At Last

(There he is)

Dylan James Haley reared his sweet head -- which will surely sprout a mighty 'fro one day -- on Friday. Per happy text messages and picture mail, all is going well. Congratulations, Tom & Dawn! We love you!

Pass the Torch

(Mama!)

On a harried and unshowered afternoon about three years ago, Nicola and I were pushing double strollers around Castle Island in an incoherent trance, bonding over a traumatizing evening involving FeverAll suppositories and cracking up, tears rolling down cheeks, over imagined sound effects. Back at Nic's, we plied all four babies with Goldfish and blueberries and lamented the fact that we couldn't even finish an afternoon glass of Mother's Little Helper. It was a time when we were straddling the ridiculously thin line between sanity and postpartum craziness, self-proclaimed “poor little bastards” with Boudreau’s Butt Paste in our hair.


That's when Nic declared that one day we'll be beyond this, things will be easier. "We'll be showered, sitting on our arses, drinking wine, and it'll be someone else's turn." Indeed, the ceremonial suppository torch was passed after the Bags' family's 2006 night with toiletries from Brooks but this past weekend at Jen's cocktail baby shower, we realized that the day has dawned. Things have gotten easier. There we were in the South End: Showered, sitting on our arses, and drinking vino as we watched Jen open gift after gift of bewildering babyware, mistaking several items for puppets. (“Exactly how many puppets did your register for?”) Nic, Code Red and I sat back in cockeyed rebellion, running a commentary like these guys, fancying ourselves pass-out-on-the-roofdeck hilarious. We've come a long way but are still capable of regression when in the company of Jen, etal. As she opened up some receiving blankets, I recalled the evening we took a corkscrew to a bottle of balsamic vinegar, having mistaken it for pinot noir. Then we considered putting Ollie in the Baby Bjorn and heading to Beehive. What a fantastic night all around.

Still --even more evidence that the day has dawned – a Memorial Day cookout at Jess’s house, a true Babypalooza, with LPD, Jess and Auntie fostering chaos on a baby blanket. For us, it was the first year we didn't have to worry about the kids eating pine cones. They were actually able to help out and party with the beautiful wee ones and enjoy them as much as we did. This also maximized everyone's enjoyment of the yodeling pickle that Bags brought. I had to Google it the next day to make sure I hadn’t dreamt it. I didn’t. And it sounded just like this. Best of all, in the spirit of cooperation, all mamas and papas were able to sit on their arses, finish their wine and enjoy some (with apologies to LPD) fantastically plump, moist & juicy steamers. Thanks Jess & Joe!

Enjoy a crappy low-res slide show of a superior afternoon.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Baby Bags II: It's a Boy!

(Yo little brother)

If you are curiously hearing Nolan Thomas' 7-inch remix from V-66 in the background, there is a reason. It's in celebration of Jack's big brotherhood! Baby Bags II aka Daniel Joseph arrived last night at 10:33 p.m., weighing in at 6 pounds, 4 ounces, 19.5 inches long. He was scheduled to arrive via C on Tuesday but he's already proven himself an early bird, a trait he likely inherited from his dad. (Anyone who's received a text message from Bags at 4:14 a.m. can attest to this) All are doing well. Congratulations, Auntie, Bags & Jack. We love you all!

It's a Princess!

Yet another baby burd is here! Emily Ann, 7 lbs, 8 oz. arrived yesterday -- two weeks early -- at 12:15 p.m! All are doing well. Congratulations, Jess & Joe! We love you guys.

Now Playing: Sweet Baby James

Breaking: IT'S ON!

(Bring it)

UPDATE: James Stephen, (7 lbs, 3 oz, 19 inches) has arrived! Word came via cell while Cameo, Goy, Code Red and I were drowning our anticipation and anxiety over the impending birth in a few cocktails at Scarlet Oak Tavern this evening. Big welcoming toasts all around to Sweet Baby James. We love you, LPD & WMD. The entire Scarlet Oak wished you well and can't wait to welcome you back with a car seat. xoxo

LPD was scheduled to get induced at 6 a.m. today. According to Bags, "they run those inductions like a German train schedule over there" so we could have a new baby burd in the world shortly. Trying to restrain myself from calling WMD's cell every 10 minutes. Here's hoping for a speedy delivery!

When Vacations and Due Dates Collide

LPD writes (beautifully) about this year's trip, years past and the impending birth of Baby D. Enjoy!

It is said that among the greatest joys in this world is to bring a child into it. As WMD and I anxiously await the arrival of our own bundle o’ joy later this month, deep down I can’t help but be a bit bummed that childbirth is causing us to miss our annual vacation on Nantucket. Since Jess found our cherished Surfside rental some ten years ago, I haven’t missed a year. Until now.

The Burds are scheduled to board the Grey Lady for Nantucket tomorrow. Though I’m nine months pregnant with a due date a mere ten days from their departure, there are irrational, daydreamy moments when I plot to call in sick and sneak off for a day trip, just to have an hour at the “Tiki” bar for a [virgin] banana-strawberry daiquiri and feel that Vacation Day #1 vibe. Yes, yes, “there’s always next year,” but this trip is what gets me through each work week from August to June. The rare opportunity to spend a week of unbridled fun with your closest friends is a precious treat in our crazy, responsibility-laden adult lives.

Our short week on the island offers the chance to wake up every morning to the salty sea air, well-rested and beckoned by the smell of coffee and the sounds of pals happily chatting at the kitchen table, comparing digital photos and piecing together the events from the previous night (often while nursing serious hangovers with diet Cokes). The remains of the day include a short walk to lounge on the most beautiful beach in Massachusetts, horseshoes in the backyard, fantastic tunes on the Bose CD player, afternoon cocktail hours on the deck, and water giggles in the hot tub with more people than the max capacity allows. The beer fridge is always stocked with Pinot and Coronas and the Dirt Farmer is always watering his dusty million-dollar plot of land behind the house, whose crop is still a mystery to us after all these years.

Family style dinners with rounds of sangria-infused toasts “To Nantucket!” are followed by sing-alongs in caravan taxis as we head into Town. Cocktails ensue at the Chicken Box, Bamboo Supper Club, Cambridge Street, Gazebo or wherever else we can find that allows us to imbibe freely without techno music and underaged New Yorkers. The evenings end with late-night noshes and kitchen dancing back at the house, often followed by “hot-tubbing” (a verb) or a stumble to the beach to watch the stars and wax poetic ‘bout things pathetic. We retreat to our beds for peaceful, intoxicated slumber...then wake to do it all over again. Each day – each year – brings more laughter and greater memories than the last.

The impending birth of our first child brings feelings of such indescribable joy and I smile uncontrollably each time I think of meeting our son or daughter for the first time. However... I can’t help but think wistfully about another part of my life that I’ll be greatly missing this year. We’ll be back. As I pass along the infamous 3-column “LP Grocery List Template”, I hope our friends have another fabulous year at Smugglers Luck, and ask that they raise a glass (or several) to the new Baby D. I’ll be thinking of you all as I practice my breathing techniques.