1987: My sisters and brother send me a box of death-themed, life-is-over-at-30 gifts–a mug and a towel, plates and napkins… Cal and I go to San Francisco. We eat breakfast at Sears. I have a piece of sausage left, which he wraps in toast and then in a napkin. I make fun of him. Hours later, on a harbor cruise, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. We walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, miss the turn to Sausalito, and end up on the highway. A policeman stops to help us. I will think of this moment every time I cross the GGB–which will turn out to be often. I’m pregnant most of the year. In June we move down the street into a bigger house. We do Lamaze. When we go to the hospital, I’m not even far enough along to be admitted. We walk the halls. I have to stop with each contraction. Natural childbirth seems unlikely. It is. As soon as they offer an epidural, I accept. Bobby is born at 4:05 am on September 19th. I like being in the hospital–it makes me feel special. A month later, the stock market falls 508 points. Each night, as I nurse Bobby, I get the jump on the Nikkei Average. When I go back to work, after a three-month leave, Cal and I alternate night duty. On the car radio, Bruce Hornsby sings The Way It Is.