The Curse of the Little Bambino

I about plunged into the world in the floor board of my father's car back in 1974. It was the first year they were letting dad's back to watch the birth. They wheeled in my mom and by the time my father had put on his gloves and scrubs, BADA BING, I was out. Having little boys in the Lane family would not be so easy after that faithful night, for the Bambino Curse began. Italians are usually good at producing 'little bambinos,' aka, baby boys. It comes natural.

Not in the Lane Family. I was the last boy produced in several attempts with various family members. Estrogen bomb, after estrogen bomb, the little BambinAS arrived.

Upon turning, 21, my grandfather began pressing the issue of how important it was for me to, stay alive long enough to have a son. (I honestly think that may be the only thing he has said to me in 12 years.) "You are the last Lane. You must carry on the Lane name," is what my father and he always say. When Mandi and I decided to have a baby out of wed lock, my family, I was sure was going to disown me, until I realized, "wait a minute... They need me as much as I need them." If I was to have a son, the other technicalities would be overlooked. Well, I guess it is not hard to figure out that in fact, I not only had a baby out of wedlock, (and had not planned to have a shotgun wedding,) but well, I had a girl. "Boy" was I in the shit house. My cousin, (Jennifer,) had no problems producing a boy. My sister at 38 years old had no problem, (will have no problem in December anyway,) in popping out a boy. Imagine that... THEY WEREN'T LANES anymore! Meanwhile, in my wife's family, they were having the same problem. Girl after girl after girl were being produced. They had not had a boy of any sorts for nearly 8 years and there had been a lot of offsprings since. Even in the extended families they were coming up short in the 'little pecker department.'

We were doomed. The odds were stacked against us. Mandi and I reluctantly knew that if we to have another girl we would have to try a third time. We had been real careful and decided on reading "the book" to assure we would get a XY mix the second time around. Then suddenly, we were a cliche' as we got pregnant on our honeymoon. It wasn't quite what we had in mind. The days and weeks pressed on. Mandi and I were both sweating bullets because she wanted a boy as well to be the first for her family and thank God pitied me. She knew my mission would somehow have to be accomplished. "If it is a boy, we're done. If it is another girl, well, we'll wait three to four years and try one more time.... But that's it!! You get two more chances," Mandi professed.  Shit, I didn't want two more times. I was barely making it through the first. The days closed in. Mandi and I both had come to grips with the fact that we were having another girl. 'Preston Velna' would be her name. It was destined. Karma, would come back and beat my ass.

YOU PAY FOR EVERYTHING YOU DO.

Tuesday we went for the sonogram. They made us wait twenty minutes. Within four seconds of the little thingy being pressed on Mandi's belly we knew.

It was over.....................................................................................................................

IT WAS A BOY! I damn near fell out. Anxiety rushed over me as she showed me his little winky. I had never been so relieved in my life. We had done it. I if a failure in everything else I did had produced a little Lane Bambino. We were going to keep it a secret until Thanksgiving. Mandi lasted about 10 minutes out of the doctor's office. Me.. Maybe 15. My grandfather will not know until about 2pm on Thursday afternoon. It may bring the morale up at the Lane Family Thanksgiving. (They had been getting quite bland.)

The curse had lifted. The Lane name will continue on for I am happy to announce that sometime in mid April, Boston Winslow Lane will explode into the world. The reason for his name.... One I love the name and have been waiting years to name him that name, (get past the city, and think about it,) and two, I find it fitting because I had called the drout of testosterone in the families, 'The Curse of the Bambino,' for the last eight years. It was fate that his name would be this. When he asks,why we named him this, I'll give him this exact story and say... "If this doesn't explain it, touch up on your Red Sox history, son." There really is no other name that will suit….