I’m an uncle … again.  Or an auntie … depending on how you look at it.  My best friend Deirdre has reproduced yet again.  Another product of her loins is upon the earth.  I talked to her the day before yesterday and she was lamenting still being preggers.  Little did I know later that day she’d pop. 

The last time Dre was knocked up she went jogging right up until the day before she gave birth.  Jogging!  At 9 months pregnant!  If given the opportunity, she probably would have jogged to the hospital.  That’s what I love about Dre – she is virtually unfazed by anything.  

Her first kid Collin is a brick house … he’s mighty-mighty.  Her new kid Declan (yes, it’s Irish – get over it) came in to the world at a healthy 7lbs 9 oz and 20 inches. 

“It was all quite civilized this time around … 4.5 hours from beginning to end,” Dre wrote in an e-mail.  “He looks absolutely nothing like Collin, but he is sweet and healthy and we are blessed.” 

Since I have no desire to spawn, I have to live vicariously through my friends.  Come to think of it, Dre has not asked me to be her son’s godfather.  (Smart choice.  I’m sure my friend Kiki is wishing the same thing.  Her son Spencer is my godson.  Foolish, foolish mortal.)

I’ll have the opportunity to go visit Dre in March to see the bambino.  Hopefully, she’ll be able to have a glass of wine (or two) by then.  If not … more for me.