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Logan Thomas Clarke entered our lives at 11:47 p.m. on Nov. 5, 2008. He was 13 days early, although my wife and I had long suspected her doctor had miscalculated the due date by about two weeks.
Logan was 7 lbs, 13 oz at birth and 20.5 inches long.
Actually, at birth, his name wasn’t Logan. It wasn’t anything, really. Earlier in the day, as my wife labored, a nurse asked us if we had decided on names. I was sure we had settled on Ezra John if we had a boy and Gretchen Ruth if we had a girl. But Leah waffled. She said we hadn’t decided on names for either sex. Apparently, Logan was still in the running, as was Eleanor Ruth.
We decided to wait and meet our son or daughter before choosing a name.
When the doctor held up our baby, I declared “It’s a boy,” and our list of possible names was promptly cut in half. The nurses cleaned him off and placed him on Leah’s chest. We stared at him for a few minutes before I asked Leah how she was feeling about names.
“I like Logan,” she said.
“Logan Thomas Clarke,” I said. It was settled.
