Hey there, Tsar. Meet the Tsarina.

Nina Luna, 10 pounds and 1 oz. She's beautiful with kitten-soft hair and she is very, very sweet. And huge! Luke took a video of the first time that I held her, and I'm rocking her and cooing, "You're massive, baby girl. Simply massive." Which will give her a complex, my mother assures me, but hey. You can't be a true American without a complex, so might as well start early. Why not hit the ground running, yes?

Nina Luna is pronounced Loo-NAH, by the way. The Russian form of the word "moon". I was telling somebody that it sounds like you're oohing and ahhing at fireworks when you say it correctly. "Nina Loooh Naaaaahhhhhhh!" I think this is a fine thing, and that we should all ooh and ahh when we see and greet each other every morning. It'll help with those complexes. We could all use a little celebration, right? But apparently we have chosen the strangest name in history, and nobody can remember it or pronounce it, and she's going to be called Nina Luna or Looney or Nina Marie and we have doomed our daughter to a life of shame and mispronunciation.

Hi. I'm Mercedes. And I managed to survive, so I have hope for our sturdy, robust daughter. This is also exactly how the same scene played out with Niko. "Nikolai? Nee-ko? Nicko? Nick? That's terrible. Name him Jesse." This makes me smile.

Niko isn't so interested in his sister yet, unless she's crying. He finds that absolutely hilarious, and will lay down by her and put his ear to her mouth. Oh, yes, and he'll laugh. She's wailing her tiny little lungs out and he's cracking up hysterically, which seems to be the way of the world a little bit between brothers and sisters. He just likes the sound so much, and I find this grand. I think they'll simply adore each other one day.

I am quite happy, if you can't tell. And perhaps a bit punchdrunk. I always count that as a plus.