My baby drools. A lot. It doesn’t really bother me though. I mean, babies drool. That’s what they do. There are worse things to come out of their orifices. Drool? Nuthin’.

A couple days ago, I was carrying Zaiah, who was doing his thing chewing on his hands and producing copious amounts of saliva.

A big bead of it fell onto the kitchen floor. Huh. Ok. No biggie, really. It’s just baby spit. Kinda funny, actually.

Then it happened.

Before I could get a towel to wipe it up, Trixie ran in there.

And licked it.

She drank his drool, people.

That’s just not normal! Sniffing butts? Ok. Licking her girlie bits? Sure. Eating cat poop? Why not? But drinking my son’s saliva?

I nearly threw up. And y’all know how I feel about throwing up.

Sick freak of a dog.

That is all.

Replace dirt with spit up, and that’s little Z.

I guess I can tell you his real name. At first I wasn’t sure I wanted to mention his real name on my blog. I’m not sure why. But I’m over it. I got over it when I realized I already mentioned it several times in public forums, and on his photos in my Flickr account. Duh, Crystal, duh.

You know we’ve been waiting for a baby for years and years. It was over five years from the time we started to try to grow our family til the time we brought baby Z home. Five years is a long time, people. A loooong time. We aint no spring chickens, you know. We waited five years after we married to try to have kids. We’re in our 30′s. Now that I’m 30, it doesn’t seem old anymore, but it sure seems like a long time to wait for a kid when we’ve already been married 10 years. When he’s 20, we’ll be 50. 50 is really old. (Sorry. It is. At least until I’m 50, anyway.)

Did I tell you about my 30th birthday present to myself? No? Oh. Well. You’ll just have to wait for another post, because this one is about baby Z’s name. So let’s get back to that, shall we? Stop distracting me already.

The entire 5+ years that we tried to have kids in one manner or another, we could never (EVER) agree on a boy name. We agreed on a few girl names, but never a boy name. In fact, our conversations on the matter would go something like this…

Me: What about *insert perfectly respectable boy name here*?

Him: No. Yuck. What about *insert strange/silly word or completely insane made up name here*?

Me: *eye roll* What about *insert another perfectly respectable boy name here*?

Him: No. I have a cousin named that. Hmm. Oh, how about *insert another random and silly word here*?

Me: *eye roll* Ooookay… well, how about *insert yet one more perfectly respectable boy name here* then?

Him: No way. My neighbor’s uncle’s sister’s kid’s first cousin’s schoolmate from fifty years ago was named that. And he was a jerk. So that totally ruins it for me. What about…

Me: NE-VER-MIND!

And so it went for five years. I figured we’d just have to have a girl. There was no way around it. But I knew deep down somehow that we’d have a son. I tried to ignore it because I was obsessed with pink, and boys are… boys! They have strange, foreign parts. They carry frogs in their pockets. They belch. Boys. Cooties! Yuck. (Sorry, hon.) But I knew. I also knew that our son would probably be named Baby Boy *insert last name here* for at least a year. Because my dear husband did not like any boy names. None that were normal, anyway.

So on that morning of September 2nd when, after very little sleep, I received a call from our case worker as she was working on our paperwork before traveling to the hospital to meet with Z’s birth mom to terminate her rights, and she asked, “What are you naming him? I need to put it in the paperwork.” I died a little. I thought we’d have the several hour car trip to hash it out once and for all. But no. We had thirty minutes. And my husband was out of town on business. So not only did we have just thirty minutes to make a HUGE life long important decision on which we couldn’t even manage to make headway for five years… we had to do it over the phone as he drove home.

I pulled out a notebook and my iphone and opened up a baby names app I had downloaded a long time ago. I wrote down all the boy names I liked, and added the one sane name he had managed to come up with in five years. It was not a super long list, but it was long enough to stress me out. How could we do this in such a short time frame? I thought the long car trip would be hard enough. How could we name a child we had never seen or met or felt or even knew about before yesterday?

I read the names on the list and he eliminated several of them. I crossed out a few myself that I no longer really liked. After a little time, we finally narrowed it down to three names. Then it got really hard. The name that I had been pushing for for the past year and Dustin kept rejecting was finally okay with him. But did I still want to use it? I wasn’t so sure.

Micah

Ezekiel

Isaiah

Those were the three. We liked Micah with Dustin’s middle name, Ray. We liked Ezekiel with David, and we didn’t have a middle for Isaiah.

We crossed one more off. Down to two. And just a couple minutes to go. What do we do? We looked over all the name meanings and played around with them a bit. After what felt like an eternity, we finally named our son that we had known about for a mere 24 hours.

Isaiah Micah. We weren’t sure about our choice, but we were out of time. When I called our case worker to relay the info, she thought it was beautiful and said it fit him perfectly. She was right.

Isaiah. Zaiah. Z. Little Buddy. Stinky McStinkerson. Gorgeous Boy. Little Man. Son.

We call him lots of things, but Zaiah is what I call him the most online. And Z is for when I’m too lazy to type four more characters.

So there you have it. Isaiah Micah is my beautiful boy (who doesn’t carry frogs in his pocket… yet… but IS a noise with spit up on it). A big noise. Loooooud noise.

See?

And did you catch those dimples? Awesome, aren’t they?!

I guess it’s about time to blog about my new son. Since he’s already 1/4 of a year old! He’s growing entirely too fast. Can’t I stop the clock for a bit?

Let’s go back three months.

*zooooooom!* (Cause all cool time machines go “zoom”, right?)

*zoooooooOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!* (Cause three months is a long time.)

It’s the incredibly hot morning of September 1st. I’m minding my own business (aka “sleeping”). My phone rings. I sleepily answer. It’s our case worker, whom I had just spoken to a couple weeks prior, walking away from that discussion discouraged that we would more than likely not be parents this year. She says something about a baby being born the day before. I yawn. We’ve been through this before. She says he’s ours if we want him. I perk up. We have not been through this before.

I blink in disbelief. Rub the sleep from my eyes a bit.

She tells me the story of Z, who at that time was just an unnamed baby boy. I don’t feel as though his story is mine to tell, so I’ll leave out most of the details. But I will say that it is one of love and joy, and heartache and pain all rolled into one tiny little amazing life. She tells me that he is an African American baby, born approximately five weeks early. He is under 5 lbs. Do we want him?

What a silly question. That would be a big, fat yes. Before I knew any details about Z, it was a big, fat yes!

But I say I need to call my husband and discuss it with him, and I’ll call her back. (Big, fat yes.)

Honey, do we want him?

Big, fat yes.

The next 24 hours is a whirlwind of craziness. Shopping, cleaning, coordinating schedules. And driving. September 2nd comes and we have a quick meeting with a local case worker to update our home study and pack our bags and hit the road, on our way to the hospital. Night falls and we are about to meet the most incredible little soul… the tiny little man that would become our son.

While my husband and mom (who is traveling with us) are practically jumping out of their skin, I am remarkably relaxed. The hospital staff take their time checking us in. We go up to the labor/delivery floor and check in with the nurses there. We meet a nurse who is incredibly hard to understand, but sweet. She gets us settled into our room and leaves to get the boy. She brings him in…

Wait. Nope. False alarm, people. She just brought pillows. Freaking pillows. Where’s my son??

She finally wheels him in, all wrapped up like a burrito, sleeping inside a clear plastic bin on top of a metal tray on wheels. His head covered by the same pink and blue knit hat you see on newborns across the country.

The first thing I see are lips. Gorgeous, full, pink lips. And the cutest little nose. And stunningly gorgeous mocha skin.

Love. True love at first sight.

The next few hours become a blur in my mind, but they are full of cuddles and pictures and kisses and happy phone calls.

I am home. Home is where the heart is, and this guy had it from hello. (Wow. Hello, cliche. Stop groaning, people. It’s a freaking Kodak moment, mmmkay?? It deserves a cliche or two.)

After a truly surreal night of watching and feeding and loving, it’s now the morning of September 3rd. We meet with even more case workers from our agency and fill out a pile of paperwork which officially makes him ours. We spend the next 24 hrs in the hospital with him. More watching and loving and feeding and learning to care for our new baby Z. All throughout the day and night, we meet several more nurses, all of them having something to say. About his birth mom. We are broken hearted that we do not get to meet this woman, but God sees fit to bless us with little tidbits about her. Even though we do not know her, we are blessed to learn about her. She is a woman of faith with a quiet spirit. Strong and confident. Lovely. Loving. She knew what she had to do, but it was hard. She showed an incredible amount of love for her son to carry him and then give us the opportunity to raise him as our own. She is giving us the most precious gift ever. The word thankful doesn’t even begin to describe how we feel. We remain hopeful that someday we can tell her… if we can manage to put it into words.

The morning of September 4th arrives and brings with it baby Z’s discharge papers. We pack up, tell the nurses goodbye, and begin our lifelong  journey through parenthood.

*MOOOOOOooooooz!* (Back to the present, right?)

You already know this, but he’s awesome. And beautiful. And strong. And hilarious. And truly the happy I’ve been waiting and hoping and praying for. There is a lot more to him and of course this post only covers a very condensed account of the first few days, but I’ll try to share a little here and a little there. If you’re on facebook, you already know a lot.

But isn’t he awesome?

My little boy Z as I first met him. *happy sigh*

Awww.

Tiny hands.

Tiny toes.

First family photo.

Ahhhh, my sweet and snuggly little miracle Z.

I found a missing piece.

We are finally home.

I’m completely and utterly addicted to my son.

This evening I was gathering his clothes, and picked up the sleeper he was wearing this morning before we started our day. I sniffed it. It smelled like him. My heart melted. I’m surprised there’s anything left of it, really, since he makes it melt at least 100 times a day. His smile… oh, his smile. I am convinced it’s the key to solving the world’s problems.

He’s awesome wrapped up in awesome with an awesome on top. And a side of extra special.

What’s that?

Oh, yeah.

I have a son now.

He’s three months old.

Also? He’s awesome.

Things you do not want to find in your bathroom sink when you wash your hands at midnight…

A small, see-through gecko climbing the sink walls, trying to attack you. Seeing lizard guts through see-through lizard skin. In your sink. Where you brush your teeth.

No, he was not selling car insurance.

No, he did not speak with a British accent.

Yes, he did take a trip down the drain.

Yes, I feel bad. Sort of. Not really. Maybe…

Gross.

That is all.

Signs you’re a shopaholic…

You fill four garbage bags with clothes that you no longer wear for one reason or other. Your closet is still packed as tightly as a can of sardines.

I loves me a good clothes bargain. There have been lots this year.

That is all.

I’m forgiven because You were forsaken,
I’m accepted, You were condemned.
I am alive and well, Your spirit is within me,
Because You died and rose again.

Amazing love,
How can it be
That You, my King, should die for me?
Amazing love,
I know it’s true.
It is my joy to honor You,
In all I do, I honor You.

~Chris Tomlin

My parents, Dustin, and I drove out to a cemetery in Rockport yesterday because we heard it was full of wildflowers. And it was. A beautiful sea of yellows and blues. I took around 600 photos! When we were about to leave, I saw two wooden crosses and walked around to the largest one to get a good photo. Then I saw the heart-shaped headstone nearby. Wow. What a perfect photo op for this weekend. God is good and His love is amazing indeed.

Have a happy and blessed Easter!

Spring has sprung! Flowers are blooming! Birds are singing! (And eating the oranges off of my mandarin tree!)

I wore shorts yesterday for the first time in a long time. Oh, how I missed them.

A little spring cleaning has been going on in our house. We’re working on getting the garage/studio cleaned and organized. It was scary in there, y’all. Scaaarrrrryyyyy. We’re getting close though!

What does spring bring to mind for you? Spring makes me think of gardens and flowers and wind and bunnies. I screwed up, bluggy buds. I had the opportunity to get a bunny last year. After 9 years of saying “no way, jose”, my husband finally agreed to let me have a bunny. And what did I do? I decided to be stupidly responsible and turn him down because “now is not a good time… bunnies and babies and doggies and businesses, oh my!”. Boo, Crystal. BOO! Still want bunny.

I guess the sugary chickadee goodness will have to do…

Happy spring!

Not from me though.

Nope, from my fellow metalsmith Jaime, of Bella-Bijou Jewelry. Jaime is a fabulous artist and really sweet too! Head on over to her blog to check out her lovely pieces and enter the contest.

http://bellabijoujewellery.blogspot.com/2010/03/something-special-for-you-giveaway-time.html

Good luck!

I’ve found I’m obsessed with orange lately. And pink. I used to hate pink and orange, but these days they make me happy.

So what do I do? Combine my new color obsession with my long standing flower, rock, and metal obsessions.

This is what happened:

Isn’t it just delish? Like orange soda on a hot summer day.

I confess. It laid around my house for nearly three months before I decided to list it in the shop. I don’t sell my happiness very easily. I hope it sells and goes to a lovely home that will love it as much as I do. I have other orange (and pink!) stones to keep me happy.

But if it doesn’t? You won’t see me crying.