Letter to XMas Baby... my son!

It’s 3 4 in the morning. The light from my phone is lighting up my face like an interrogation. On Google I just searched “how to hold an newborn without breaking it.” The second result is “how to assemble an Ikea crib without swearing.” The third is a psychologist. Maybe I should start with the third one.
And yes, folks, my life is changing!
News arrived, ominous, with the energy of lightning striking a centuries-old oak, indelibly tattooing its memory on the scorched bark. I’m becoming a father!

I called Filippo. I told him I’m becoming a father. Silence so long I checked if he’d hung up. Then, with a voice I’d never heard from him: ”You’ve finally stopped giving up on playing.” Pause. “You did really well, Pablo.” And he ended the call. Filippo almost never says “well done.” He’s said it twice in six years. That was the second time.
And as I stared at my phone in a daze, he called back: “Can I be the godfather? At least then one person in the family will turn out right! “.
I’m not prepared for what’s ahead. All I can do is what I do when I don’t know what to do: write. I’m writing directly to him, to my son.

Dear baby who will be born in 6 months and 23 days,

I’m writing you a few lines so you can know what your father was like before you were born.
They say that a baby’s arrival profoundly rewrites the parents’ DNA, so Paolo-after-you will definitely be very different from Paolo-before-you. I’ll probably be less reckless, more thoughtful, less carefree. It scares me a bit: I don’t see myself as conventional, cautious, careful. Me, the one whose motto is “Only Imagination as a limit!” But it’s no longer time for bold adventures… in 6 months there will be something extremely precious to protect: you.
I wasn’t expecting your arrival. I had resigned myself to living a bachelor’s life, between parties, floral threesomes, and many things you can’t understand yet, but—trust me—they’re pretty fun! As Articolo 31 says in “La Fidanzata,”

My life is a casino
Every night at King Mauri’s club
With the boys from the crew
Scheming like it’s a bank heist
To hunt down the girl to take to bed
Though we’re not short on female company
Foreign adventurers
Loves that turn out to be illusions
You can see them disappear
In the morning light like a dream

And instead… now everything changes! Can you see me at the supermarket—a physical store!—buying diapers? Cooking you baby food, me who orders even salt on Deliveroo?
But I confess that… I can’t wait!
It will be beautiful to hold you in my arms when you’re born: I can already see your almond-shaped eyes, like your mother’s. I hope you get her fair, luminous skin. You’ll have her Grand Canyon sky-colored eyes, that super saturated blue you only see in the States. I’ll give you my Alexandrian nose, like those ancient statues. You’ll be a little Greek god, half Asian, half Sicilian, part Riace bronze, part drunk buddace, with American citizenship and two offshore companies already in your name at birth… what a mix!
I can see myself on long winter nights rocking you to stop you from crying. I know that crying will break my heart, only to mend it at your first sly little smile.
It will be beautiful to watch you grow and talk to your grandparents in Sicilian, you—with your New York accent. Dipping your pacifier in limoncello which, as you’ll know, is your mother’s favorite liqueur.

Your mother

And I want to talk to you about her.
You have to admire her: it won’t be easy for her to leave everything and move to Italy. She says it doesn’t bother her, that it’s something she’s doing willingly. But there will definitely be moments of sadness: Milan is beautiful, but it’s not home for her.
XMas Lady, your mother, surprised me. I didn’t see her coming. Yes, it’s true, I liked her right away at first sight. But I never would have imagined she’d become the mother of my children.
An impossible mix: Italian, Russian, Jewish… three peoples in one woman, my son, and none of the three agrees with the others!
I remember our first date at the Hotel Chelsea, Christmas 2025, when she even played hard to get and didn’t sleep with me the first night. Good thing I’m not as touchy as I used to be. And anyway, we more than made up for it in Miami.
It was supposed to be one of those vacation flings, a strong flame that goes out when you get back. But instead, your mother immediately joined me in Milan. She gradually became sweeter and started planting the idea of your possible arrival in my mind.

At first glance she’s so submissive and accommodating. She trusted me completely, with faith and a hint of fear, in trying things she’d never tried. You should have seen her face the first time I asked for anal! Oops, maybe not the best image to give a son of his mother… sorry, I’m not used to this, this is all new to me!
There was definitely no shortage of love. At least, not until now. She waited for me at home, full of love and passion.
You should see her when she goes wild on the dance floor, when she tries to dance like me and then—obviously—denies it.
And she danced well in bed too. There I go again, sorry. But I have to raise you as a “masculo veru” (real man), so I’ll have to explain these things to you sooner or later anyway… What difference does it make? Yeah, well, maybe we’ll wait until you can walk to give you the details.
Your mother “tricked” me, but in a good way… and thank goodness she did, otherwise you wouldn’t be here with us! We didn’t think she could get pregnant, but it happened. And that’s fine.

A very unorthodox idea

Also, your mom has an idea of family that would give a priest a heart attack and give me an orgasm! She said she didn’t mind if I saw other women too, in fact, she loved the idea of having a “sister wife,” meaning that over time I’d have another woman to have a child with and… raise a nice extended family!

This idea really struck me, but not out of lust so much as for a deeper reason: for once in my life, the first time!, I felt totally seen and accepted. With my need for freedom, my exuberant joy of living, and my ancestral horniness. Knowing I could do this not “despite” my partner, but with her complete blessing… opened my heart.
Days passed and this idea dug into my mind. I really liked it, but it seemed too good to be true. So I decided to call my mother, your grandmother, to have her talk me out of it.
You should know that grandma has wanted a grandchild for ages. My parents have always lived for their children (imagine, they moved to Milan for me) but… they haven’t had luck with grandchildren! Of their three children, one is gay, another is lesbian, and the third—me—a certified bachelor womanizer!

The call to grandma

Me: “Mom, I met a crazy girl. She says she’ll let me be with other women, as long as I have a child with her.”
Mom: “Good, good.”
Me: “What do you mean good!?! Aren’t you going to tell me to be careful? Not to trust her?”
Mom: “No, no, trust her! Don’t think about it! Get her pregnant! All good!”
Me: “But Mom!”
Mom: “No really, children are blessings!”
Me: “Okay, but don’t you have anything to warn me about?”
Mom: [thinks for a moment] “Yes, there’s one thing.”
Me: “There we go, good! Tell me! Give me advice that’ll make me think!”
Mom: “If you two break up and she wants to go back to New York, it’s clear that the child stays here with us, in Italy!”
Me: …

As strange as it all may seem, your mother and I clicked right away. There was instant chemistry, in bed and out of bed. She started becoming addicted to sex together, I became addicted to having her by my side. With XMas Lady, I finally felt like a kid at Christmas.
I was thinking of inviting all the protagonists from the blog to your baptism. Maybe you could have Americanina as an aunt (at least she speaks your language)! Dea Francese as your style godmother: she’d teach you that your bib has to match your shoes. Piccolina as bodyguard: woe to anyone who touches you, she’ll defend you with her teeth. Let’s invite Filippo too, who knows, you might need advice with your preschool classmates.

Thomas

Want to know what your name will be? We fought for two weeks over your name. She wanted a Russian name. I wanted an Italian name. In the end we chose Thomas! In honor of my best friend (and also my business partner). Don’t tell her, but I sold the name to mom as a hope that you’d be like Saint Thomas. You know mom loves the Bible (even though she always reads it with the plug I gave her). Well, take this hope seriously: don’t believe anything, it’s all marketing. Your dad’s telling you this, and he’s an advertiser.
Believe “only” in love. That’s marketing too but—as long as you can still believe in it—it’s a rush.

I can’t wait for you to arrive. To hold you on my belly, covered with the black blanket that so many girls have used, but now… it’s only yours. I want to feel your warmth on my chest, get emotional kissing your tender forehead, while being terrified of hurting something so fragile, small and big at the same time!
I want to put my rough index finger in your very smooth little hands and feel you squeeze it.

I want to do all of this…

But it’s not possible.

Because there will be no little hand.

No blanket on you.

You won’t be there.

Because your mother, XMas Lady, on a February evening gathered her things and left. I won’t tell you why. Not because I don’t know, but because it doesn’t change anything. What matters is that the door closed, and with it all of this went away.

And you, Thomas, my XMas Baby with beautiful almond-shaped blue eyes… you stayed here, in this letter, which is the only place you’ve ever been.

Sleep tight, little one.

May you dream of the splendid life that your father—not so Magnificent and very much Paolo—had imagined for you.