I’m sorry I didn’t write to you last week, when you were an apple, but it was a busy week for the three of us. You’ve now been to three baby showers that aren’t your own. We went to a restaurant for the first time since January and had a meal as a family without making Mommy feel like she’s been pounding shots of tequila on spring break. Your legs are growing longer! Outside, the tulip tree in the front yard is blooming, and the daffodils are exploding all over the place.

The warmer weather means I’m doing some research on new cars for getting the three of us around, because the Lockardugan fleet has a total of four doors for two cars. You see, we own two perfectly good, working, dependable coupes that are completely impractical for taking you anywhere, which means that one of them will have to go. As sad as I am to get rid of one, I’m looking forward to a new car. I’d like a full-size American pickup, but I’m setting my sights smaller, on something like a Honda Fit or a Nissan Versa. I know it’s not a sexy as a BMW or a Land Rover, but I don’t think you’ll notice the difference from the back seat.

Then, there’s car seats. At the Target the other night, we looked at the latest models, and I doubt I can get some of those things through our front door, let alone into the back seat of an automobile. Consumer Reports had an article that has me completely freaked out about any kind of car seat at all, because apparently all the good ones are made in Europe, and eight out of ten seats tested didn’t protect the test subject in a side impact. Avocado, I don’t want anything to hurt you, so I hope you can forgive me for the crash helmet and Nomex fire suit you’ll be wearing until the age of three. It’s cool, though-I’m going to do it Evel Knievel-style, with the cape and the scepter and everything.

We had a little scare with our insurance policy this past week, too. Your parents have insisted on employing themselves in the most economically sensitive industry imaginable, which means we pay stupid amounts of money to make sure prescription drugs don’t force us to declare bankruptcy. It turns out we have deductibles for each of us as people, and both of those combined equal the family plan. So Daddy has to fall down some stairs and charge up the hospital bills before they’ll take care of you. Do you see how much I love you? Now, let me show you how to dial 911 on my cellphone again.

Even though we’ve shopped a lot for other babies, we haven’t started buying stuff for you yet. You’re going to be a suprise, but we’re not letting that determine specific colors or themes. I think we’re going to make the front bedroom yours, which means we need to find a place to store the crap that’s in there right now-you’d think with all the room we have in this house we’d be able to find a place for some beds-but things have gotten a lot tighter around here lately.

Your father has been busting his ass to get the front porch fixed up before your arrival, and every day brings a new challenge. Like the ceiling joists, for example. The guys who put them in weren’t familiar with a tape measure, or building codes, or complicated stuff like that. No, they just toenailed a bunch of two-by-fours into the side of the house and stuck a roof on top, which makes the fact that it hasn’t collapstigated once in the last eighty years an architectural miracle. I admit, the tempation to vault the ceiling is very strong, but I want to call in a friend who knows some more about building to see exactly what’s possible before I get my hopes up. Whatever the case, it’s going to take a little more time than I’d hoped.

At this point, Europe is looking better and better all the time, kid—public transportation, sturdy car seats, socialized medicine, a ban on corn syrup, and one Euro is worth an entire house. And, they know how to make good beer. Think you’d like to learn Italian?