How you know you're going to have a big baby

He simultaneously reaches for your hipbone and kicks you in the esophagus.

Dear Second Son, I'm Apologizing Already

We've finally named the kid. It was a lot like naming Paolo. We knew we were possibly doing a great disservice to our offspring, but we couldn't help ourselves. We're doing it again. Brace yourselves.

We are waiting for you, Gianluca.

OverHeard at Home

Your orange juice intake this pregnancy has been abominable. Our kid's probably going to have some horrible disease that you could have prevented, like citric fibrosis.

Okay, okay, let's play Simon Says again, Mama. This time you be Simon...and I'll be Says.

Alone but not lonely.

Last night was a big night for our boy. Apart from the toy box, which awaits a second coat of paint, Paolo's room is officially ready to be occupied. We'd been telling Paolo he was getting his own room, and he was cool with it, as long as we didn't move his bed. He was very firm on that; he was scared to sleep alone. I assumed he'd flip yesterday after school when he saw his bed in his new room, but he didn't. In fact, it was eerily easy putting him to bed last night. With next to no fuss, he fell asleep as I sat beside him.

At about 2:00 in the morning, I awoke to a wild party being thrown by Paolo's flamenco-dancing, hiccuping little brother and, since I was up, I tiptoed to Paolo's room to check on him. I soundlessly opened the door and peered into the darkness. In the glow of the nightlight, I saw Paolo sleeping peacefully in his bed and Sam sacked out with a pillow and blanket on the floor next to him. You know, just in case. In case his little boy should wake up on that first night, disoriented and afraid, he wouldn't have to take a single step to find comfort.

That's what I love about my family, and what I think "family" is supposed to mean: never feeling alone.

Great concerts

Billy Bragg at the Filmore in San Francisco, Freedy Johnston opening (2000). Excellent venue, of course. Very purple. I'm a Freedy fan, too, so attending this concert was a no-brainer. Billy Bragg was tremendous, peppering the performance with socialist commentary and admiration for the World-Cup winning U.S. women's soccer team.

Lush in Dublin (1996). This was an unexpected delight. I was in Dublin on one of those university study abroad two-week courses. A friend that I met on the trip was also heavily into Britpop, so when we saw the flyer for the concert, we got tickets and blew off our night class. Shortly thereafter, the drummer committed suicide and the band split up. So, lucky me.

Morrissey in Lawrence, Kansas (1998). Damn, that man puts on a show, whipping the microphone cord around like a lion tamer. Highlight was the lookalike worshipper who threw flowers, and later himself, on stage.

Oasis in Minneapolis (1995). So cool because we drove eight hours in winter for the concert, which was in the university campus concert hall - such a small venue for the likes of the Second Coming.

Cranberries in Kansas City (1995). The concert was fine, but the truly memorable part was the drive home during which Sam and I were pulled over for speeding. The police searched my car, which was laughable because there was nothing contraband in it except that RIFLE that Sam forgot he had in the trunk. I'll never forget shivering on the side of the road with my hands on the hood of my car, wondering exactly how much trouble I was in, warmed only by the guilt rolling off of Sam in waves.