February 20, 2014 - Week 11.5

I've been really jealous of Sharayah's excellent posts about the baby. I touched a little on this on my non-secret post from today, but I find myself very frustrated by my inability to express the thoughts and emotions I've been going through throughout the last few months. I'm ridiculously excited to start this phase of my life. A fair percentage of the time it doesn't seem quite real or it doesn't sink in completely, but other times it's crazy real. It's just the tiniest bit scary but mostly it's great.

I feel like I'm just supposed to be a dad. It's what I'm meant for. I'm just wired to want to have a family and provide for them. I'm not particularly ambitious about my career (says the guy working on his PhD...). I'm really not. I actually relate with Sharayah's mom vs career post really well, because I think I'm made to be a dad. I plan to be a great one. I want to have a good job and work hard and succeed at it, but it'll always just be a job to me. I'm only doing it to provide for my family. I think our culture being so wrapped up in career-as-identity is off the mark. I'll be a math professor because I'm great at math and I enjoy helping others learn it, but that's not who I am. I'm going to be a dad. I'll acknowledge that some people probably say the same thing about parenthood-as-identity, but I respectfully disagree.

Today we got to hear the heartbeat for the first time. I can't believe how moving it was. Sharayah's the worrier; I'm boundlessly optimistic (at least when it comes to my own life). So, while Sharayah went in with fears that maybe she wasn't really pregnant or maybe there was something wrong with the baby or its heart wouldn't beat or it wouldn't be growing in there at all, I already knew everything would be fine. Still, when I heard that beating heart, it was such an amazing experience. It was so real. You can insert more complaints here about the inadequacy of my words to describe my feelings.

I don't know if it's silly or whatever, but it feels incredibly fulfilling to have had a part in creating something with a beating heart growing inside Sharayah. All glory to God for the miracle of life, but He did use me as an integral part of the process. He only did it once without using a man, and this time I was the man. It's probably dumb, but nothing's ever made me feel as fulfilled as a man. I'm going to be a father to a whole little person who I helped to make.

Dear tiny little half-Asian kpluBlet,
I already can't wait to meet you. I'll try to be the best dad for you I can be. Your mom tells me you have ears now. Maybe I can lay off the typing and go talk to you now.


Secret Things #5: Perks

February 16, 2014 - Week 10

One of our favorite things to do lately is add on "for two" to the end of statements. This goes for the normal "You're eating for two" all the way to the probably-more-related-to-cheating-than-pregnancy "I get a second roll of the dice because I'm rolling for two." It makes me laugh every time we use it. Sleeping for two. Walking for two. Showering for two. Sleeping some more for two. Being hungry for the fifth time in the day for two. And yes, rolling dice for two [it's excellent how I can't lose games when I'm pregnant due to the rolling for two rule!].

Winning games aside, there are also the benefits of Jason constantly doing all kinds of sweet things for me whenever I'm too sleepy or hungry or annoyed to do them myself. Since he can't do the baby growing himself [science and biology couldn't come through for us in time], he has declared he will do any other little thing possible that will make it easier for me. It's pretty nice. Yes, doing things for two definitely has its benefits.

But then there are the days, the moments, when I start to question if I am truly experiencing common For Two symptoms or if I am just suffering from a nocebo-like effect of being pregnant or if I am just using pregnancy to be extra lazy and gluttonous and lethargic.

I have what I have always considered an iron-like stomach. Nothing ever really affects it, ever. I cannot remember ever throwing up, not even once [I'm sure as a baby, I probably did... I just can't remember those times obviously.]. Jason tells me it is an unpleasant experience. I have no idea. Anyway, I figured this sturdy stomach of mine would be quite handy when it came to pregnancy and all of its stomach-related feelings.

In one way, so far, it has been nice:  If the odd feeling that comes and goes at random times is the dreaded "morning sickness," then I think my version of it is extremely mild compared to others I have heard about. Maybe twice has it ever been uncomfortable or unpleasant enough to affect my state of mind. Generally, it just causes a, "Huh, that's a... feeling. Interesting." The downside of having such a sturdy stomach and having never experienced a cruel case of nausea and vomiting is that I have no idea if the feeling I keep feeling is anything at all. I may just be hungry. Or have to go to the bathroom. Or maybe I'm just hungry again. Or maybe it could be some faint nausea? I have no reference point. So when it happens, all I can say is that my stomach feels funny. I believe I described it to Jason once as a "presence, like a smell in my stomach." It was a weird comparison. It was the only way I could think to word it. I have zero experiences with abdominal sensations! Sigh.

But really, so far, so good. With the exception of randomly deciding that what I wanted to eat 5 minutes ago is definitely not edible now and the funny feelings that come and go some days, "symptoms" really seems like an exaggerated word to describe my situation. And that is why I start entertaining the ideas I mentioned earlier, the possibility that I am not experiencing pregnancy symptoms but rather am giving into my normal desire to be lazy and lounge around all day eating things. Because, yes, some days [pre-pregnancy], napping and eating all day sounded like an excellent day. Until my sense of responsibility kicked in. Bah, responsibility.

So, humor me. Here are the possible explanations for the incessant napping and eating and napping and eating cycle of a pregnant Korean, ranked from best to worst:

  1. I am experiencing common pregnancy symptoms. [Makes sense, but sometimes I don't feel at all pregnant.]
  2. I am suffering from a nocebo-like effect of being pregnant. [Definitely within the realm of possibility, as it is well known that telling someone they're going to experience side effects or symptoms (regardless of the truth of the claim) can often influence whether they experience those side effects or symptoms.]
  3. I am using pregnancy as an excuse to give in to my lazy and lethargic side. [It is like a Get Out of Jail Free card. Who doesn't like and/or use those if you are lucky enough to draw it out of the Community Chest?! (Answer: A crazy person.)]

These are seriously all viable options.

Jason says I'm not allowed to entertain option 3, but I cannot help it. I wouldn't put it past myself.

Ok, fine. It is most likely number 1. But seriously, why do I want to nap all the time? The kpluBlet isn't doing anything yet, at least nothing strenuous enough that it should completely negate the 9 hours of sleep I got last night. And why am I getting hungry at 9 a.m., 11 a.m., 3 p.m., 7 p.m., and 11 p.m.? At this stage, "eating for two" really isn't a necessity yet, but try telling that to my stomach. I get really grumpy when I'm hungry. You've been warned.

So, honestly, this new exciting season has really only been filled with goodness so far. I get to eat things. I get to nap all the time. I get spoiled by Jason. I win all the games. All in the name of growing a person. Pregnancy is an excellent, excellent thing.

Who knew a tiny little kumquat-sized person would give so many awesome life perks?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

I hear you have little bendable limbs now. That's insane. I cannot wait for your little bendable limbs to be the actual cause of the funny sensations inside of me instead of all of this guesswork. I mostly just want to know that you're actually real. The idea that I'm growing a tiny little person inside my stomach still seems like a ridiculous claim at times.

This week, we have our first appointment and hopefully we'll be able to see you and all of your tiny little miraculous features. This week I get to find out if you are actually for real. Please be real. Please. If we see you this week, feel free to wave.

My excitement is only growing with each passing day. You have no idea.


Secret Things #4: Worries

February 9, 2014 - Week 9

This is going to be a weird one. Brace yourself.

I can be so completely irrational sometimes.

When I was a kid, probably starting around 10 or 11, I would occasionally get consumed by this idea that what if, what if, I suddenly became pregnant. For no reason. Out of the blue. Just, you know, another Mary mother of Jesus incident. As absolutely ridiculous as it sounds now [and really, as it sounded then], I would just get completely caught up in these worrisome thought cycles. How in the world did it happen? Who would believe me? The Bible doesn't mention another virgin birth, does it? What will I do with a baby? I'm going to be in so much trouble and it's not even my fault!

Yes, yes, these were the kinds of things I thought about. What a ridiculous child I was.

Luckily, I grew up and moved on from such weird childish fears. I went to college. I met a man. We decided we would love each other for life and sealed it with a kiss. And then, with my surely-by-now-grown-up-thoughts-and-understanding-of-biology, the completely ridiculous fear struck again: What if, what if, I suddenly became pregnant. For no reason. Out of the blue. Just, you know, another Mary mother of Jesus incident. How in the world did this happen? Who will believe me? Are there possibly two virgin births predicted in the Bible? What in the name of all things fuzzy will I do with a baby?! I'm going to be in so much trouble and all I did was kiss him.

Yes, yes, these were the kinds of things I thought about. By this point, I had given up the notion to think of myself as "normal."

Once married, I was quite, quite, concerned with the idea of discovering I was pregnant. This time, obviously, there would be a very explainable reason for it. But I still wasn't quite ready for it. I knew kids were definitely in the future but I first wanted to get through school and spend a few years with just Jason. Yet, due to my aversion to all things medical and druggy and unnatural, our go-to birth control method consisted of spreadsheets and common sense. The combined forces of Jason's Excel mastery and my unbelievable regularity of awesomeness were seemingly unstoppable.

But even so, every few months [especially in the first year or two of marriage], I would suddenly be plagued by this debilitating fear of what if?! I, clearly, was not ready to have a baby and Jason would have to soothe my ridiculous anxieties and show me the spreadsheets [go ahead, laugh] and logically walk me through why it was highly improbable that I could be pregnant.

After the first couple years, and mainly once I finished with school, my anxiety about pregnancy dramatically decreased. We obviously were successful at baby control, right? And even if I were to get pregnant now, I was out of school and it wouldn't be a terrible thing, right? But that's when my thoughts came at the matter from the opposite side. What if, what if, we just weren't able to get pregnant? What if it wasn't our awesome spreadsheeting that had kept us baby-less for the past few years? What if I just wasn't a very hospitable environment?! Commence the freak out.

Yes, yes, these are the kinds of things I think about. I am prone to moments of unbelievably irrational worries*.

So. Fast forward to six months ago. Baby fever had severely set in. I had finally reached a place of peace and intense desire regarding little Korean babies. We wanted to get a few more logistical ducks in a row before declaring Operation Baby Vermette, but with each passing week, I became more and more antsy. That clock people speak of? I now believe it exists because it is the most reasonable explanation to this sudden irrepressible need to have a baby. Now. When I wasn't silently freaking out about time passing me by [I still try to shield Jason from the depth of my inner crazy], I was actually pretty fascinated by the immediacy of the switch from "Baby One Day in the Future" to "Baby NOW." There may, in fact, be a physical baby switch hidden someone in my... intestinal mucosa? More research needs to be done. I'm on it.

And then... I got to experience the illogical What if I'm Pregnant thoughts with an entirely different set of emotions. Before we threw all of our perfectly formulated Baby Control methods out the window, I found myself hoping each month would magically declare that I had somehow become pregnant. Even though I knew this could not happen, just as it had not happened for the entire five year period preceding it. We were just too good for a surprise pregnancy. Or... Or what if I was broken?!

So that is how I spent the months leading up to The Month, fluctuating between hoping to spontaneously become pregnant and slogging through fears of This Will Never Be. But, the moment of truth finally came. We made the official declaration of kpluBlet or Bust. And... boom. First try. Worries and fears obliterated.

Thus ends the story of my Becoming Pregnant Fears. I feel a milestone has most definitely been passed. And, yet again, a lesson has been learned. It is completely illogical to be bound by irrational fears. All of those accumulated hours of worry? They amount to nothing. God has a plan [and thankfully, it had nothing to do with a second virgin birth] and a perfect timing to His plan. This has been the repeated prayer of ours, to not only believe in the goodness of His plan but to also trust in His timing. The latter is often much more difficult of a task, but oh, it is worth it.

Who knew a tiny little grape-sized person could be the cause of and immediate obliteration to years of needless fears and anxieties?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

You have eyes now. Only a fraction of an ounce in weight, and yet your eyes are developed. The realization of this nearly takes my breath away. I love your daddy's eyes. Sometimes they're brown. Other times they're green with a fascinating orange ring in the center. I like to hope you'll have his eye coloring. I know, though, that it is much more likely that you'll have my eye coloring, what I often bemoan is just "mud brown." He tells me I am ridiculous and says he loves my eyes, but I still think of my eye color as plain brown and unappealing.

I know this will change the minute I look into your eyes. The very moment I see your eyes, even if they are the exact hue as mine, I will know they are beautiful. I will know that I have been ridiculous to have ever dared to call this eye color "blah." You will teach me the error of my ways the second your eyes meet mine. And we will have beautiful eyes together.

You are perfect, made in the image of God. You are the culmination of years of prayer and the instant abolishment of all my irrational fears. You are the product of God's plan, timing, and love.

Grow, kpluBlet, grow.

*"Worrying is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but doesn't get you anywhere."


Secret Things #3: Names

February 2, 2014 - Week 8

Names. Oy.

Jason and I have our long-ago agreed upon first choice names for a boy and girl. I believe it was decided during the return leg of a road trip. Road trips are excellent for those kind of conversations.

I told Jason two first names that I really liked and told him to come up with appropriate middle names on his own. Obviously, I had already decided the two appropriate middle names, but I wanted to give him a chance to have some input. I'm a good wife like that.

So. He pondered for a bit. And then... He came up with the two middle names that I had already chosen in my head. It was really weird. But also really good. We have one brain between the two of us [that joke never grows old...]. No name bickering needed. No need for "compromising" and ending up with a child named Melchizedek Charlie Vermette.  And... that was one more tiny little item that could be checked off of our To Have a Baby checklist.

But that was months upon months ago. [We like to get the little things out of the way first.]

I am about to make a very silly confession, but I just need to get it out of my system. I need to acknowledge my ridiculousness. So, here goes.

Ever since that months upon months ago moment, I have kept my eyes and ears open, nervously awaiting for someone, anyone, to steal my baby's name. It does not help much that this past year was just a ridiculous explosion of everything baby. Someone seemed to have tweaked that hidden Facebook setting [probably located near the ever-changing and confusing privacy settings] that controls my news feed to Only Baby-Related posts. Everyone was having babies. Constantly. Like bunnies. And foxes.

I just knew that eventually, inevitably, someone was going to announce that their child was named my not-yet-conceived baby's name. And I was going to be super annoyed because that would ruin the name and I would have to figure out another perfect name [a nearly impossible task] and know for the rest of my life that the other baby was not deserving of such an incredible name and... I know this is ridiculous. I know. Hi, my name is Sharayah Vermette, and I am absolutely illogically ridiculous. But I have had these names in my head for months upon months and if, after all this time, someone else named their baby my baby's name... I would forever think of that particular baby as a hamster. [I blame Jason and his Scrubs (as should you if you are reading this and happen to be the unlucky parent of the now-forevermore hamster).]

Anyway. So far, so good. All babies have been named and my baby names remain untainted. But there are still many months for hamsters to spring up, so I continue to stay vigilant.

I do have another slight problem, however. I really like our little girl name. Why is this a problem, you ask? Well, the Vermettes apparently lean heavily towards boys. I am not sure of specific details, but it is a common comment that Vermettes have boys. I have always considered this to be a good thing, as I have always thought I would enjoy raising a house filled with boys only. They just seem easier for whatever reason. And they're much easier to name [good girl names, in my and Jason's opinion, are really hard to come by].

But, now... Now I want-. Nay! I need a tiny little half-Asian girl. To wear tiny little dresses. And to have her head adorned with tiny little headbands. And to build pillow castles filled with stuffed animals. And to teach how to throw a football. And, most of all, to bear the awesome name of ___!  

So, see, it is a problem that I adore our little girl name so much. Because I am currently under the impression that it is much more likely that we will have a boy. And if that turns out to be the case, I will have to hold onto this little girl name for who knows how long. And my head might burst if someone hamster-fies it before I can use it.

Do not, I repeat, do not hamster-fy my little girl's name. That is all.

Who knew a tiny little kidney-bean-sized person could elicit such ridiculous thoughts?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

I honestly do not care if you are a tiny little girl or tiny little boy. You will be mine, and I will love the stuffing out of you. You will have a name worthy of your incredible little self. A good name. A strong name. A name that will give the world just the faintest glimpse at the foundation of your character. You will do the name proud, I have no doubt.

And speaking of names, little one, I am still unsure what I want to be called by you. Mommy, Momma, Mum, Maternal Keeper. It is a difficult thing, assigning a new name to myself. I just don't know what name fits, you know? I have half a mind to just let you decide; whatever comes out of your mouth first, that will be my name [unless your first word is gleba*]. Because, really, what name fully conveys Protector? Intercessor? Bear-Hugger? Tear-Wiper? Forevermore Cheerleader? Whatever that name is, that is who I want to be to you. 

Don't worry. We'll figure it out. We're going to be a great team.

*The fleshy, spore-bearing inner mass of a puffball. No thanks.


Secret Things #2: Surprises

January 26th, 2014 - Week 7

I love surprises. I hate secrets. It is a terribly frustrating conundrum.

I love to be surprised. I want to be surprised. But I cannot stand not knowing what the surprise is. Here's my ideal situation:  Plan to surprise me, and I mean really really surprise me. Then, tell me there is a surprise. I will then pester you for hints about the surprise until... I guess the surprise. But! Do not tell me when I have correctly guessed the surprise. Instead, give a subtle eyebrow raise and then pretend [but not too well] that I was not even close to guessing correctly. Once I have come to the conclusion that I have managed to correctly guess the surprise, I will ask a few more clarifying questions for hints [some of them entirely unrelated to the answer I now 98% suspect is the true surprise], shout out jubilantly that I have cracked your surprise, and then settle back satisfied with my interrogation. You will then ask me to say what I think the surprise is and I will refuse to tell you and say that I am content to find out if I'm right when the Big Reveal happens. End of scenario. Until a few hours have passed. And then rinse and repeat.

This is how I do surprises. I love them. But I hate the not knowing part of it. I am pretty sure this is a key reason why I always read the last chapter of books first and look up football scores before I watch the game and read the series finale summary of a TV show before I am even halfway through the first season. I have an impatient soul and do not mind spoilers in the least. It is a bad combination.

However! I am getting off topic [can you get off topic before you really even get on the topic?]. Surprises. I love/hate being surprised, but I also love/hate doing the surprising. And obviously, the kpluBlet is my biggest surprise/secret to reveal... in 27 years. I want to tell the world, and yet apparently riding the dog like it's a small horse is FROWNED UPON IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT. Ahem.

So, to keep myself from bursting with this stupidly exciting news this early on, I have instead decided to focus all of this ridiculous energy into A) treasuring a secret that only Jason and I know and B) concocting brilliant ways for the Big Reveal to happen with our families. It needs to be brilliant as this will be Grandchild Uno on both the Millard and Vermette sides of the spectrum.

It's a difficult thing, coming up with a way to announce, "The world is about to become awesome!" Since most of Jason's family is nearby, we're trying to come up with ideas for an in-person announcement, but my family is all far away, so we have to think of an equally excellent from-a-distance announcement.

You always hear, "I better not find out about [big life event] via [impersonal communication medium of choice]!" But, I never thought to ask... What is your acceptable/preferred method of finding out? Obviously, in person is as good as it gets, but when you have to announce long distance... Hm.

The other day, we had to spend some Kohls Cash. We didn't really find anything we wanted/needed at the time, but we had to spend the $10 that day or it would be wasted. So we meandered into the baby section and...  Baby booties. Done. Purchased.

They are adorable. I want to put them on Puma, but Jason feels this would be a bad idea. Instead, we are probably going to send them to my family as part of their announcement. I will be sad to see them go. They are tiny knitted blue bears. Their names are Bumpy and Stumpy. I hope they fully comprehend the magnitude of their job. They are bearers [get it? get it?] of grand news. I am excited.

Anyway. Most likely, we will settle on a very not-at-all creative, "normal", and un-brilliant way of telling the news. And, most likely, both of our families already have at least a slight suspicion that an announcement such as this is in the making. But maybe, perhaps, we can take them unawares. Maybe, perhaps. And really, that's the best part of a surprise/secret.

Until then, the kpluBlet is just our little secret. Mine and Jason's*. It is a profoundly special thing.

Who knew a tiny little blue-berry-sized person could create such immense excitement?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

How I already adore you. I hope you have Jason's eyes. And my nose.

I hear your fingers and toes are already forming. Good job, little kpluBlet. Learn to wiggle them like a pro. I'll let you in on a little secret: The more you wiggle your hand toes and foot fingers, the harder it will be for your daddy to put on your socks and gloves. Trust me. He loves the challenge. So, wiggle away!

I await your arrival.

*Actually, the check-out man at Kohls may also be in on the secret...  He looked at the baby booties, looked at my feet, and then looked at the booties again. When he asked if we had a little one at home, I said, "Not yet." I think he figured it out. Sorry, families! 


Secret Things #1: Tears

January 19, 2014 - Week 6

I dislike crying. I don't like the uncontrollable feeling of it. I don't like the My Eyes Are Falling Out of My Head feeling of the aftermath. And mostly, I dislike the overwhelming feelings of frustration, anger, and apparently pent-up emotions from bizarrely unrelated times and thoughts and situations.

I don't cry when I'm sad.
I don't cry when I'm happy.

I cry when I just cannot find another way to express my extreme frustrations. As soon as I start crying, I get even more frustrated that I'm crying and, thus, cry even more. It is a frustrating cycle. But at least it's predictable. I prefer it over crying at random times.

A couple of weeks ago, though, the weirdest thing happened.

I am currently reading a 12-book series called the A.D. Chronicles. I was in Book 2 at the time. One of the stories weaved into this tale was that of a leper colony. After chapters of reading about their misery and their abandonment and their hopelessness... The moment had come. Yeshua stepped into their lives. And He healed them all. One by one. Inside and out. He healed them all. And the weird thing? I read it and could not stop myself from crying.

I do not cry when I read books. I consume books. I analyze books. I read them, put them down, and move onto the next one. But here I was crying. For seemingly no apparent reason. And no feelings of frustration or anger. It was weird and baffling.

But I shrugged and moved on.

A few days later, I came upon a picture of a lady lying on top of a gigantic dog. I do not even remember the story that went with it. Just picture gigantic dog and woman. And when I saw it, I felt it. That terrible [in my opinion] feeling at the bridge of your nose and the back of your eyes and the middle of your throat and the base of your chest. That feeling of impending tears. Over this lady and her gigantic dog.

I knew then and there that something fishy was going on. Something was up, and it was getting out of hand.

*cue suspicious music*

When I have a problem or question to resolve, I become probably unhealthily obsessed with it. I just cannot get it out of my mind for more than an hour or so. With my current suspicions such a Big Deal, I could barely focus on anything else and yet I was determined to wait it out, be patient, let time tell. And if having "What if? What if? What if?  What if?!" circling in your head on repeat for two weeks counts as being patient, then I am the queen of all things patient.

Time came and went. My normally routine self officially became no longer routined. We let more time come and go. We set a date for The Test. Saturday. We would take The Test Saturday. A few hours later, I decided Friday would work just as well. And, a little while later, I decided, what the heck, that very evening would work best. Yes, Thursday evening would be for The Test. Perfect.

Some small bullet points:
  • Shop-Rite is oddly devoid of Tests.
  • Tests are pricier than I feel they should be.
  • What I wished to make my Facebook status that day: "Sticks are meant for peeing."
I don't think that tiny blue line has quite set in yet. I kept staring at it while trying to contain my squeaking and hopping. It wasn't really a complete surprise as I had suspected there was a tiny little swimmer* inside of me for a couple of weeks now, but now it was confirmed. And my reaction? "I must find out how a pregnancy test works because otherwise it seems like a magic pee stick." Luckily, there were some nicely detailed, interactive demonstrations of the science behind the magic stick on the interwebs. Whew.

So. Now. I am beyond excited. What is beyond excitement? Just, indescribable joy.

Who knew a lentil-sized person could hold so much power over my emotions?  

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

I saw my first shooting star a while back. I became so excited I nearly forgot to make a wish. I know Star Wishing isn't a real or practical thing, but it was on my list of Things I Must Do Based on Things I Read in Books. So I did it. I squinched my eyes up tightly and wished, wished, wished.

I wished for you upon a star.

You're my dream come true.

I cannot wait to shake your tiny little hand.

*Jason says I have to stop calling the kpluBlet the "little swimmer" as technically no more swimming is happening right now. But I can't help it. I am picturing our little kpluBlet just swimming and swimming and swimming, exploring the digs and finding all of the cozy places to hang out for the next 8 months.


The big news

So, you've probably heard the news and seen the pictures. There's a little person growing in Sharayah. We'll be meeting him or her in September. We're obviously super excited for the times to come.

It wasn't easy for us to keep the news a secret for so long. As soon as we heard the heartbeat and saw the ultrasound, it was all we could do to keep from telling the world. The day we saw the ultrasound, we made a video to tell Sharayah's parents. Since they live too far away to tell them in person, our plan was to send them a pair of baby shoes in the mail with a link to the video with the news (why we already had a pair of baby shoes is another story). But, about 3 minutes after making the video, we couldn't take it anymore. We immediately sent them the link online and kept the shoes, waiting anxiously to get a call from them to share in our excitement.

For my parents, the next weekend was their joint birthday celebration, so we were determined to wait for that to tell them. We made an awesome birthday card with multiple pages of amazing crayon-drawn stick-people. At the very end, after the nice note wishing them a happy birthday, was a secret bonus page with the news. Trying to coordinate their birthday plans all week without revealing that we had big news and were planning to hijack their party was crazy hard, but we made it. Then, before we got to the card, my grandma informs us that she would like great-grandchildren from us soon. I had to play dumb like she was putting on the pressure and we just weren't ready yet. In the end, I think the surprise went off really well.

Over the weeks we've been writing secret blogs about it that we haven't been able to put up here. Actually, most of them are Sharayah, and they're really good. Apparently she's better than I am at expressing her feelings. Anyway, probably most of them will be added in the coming weeks with time stamps indicating when they were actually written.

Now, if you're starting to worry that this is another general life story blog that's suddenly going to turn into a blog by some parents constantly talking about their kids, you have nothing to worry about. By that, I mean it's definitely going to happen, so don't worry about it. Neither of us thinks there's anything wrong with parents' lives mostly revolving around their kids, so as we continue to tell our life story here, that's what you're going to hear about.

I suppose the blog will need a name change, as well. Yes, we'll have to rename it "The Mathematician and His Asians." Sounds about right. Has a nice ring to it.