Exhibit A: Moves. These are essential. When approaching a hottie at the bar, you’re never gonna get the time of day right away, even if you bring her a Red Bull and Goldschlager THAT YOU PAID FOR. Why? Who knows. Women. But that’s when you’ve got to bust a move and BLOW HER MIND.

Exhibit B: Relentlessness. Sticktoitiveness. No means Hells-to-the-Yeah. Positive attitude! She wants you! They all do!

But make no mistake, his passion is as fiery as that of any Madrileño. Here he explains the process:

And here he demonstrates (albeit with a pretty lame (castrated?) bull, who just woke up):

And, okay, yeah, he’s got some World Cup fever as well…

So back to birthing. According to the hospital record, labor officially started around 6pm Thursday night, when Kirsten told me the contractions were taking over and it was time to head for the hospital. On arrival, the midwife tells us that Kirsten is close to 7cm dialated and we’re well on our way. “I expect we’ll see this baby after midnight,” she says. 12:30 is after midnight, I think.

For the next few hours Kirsten shouts. This would not make for an unusual Thursday night, what with the messes I leave in the kitchen, but this time she’s naked in a jacuzzi and trying to pull my arms off every few minutes. I haven’t really seen my wife scream in pain before. Much less repeatedly, for hours. This is going to be an unusual Thursday night.

12:15am, we’re back in the birthing room, pushing starts. Somehow it seems sensible that my wife is howling in agony for the 4th straight hour, yet I am cheerleading. Never one to gush in the affirmative, I now have to come up with some positive spin on how each push moved our 2nd born another millimeter.

Push #10: Kirsten is exhausted. This is hard work.

Push #27: Kirsten alternates between trying to push her insides out, and sleeping. Kind of like our cat in a sunbeam on our nice rug.

Push #77: I can see a little bit of a little head. My eyes are at least as dialated as Kirsten’s cervix. She swears she lacks the strength to push again, but we’re so close!

Push #94: Crowning begins! I think every next push will the be last. I’m keeping careful track of the song playing, calculating whether it is suitable as THE birth song. “Girl from Ipanema” comes on. I hit skip. It would have been weird. The nurses must have all looked at each other before resuming their tugging and prying and cajoling of Kirsten.

Push #146: Doctor says the tissue just isn’t going to stretch enough, she’s going to make a cut. Hoo boy. Is the epidural Kirsten hasn’t used still available? Or even just some spray paint and a paper bag?

Push #147: The head is actually out! Wow, I think when I see the size. We weren’t even close to getting that through.

Push #148: The rest is out! It’s 3:31am. And to think that midwife promised us 12:30.

Push #148+something: The placenta is out. Placentas are big! And look like insides.

After 3:16 of pushing and no drugs, Kirsten had done it. We had a new little boy, and he was beautiful. Of course I checked the song when he finally emerged, and I kid you not: “Superwoman” by Stevie Wonder. Apropos.

After a few days, we even named our little boy: Degan Thomas Strong. Thomas represents family on both sides, and Degan we just liked. Here are some pics from his first couple days, say hi!

Well, sorta. The set of things that eat continued to expand. The neighbor’s dog. The fish in the fish tank at a nearby preschool. The bus. The zoo. Hmm. Maybe he doesn’t totally get it. Then recently Kirsten was changing his diaper, and the guy found (as he sometimes does) his, um, peepee. You know, something kids do, totally normal. Anyway, Kirsten informs him that it’s called a penis. “Penis!”, says Driscoll. “Eat.”

Now, if all you know about us is what you read on this blog, you probably think that we share a house with my parents, and sister, and sister’s family. We don’t, but to continue that facade we packed up the family and flew down to Houston for the holidays, making December something like the 5th consecutive month in which we saw them. Despite the fact that they live 1/2 of the country away. Kinda creepy, really. We do have other friends.

Visiting Houston in winter is fun, because the weather there tends to be spring-y, while the weather here is often at its nadir. Plus, spending the holidays without family kinda feels weird and empty to me, though I’ll likely have to get used to it as holiday travel grows more complicated in the coming years. But that’s a worry for another year. On to Houston!

Want a taste of what the big day was like at the Strong household? Does it get any more fun than this? You get a good look at some of our presents as well. Kirsten made the broomstick ponies that Driscoll is modeling, and we had the “pie!” t-shirts screen printed in honor of Linney Pie. Oh, and our new camera definitely does something weird to my voice. There’s no way I sound like that big of a dork in real life.

Pie. Pie is of the essence.

We tagged along with the genetics wing of the family, as my mom and brother-in-law attended an American Society of Human Genetics conference in Honolulu. We landed a sweet house on the beach near Waikiki, and spent our days getting tan, chasing rainbow colored fish, surfing, and eating too much Mahi-Mahi. Which are good ways to spend days. Well, half days, with naps and all. But anyway, see!

We needed something. Some highlights, a nip, a tuck, some manscaping, and some draw-in abs; it was time for a makeover. Witness, the new Scion.

It’s little. It’s sporty. It’s got a stereo that talks to my ipod. It’s fun, and the mpg is somewhere near my age (which, unfortunately, is good).

Finally, our blog will appeal to that influential 18-24 demographic! The creative class! Because they want to see pictures of my kid and my sister’s birthday parties… right?

Know what’s less fun? When you’re supposed to be in Hawaii right now, but everyone else in your family woke up sick.

Here’s a good one of me and the little fella, on the Shrollys’ deck.

By the way, protect my route and Save Helvetia!