Well, it is now the end of February 2010, and we are expecting the arrival of a new baby late in March. Since Mom is a board certified obstetrician/gynecologist, I will take her word for the statement that she is about to have another baby and not just putting on a lot of weight from over eating. I also accept her statement that it is to be another boy. I am to have a brother! Yea!

          I remember what it was like when I was in utero, so I can sympathize with my new brother in his presently cramped quarters, anticipating delivery/deliverance into the world of beans and barbeque.

          From another perspective, everyone has been talking about this new baby more than about me for quite a while, so I will be very happy when he finally gets here and becomes just another ordinary normal baby who gets only his fair share of the attention around here. And the little dickens has decided to be born just before my second birthday. Face it. Up to now I have only had to share the limelight with Francis, our dog.

          I have been told that Grandpa Seamus is coming up to celebrate the event, so I know we will be eating exceptionally well once he has command of the kitchen. The weather will still be cold, so I know we will be enjoying warm, spicy, drop dead delicious soups and stews with lots of beans and peppers. I really love that kind of food, and I miss it when he isn’t here and I’m not visiting in Texas. He and I have been talking about this for a few months, and I know he has an agenda for me when he gets here.

          A few weeks ago he asked if I was wearing underpants or still in diapers, and he was upset to hear that I am still in diapers. He said that even if there is still snow on the ground, he plans for us to go out in the back yard where he is going to teach me to pee standing up like the cowboys do down in Texas. Mommy has this terrified vision of Grandpa and me standing in the back yard where the neighbors can see us and peeing on the lawn. Grandpa calls this a rite of passage and has told everyone to stay clear of the yard if they think this is a bit outside the envelope for them. According to Grandpa, they have no business watching us pee in the back yard anyway. That is just between Grandpa and me. I am really looking forward to this seminar. Grandpa says that boys have to learn at a very early age how to use their equipment competently. He considers this basic training, somewhat like soldiers receive when they join the Army. He has a poem about it. “This is my rifle and this is my gun. This is for fighting and this is for fun.” I plan to memorize that poem and recite it for everyone at nursery school.

          Among the issues of the day nowadays is the selection of the name for my new brother. Grandpa Seamus insists that a boy have a very masculine, assertive name, just like mine. He was thrilled when mom and dad selected Gunnar Matthew for me. He has “suggested” that my new brother be named Michael Anthony. I have a weird feeling that mom and dad have another name in mind. I think his name may be Eric Logan. Grandpa likes Eric, but thinks that Logan is ridiculous, and that the poor kid will be called Loagy Logan by his friends, suggesting that he may have bowel issues. Grandpa doesn’t mind Nordic warrior names, and has suggested that if mom and dad want to stay in that vein they could do a lot better without Logan for a middle name. Eric Michael appeals to him, and he jokingly suggested Eric Ragnar and a few other weird names from old Viking movies he has seen. But Grandpa thinks Michael Anthony sounds like the name for the future leader of the free world and that the poor kid’s options should not be circumscribed by some sissy middle name that suggests constipation. When he stopped kidding around about the name, Grandpa told me that he best friend was named Michael John Tulloch, and that he was a genuine war hero, Special Forces with two tours in the Viet Nam war. The name Michael is very special to Grandpa, and if my new brother were named Eric Michael Lee, Grandpa would probably be in an exceptionally celebratory mood when he gets here later next month.

          I understand that people will be bringing me lots of presents when my new baby brother is born so that I don’t get jealous that he is getting so much attention and that such a fuss is being made over him. I think that bringing me lots of presents is an excellent idea. Maybe people are smarter sometimes than they normally seem. Lots of the time, people seem oblivious to current circumstances. I hope that when this story gets published more people understand the importance of bringing me presents.

          Speaking of which, I wonder when Grandpa and Aunt Belinda are going to give me my first real gun. How old do I have to be to start learning about firearms and how to use them? Does every kid in Texas walk around with a side arm or at least have his own hunting rifle? Grandpa is a Life Member of the NRA, and he and Aunt Belinda always pack. If I lived in Texas with them, could I pack too? What caliber pistol should a two year old carry?

          Grandpa has other agendas for this trip in addition to cooking and peeing in the back yard. Someone told him that I tend to be somewhat aggressive, just like he has always been. In our last conversation – now that I am no longer talking in gibberish – he suggested that we spend some time talking about situation management, so that I have more success in socializing with lesser lights than he has enjoyed with his “kick ‘em around” attitude about everything. He doesn’t want me to have to experience the difficulties that he has enjoyed because he can sometimes be socially inept. Mom says this is quite an adjustment for Grandpa, and that her recollection of his approach was that it tended to be “Kill ‘em all. Let God sort ‘em out”. She likes this new approach, which, so she says, obviously represents Aunt Belinda’s influence on him. I am curious to see how someone like him tries to moderate his aggressive tendencies in favor of a more tolerant approach. This ought to be fun to watch.

          Mommy thinks that, although some women are attracted to warrior types, once they get him home they would just as soon the warrior tendencies moderated a bit. Warriors belong in combat and in bed, according to Mommy. I wonder what that means?

          I have a new girl friend in nursery school. Her name is Claire. I really like her a lot, and I think she likes me a lot. Mommy is concerned about commitment at my age, but Grandpa Seamus said he had a girlfriend named Claire once and that while it was very exciting for a while, and he has no regrets about her, it wasn’t anything that anyone had to worry about from a long term perspective. I intend to just take it as it happens and enjoy it while it lasts. Besides, I don’t even know anything about anything that might make someone worry about consequences.

          Claire isn’t my first nursery school romance, and I doubt she will be the last. I expect to become involved with other girls when I get to elementary school also. I wonder how elementary relationships with girls are when you are in elementary school. They are more advanced than the nursery school girls. I don’t expect to learn that much from Claire, but will the elementary school girls know more about life and be ready for things I haven’t experienced yet? I can’t wait to find out.

          Mom says that Grandpa Seamus should always be my “go to” guy about matters pertaining to women. She says that his stories on www.SeamusMuldoon.com are a virtual encyclopedia on the subject of wanton womanizing, hard partying and living dangerously. She also warned me that following Grandpa’s example will probably lead to an early death. Mom says that while he is genetically indestructible, he is actually falling apart mechanically and that he is held together by screws, bolts and assorted titanium implants, somewhat like an old truck on its way to the scrap heap. When I asked him about this, he simply said that nobody could expect to spend twenty years with Aunt Belinda without needing to get his back fixed from time to time. I’m not sure I understand what that means. Oh well!

          Grandpa is very happy that our home state of Michigan has recently changed its handgun laws and now recognizes Texas permits to carry concealed handguns. He always packs when he is up here anyway, but now he doesn’t have to worry about being arrested for it. He says that an armed society is a polite society. I just love all Grandpa’s bullshit sayings. He has some weird off the wall remark about every subject in the whole world. For example, he is very happy that Mommy is his only child, because he thinks that a man is only as good as his worst child, and Mommy is a doctor. My parents never say things like Grandpa does. They are, come to think of it, rather boring. Mommy told me that when she was a little girl and would go visit Grandpa in Texas they would always ride everywhere on one of his motorcycles, and that by age 12 she had been in every biker bar in Houston. Grandma Sally used to be horrified when Mommy would return from those visits and tell her all the things she saw going on in those Texas biker bars. Kids can spend time in saloons in Texas if they are there with their parents. I like everything about Texas. I wish we lived in Texas.

          I wonder if Mommy intends to have any more children. Grandpa says that he hopes we don’t follow the typical Irish custom of breeding ourselves into poverty. I have no idea what that means. Is that just another one of Grandpa’s sayings?

          This weekend has been a bit different. I fell down and busted open my face up by my right eyebrow. There was blood everywhere and Mommy had to take me over to her hospital’s emergency room where they stitched me up. Now I look battered, and Grandpa said that the hospital will probably report Mommy for possible child abuse and that children’s protective services investigators will probably come around to see if I am a battered child. Grandpa Seamus told Mommy to tell everyone that I got hurt in a bar fight, because no real man wants people to think that he busted up his face falling down in the shower. Mommy asked him what he thought about postponing my two year old pictures until my face heals up, and Grandpa said that the stitches and swelling will make me look like a real future force recon Marine and will make the bar fight story more believable. Grandpa said that with the picture of the busted up face and the bar fight story, no one will ever stop to think that a two year old could never have been in a bar fight. It will be a great story, and Claire will really think I am someone she can count on to stand up for her in a tight situation if need be. I can’t wait to parade my face around nursery school on Monday. Grandpa thinks it may be time for me to get a tattoo.