It’s December 26th. Gifts are open. Bills are on their way. All that fancy wrapping paper is in trash bags on the curb. And our bellies are stuffed with dead animal meat and creamy, buttery goodies. I hope your Christmas was merry and bright.
The Viola’s Christmas was great…mostly. We each (Me, Michelle, and Ava) battled through nasty stomach bugs leading up to the jolly fat man’s day, but we made it through and enjoyed the day with family.
My best gift? Michelle found a site that publishes blogs in book form. So all the old blog posts from this site are now in a hardback edition, complete with all the photos. BEST. GIFT. EVER.
I must say that Christmas came early for us this year. As I briefly touched upon in the last post, Michelle and I threw our annual Christmas party where we unveiled the gender of little Baby V part deux. That party and moment was so fun and memorable, I feel it deserves more coverage.
It all started with Michelle. Being as creative as she is, she can’t do things like a normal person. So instead of just getting the sonogram and finding out what the sex of the baby is, she had to make an event out of it. I’m glad she did, but at the time I thought it was bullshit. I’m not great at waiting.
However, for the one millionth time in our relationship, I lost the argument and the plans were set in motion. We had the sonogram. The only thing we were told is that the baby looks very healthy. The nurse was great and very loyal to our plans. She didn’t even cave when I tried to bribe her to tell me the sex. I also bought a “Sonograms For Dummies” book before we went, but never got around to studying it….just like high school.
The sonogram nurse put the sex in two sealed envelopes where we were unable to read it even when we (read: I) held it up to the light. Why two envelopes you ask? It’s because Michelle is so thorough that she wanted a confirmation envelope to open once we cut into the reveal cake to make sure everything matched up.
After much searching for a bakery that would actually dye the cake batter (thanks again to Bethel Bakery) we handed one of the envelopes over to them. At this point the only ones who knew the sex were the sonogram nurse and the baker. That’s it. The worst part about all of this is that we had to wait nearly two weeks from having the sonogram to have the unveiling because of Michelle’s sister’s wedding. I said, “why not just have it before the wedding?”
Michelle gave some crappy answer about not wanting to take attention away from the bride. Screw that. I’ve been taking attention away from people my whole life. I can’t help it that I am a star and that I shine bright. Long story short, I lost another argument.
So Michelle’s sister got married (whoopee friggin’ do) and we had our almost-famous Christmas party the following weekend. With close friends and family around, the cake cutting anticipation was at a fever pitch.
Michelle was very paranoid about the cake. Leading up to the party she actually had dreams about the cake getting smashed or someone knocking it over. So when the party came and the cake was out, she politely told everyone that if someone did something to the cake, accidental or otherwise, they would have an ice pick jammed in their eye and she would cut out their heart with a rusty spoon. People didn’t laugh when she said this, you could hear the sociopathic tone in her voice.
The cake was safely perched upon a cake stand. Next to it was a fancy frame with texted that read, “What kind of baby did Michelle & Mike make. The only one who knows for sure is the cake.” Surrounding the cake were blue and pink cupcakes. Before we would cut the cake, everyone was to take a colored cupcake of what they thought the baby will be.
It must also be noted that it seems our guests made very merry this year. More than most other years. The volume of alcohol that was consumed was considerable. Also, very little food was left over as well. I didn’t have the heart to tell Michelle that studies have found that when threatened with their lives, people tend to eat and drink more.
As soon as the last person took the last bite of dinner, everyone had enough of waiting and wanted that damn cake cut. Me included. So, we went around the room with our video camera and got everyone’s prediction on film. They took their cupcakes and surrounded the table. With a terrible drumroll, ala the Christmas Vacation light scene, we cut the cake. Michelle cut into it, then I took another knife and cut the other side of the slice. We both took the cake server and slid it under, a brief dramatic pause, lift, and bright blue.
The room erupted in cheers, screams and applause. I never heard a cheer so loud and I have been to championship sporting games. It was all captured on video, which is something we will always treasure. It’s moments like this that make life great. Looking back on the video I see my dad is glowing with pride. I know this meant a lot to him. Although my sisters have boys, this one keeps the Viola family name going. He has a brother, but he has only girls.
Before the cheers die off, I am already popping a champaign bottle. I give a little speech that is heavy on the sap and we celebrate with a drink. Michelle toasts with Welch’s sparkling grape juice. I eat a piece of the cake and I realize it is the best tasting cake I ever had. We kiss Ava and tell her she is going to have a little brother. She rubs Michelle’s tummy.
After much debate that makes the NHL negotiations looks like a tea party, Michelle and I decide upon Vincent Peter Viola as his name. I came to the table with Santino. Michelle came to the table with divorce papers. We settled on Vincent. It was my number two, I can’t complain, plus my dad’s name is Peter Vincent, so it makes my pops happy.
Like I said, Christmas came early. All I ever wanted is a healthy baby. Honestly. I have no preference. I will admit I am glad I am having a boy who can potentially carry one the Viola name, but other than that, boys and girls are equal blessings. I will have Ava and Vinny hitting balls while the other fields. I will be just as proud, if not more so, of watching Vinny playing an instrument in a recital instead of playing second base in a ballgame.
I have lots of hopes and dreams for my kids, but to start I just want them to have 10 fingers and toes.