My polka-dotted pajama princess lies on her daddy, on the new couch on the new floor in front of the new fireplace, Peppa Pig playing above the new mantle. The monitor is a third presence in the room. It's a newfound joy to leave the bed on which my almost-one-year-old son sleeps and join the rest of the family. We sprawl, wearing the short-short pajamas, talking the same topics we've always talked, at ease of it being repeated at coffee row. We no longer share a home with our in-laws, residing in the home we planned for ourselves, built by the steady hands of devotion and madness. We're in.