eventually, I woke Eric (I wanted to give him as much sleep as possible before things got crazy). At 6:30 AM, I felt a weird gush and realized that my water must have broken. After that, the contractions got suddenly and progressively worse. I'm afraid I must confess that I turned into every woman-in-labor stereotype, getting down on all fours in our bedroom and bellowing/grunting/moaning like some bizarre cow. Walnut was very concerned. Finally, when they reached the 4-1-1 stage (and beginning to be intolerably painful), we grabbed the go bag, poured extra kibbles for Walnut, and hustled over to Eden. 

By the time we arrived and got settled into a room at around 10 AM, I was pretty insensible with pain and only dilated to 4 cm, and my vague notion of having a natural, medication-free birth sounded like the stupidest idea ever. Eric made the call to order an epidural since I was not in any state to be making decisions...and it ended up being amazing. Seriously, drugs are great, people. There's a reason why we live in the 21st century; avail yourself of the painkilling discoveries that come with living in the modern age! Once I got the epidural, I was back to being cheerful and sane, just in time for my mom and sister to arrive. We chatted and eventually I took a nap, I was that relaxed (again, yay for drugs!). I woke up around 3:30 to be told that I was fully dilated and could probably start pushing in half an hour. It was frankly a bit shocking to realize that our baby might be born before a normal workday was over!

The only problem with getting an epidural was that I couldn't feel how or where to push. Thankfully, our wise old nurse (I mean really, she was older and had gray hair!) had a trick up her sleeve: Eric would play tug of war with me using an old sheet. Somehow the act of pulling against his weight caused me to push with all the right muscles; unfortunately, this meant that Eric had the miracle-of-life view of crowning, sliding out, bodily fluids and gore, etc. Still, he says it was nice to be able to participate in bringing Zachary into the world in such a, well, interactive way. Half an hour of pushing later, we had a baby boy! I surprised my rational, T-self by bursting into tears.

Eric holding Zachary for the first time.

I finally get to hold him in my arms after carrying him in my body for almost ten months!

We had a brief scare when a surplus of mucus in Zachary's mouth and nose meant that he had to be taken away for suctioning and a bath (to stimulate him to cry it out?) before we could have our skin-to-skin time. That was my first experience with the overwhelming worry that I'm sure is the special province of mothers. Thankfully, the separation was brief and he was in my arms, nursing like a champion, before too long. The next several hours were spent marveling over the speed of his delivery, what an overachiever he was for latching perfectly right off the bat, and how marvelously not wrinkled or squished he looked. Maybe they were just humoring us, but all the nurses and doctors commented on how cute he was for just being born. To be honest, I was kind of afraid of having an ugly baby, so I was gratified to hear those comments from people whose job it is to see newborns. I know, I'm so superficial.

After an uneventful next two days, we brought Zachary home on Wednesday afternoon. And thus began a series of long, sleepless nights and hazy days of bonding and learning about this new small human being.

Walnut's first encounter with his new little brother. 

First night at home: baby is wide awake, parents are dead tired. 

How We Decided on a Name

In my family, there is a tradition that names must go in alphabetical order. My parents' names start with A and B, then there's me, Cindy, and then Derek and Emily. Even the cats got in on this: Fenxi, Gummy, and Walnut, aka Hup-toh. So when we were trying to figure out what to name this new addition to the family, we started with I-names, but Eric didn't like Isaac, and the rest of the boy names were frankly kind of weird (Ichabod? I love Sleepy Hollow, but no thank you). So finally I had to give up that dream, and we decided to just pick any old name that we liked, regardless of the letter it started with.

Eric wanted to name him Eric Junior, but I immediately vetoed that. Maybe it's just me, but Asian names with "Jr." or "III" just sound silly; you really need to have a last name with at least three syllables to pull that off (e.g. Wilmingtonshire or Vandercreston or something).

Once we both gave up our initial ideas for baby names, we just started throwing around all sorts of names, but that wasn't without issue either. We had to make sure that not only did we both love the name, but we also had to check that it wasn't too trendy or outdated, that it wasn't bad nickname fodder, that it didn't make for weird initials, and most difficult of all, that it didn't bring up any bad memories of former students. The problem with being a teacher is that I've had so many students in the past eight years, so almost any name will have a former student associated with it. It took some doing to finally come up with Zachary. While I have had two former students with this name, thankfully they were both likable, intelligent, well-spoken, quirky individuals with lots of potential (who weren't too much trouble).

Zachary means "Remembered by God." This was especially meaningful to me because of my worries during early pregnancy. I was afraid that 1) I wouldn't like my baby, and 2) I might forget it somewhere. See, I've never been one of those girls that gushes and gets all excited by babies; my thought process when encountering a small human being is usually something along the lines of please don't ask if I want to hold it I'll probably drop it oh crap what if they just shove it in my arms oh I know maybe I'll just pretend that it's a very small cat oh wait but cats can hold up their own heads oh no oh no oh no. As for the second concern, I have a history of forgetting my purse or my leftovers whenever I leave a restaurant. Either I take my purse but forget my leftovers, or vice versa. I really, really, really don't want to be one of those sad headlines about parents who forgot their kid in a hot car. Well, whenever I'm in a rough patch or find myself needing some reassurance, I turn to the book of Isaiah. I was reminded of Isaiah 49:15, where God says, "“Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you."

I find it comforting to know that not only does the God seem pretty sure that I will love and won't forget about a kid I birthed, but that even if I do, He will remember. Which is good, because one time my parents forgot to pick us up from school. I want Zachary to be sure that His Heavenly Father will never forget him.

As for his middle name, Augustus (Latin for "majestic")...besides conveniently allowing for his initials to spell a shortened form of his name, it's also a nice tongue-in-cheek reference to Eric's high school Latin career. It's a little bit of an inside joke: somehow, despite having been Latin club president and helping to plan a nationwide Latin conference, he still manages to incorrectly translate most of the Latin phrases we come across. Case in point: when we went to London on our second anniversary trip, he translated the motto of the city, "Domine dirige nos" as "our king the ship." It actually means "God guide us." *facepalm* So it's kind of a fun way to remind us of our travels in Europe (it also doesn't hurt that it also references the wingaling dragon Trogdor and all his majesty).

Side note: Before we had decided on a middle name, my students made all sorts of suggestions, like Hercules, Ares, Arsenic, their own names, and all manner of other ridiculous ideas.

How Come This Blog Exists

Psalm 78 begins:

Give ear, O my people, to my teaching;
  incline your ears to the words of my mouth!
I will open my mouth in a parable;
  I will utter dark sayings from of old,
things that we have heard and known,
  that our fathers have told us.
We will not hide them from their children,
  but tell to the coming generation
the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might,
  and the wonders that he has done.

That's why I'm blogging about your life, baby guy. I want to make sure that we remember the ways that God has been faithful to us and to you.

Even before you were born, He was faithful in providing us the house you will grow up in. We had been searching since December 2013, but for six long months nothing worked out. We looked at three or four houses almost every weekend, and kept falling in love with houses only to find out there were structural issues, or discover that the neighborhood wasn't one we felt we could live in, or end up being outbid. It was a wearing process, and we began to despair of finding a house before you were born. I started preparing mentally for raising you in our sketchy apartment complex, with weed smoke drifting up from downstairs, the one tiny bathroom with no space to bathe you, the bedroom that would have no space to walk once we put in your Pack-N-Play bassinet...

Desperate, we had almost decided to settle on a town home in Castro Valley, but God had other plans for us. I had joked that He likes to be dramatic and build up the suspense by waiting until the last minute to answer prayers, just so that he can come in and save the day.

So after lots of fruitless searching, on a weekend in late June, on our way back home, I suggested on a whim that we check out San Lorenzo open houses (we had been looking in Oakland and San Leandro only). We got to our house at 3:56 pm, when most open houses close at 4 pm. We fell in love with the house (but tentatively, since we had had our hearts broken so many times before), and the real estate agent ended up staying after the technical close to advise us about how best to win our bid. We wrote an impassioned plea about how you were arriving soon, and that (plus a generous offer) was enough to sway the house's owners. They accepted our offer, and escrow closed on July 29, which was just before our apartment's lease ended. Because of this timing, we didn't end up having to pay a penalty for terminating our lease early, like we would've had to do if we found a house earlier. And because of the extra months living in an apartment instead of a house, we were able to save so much money, while still ending up moving before you arrived. God knew what He was doing all along and He came through at the last (but best) minute, just like I had grumblingly predicted.

A photo posted by Cation Designs (@cationdesigns) on Aug 8, 2014 at 7:08pm PDT

Because of these things, I made the plaque below for our house:

A photo posted by Cation Designs (@cationdesigns) on Sep 9, 2014 at 10:52am PDT

When we were in Italy for our third anniversary trip, we saw the phrase "terribilis est locus iste" carved into a wall at the Vatican. Your daddy translated it as "this is a terrible place," and because of his past record in Latin translations, I was skeptical. But lo and behold, when we looked it up, it turned out that he was correct. It's from Genesis 28:17, but in this case, terrible is really more like terrific, or awe-inspiring. The verse goes on to say that this is the house of God, which is why it's commonly used for church dedications. While it's just a house and not a sacred place of worship, I did think it was appropriate for our home, as it was so obviously given to us by Him at just the right time, and I hope that as you grow up in it you will hear plenty of stories of His faithfulness to us.