First things first: I have two new babies to announce. Despite my recommendation in last Friday’s blog, my new baby nephew was born February 7th—only one day after his father’s and uncle’s shared birthday. I thought it was very polite of him to avoid February 6th. My friend’s baby, however, made no such accommodation and was born on February 6th, making it very convenient for me to remember now that he’ll share that birthday with my brothers. (I have very few details other than an excited phone call from the proud Dad with promises of a more comprehensive update. I, too, am being economical with the facts because I haven’t gotten my friend’s permission to announce the birth here). I didn’t ask my brother’s permission either, for that matter, but because I am Supreme Ruler and Queen Boss of my siblings I authorize the announcement and that’s good enough for me: Henry Daniel Archuletta was born Saturday evening, weighing 6 pounds 5 ounces. He reportedly looks exactly like The Pum (that’s what we call his big sister, Ella). I’m relieved to hear everyone is happy and healthy.
So, while everyone else has been busy giving birth, I’ve been busy making new friends. Those of you who know me well, know that most of my friends are men. I attribute this phenomenon to several conditions: (1) I developed a “guy” sense of humor and communication style due to repeated exposure to my brothers throughout my formative years; (2) I am in a male-dominated profession and nearly all of my superiors and colleagues with whom I work directly are men; and (3) I can eat whatever I want and never gain weight—a trait that makes me universally unpopular with women. Nonetheless, I decided that I should try to diversify my friendships and have made a concerted effort to attract female friends. This week I hosted a dinner party for all the lady lawyers at work; I went to dinner with my friend, Barbara; and had wine and a nice chat with a fellow widow and new friend, Irene. I am making progress!
In fact, Irene and I had a conversation that we decided was blog-worthy and I promised I would share it here. We thought that “unwidowed” people don’t likely think about something as mundane as an Emergency Contact. But from the perspective of someone who feels isolated and like a little bit of an imposition to friends and family already (who are relied upon for everything from babysitting to jar-opening)—it’s a Big Deal. Unfortunately, for me, my family is too far away to be of practical help; my friends are too peripheral (they have their own spouses and kids to attend to first and foremost; and many are, likewise, too far away); and my children are too young. As a result, my Emergency Contact—the person who will get “the call” if anything bad happens to me—is my paralegal. Don’t get me wrong—my paralegal is wonderful. I do not mean to dilute her importance. But, it just sounds funny to say it out loud.
So, before I sound like too big of a loser, I’ll end where I began: with Happy Birthdays! And this one is for Garth. Cheers to you on your 38th!