SIMON SAYS: I'M HERE

The littlest lovebug has arrived and he's so sweet and so delicious. I am so excited he's here! Friday's contractions were the real deal, and I will forever be branded a bad ass for going to work with labor contractions that were 9 minutes apart.

We are still in the hospital and likely to be here until Wednesday because of the C-section but we are getting great care and my mom came in town for some Sadie care and they have great drugs at this joint.

Still processing birth experience and I want to focus on Simon, who is gorgeous, looks like his sister, and has the longest feet and hands I have ever seen. He's a great eater and has been nursing great. We have a bit of a latch issue as of this morning, but I am going to get some help with that today.

He's pretty quiet so far, but he can peel off a scream when he needs to. So much of the caretaking of a newborn I expected to come back to me, but the information is coming up scrambled. I spent some time wondering if I should burp after every feeding, even though it's just that pre-milk colostrum coming out of my breasts. And, swaddle? I forgot all the fancy tucking and draping moves.

We love our baby naming story with Simon. As of 7 hours after his birth, we were narrowed down to two names: Simon O'Brien and Henry Alexander. Comments have been made that those names are not remotely alike. I think I agree with that. Jeff's frontrunner was Simon and mine was Henry, but we were really close. We spent some time practicing with both names.

Then, my afternoon nurse came in to "check my vitals," and we were chatting about the fact that we hadn't picked a name. The nurse, Ann, went over to get a good look at the baby. I said, "What does he look like to you?" She hesitated and I told her I wanted to hear whatever she thought. (BTW, this nurse has 5 children and all of them had gorgeous names.)

Ann peers into the baby's face and says, "I think he looks like Simon."

CHILLS.

Jeff and I looked at each other incredulously. I asked Ann why she said that and she said she didn't know, it just popped into her head as she looked at him. I told her that was Jeff's top pick. I knew that was a sign we couldn't ignore. It was the best feeling to have this incredible "coincidence" unfold right before our eyes and ears.

For the record, Simon hasn't been in the top 100 of American names since some time in the 1800's. So, it's not like Ann hears that name all day long, unless she watches American Idol all day long with Simon Cowell, or The Mentalist with Simon Baker, who is very hot.

Simon current ranking as boy's name:263. It means: "to be heard."

We also love the pairing of Sadie and Simon: both have 5 letters. Both start with S. Both are Hebrew.

O'Brien is his middle name, which is also my middle name, my mom's middle (and maiden) name and a genuflection to my side of the family.

SOE. Our little prince.

Simon O'Brien Ellis. How we love thee!

"And eyes of sweet amethyst"

In college, there was a band called Jackopierce that was really popular down in Texas, even though I am not sure how talented they were. They had a song called "Vineyard" that my sister included on her wedding CD, where I fell in love with it again. It's about a forlorn boy who escapes to Martha's Vineyard to nurse his broken heart and falls in love with an amethyst-eyed woman.

I love the amethyst. I love its purple hues and its delicate shades.

But I am not sure we're going to have a baby during amethyst birthstone month of February. Things are moving. And they're shaking. And they hurt. Not horrible hurt, but there is like a menstrual cramp type feeling that gets kind of intense. It started last night at 2:00 a.m. and it's been sort of consistent today since noon. Maybe longer.

In short, I am having contractions; they aren't killing me, but they hurt. They come THIS CLOSE to taking my breath away, which was the criteria the doctor gave me for coming in. It's confusing to actually be in pain and not remember what kind of pain I am supposed to be in to call the doctor. I actually talked to the doctor's office once already and they told me to keep track of the contractions and if they get either (1) more intense or (2) closer together to call back and maybe get admitted to the hospital.

And, then I talked to a colleague at my office whose second child was born in triage. That's still the hospital, right? She said it was the hospital, but she gave birth while BY HERSELF IN HER TRIAGE ROOM because she had sent her husband out to get the nurse. Let's just say that there are lots of things I want to do by myself, but birthing a baby doesn't make the top 100. Or 200.

PLEASE GOD, can someone be in the room with me when I have my baby? Preferable someone with a degree from a top medical school with gentle hands and a soothing voice. Oh, and Jeff can be there too.

Anyway, I am keeping track and counting the contractions and wondering when the sh*t will hit the fan physically. We have dinner plans tonight; brunch plans tomorrow, and a playdate Sunday morning. I wonder, which of those, if any we'll make it to.

OH MY GOD, I AM GOING TO HAVE A BABY.

When Life Hands You Lemon Cravings, Order Yellow Shoes

Yesterday at work I kept smelling my grandmother O'Brien's lemon bundt cake. No one was eating anything lemon-flavored and there was no bundt cake around either. It was very strange how I could smell it so clearly that I could almost taste it. I remember pulling a stool up to help my grandmother put the sugary-lemony glaze on the bundt cake when I was little. I didn't really like the glaze that much, but I loved helping and I loved my grandmother. I remember the cake being very moist and not too lemony. I remember picking up delicious little crumbs from the center of the bundt where the cake was the most soft and moist. Yesterday, I even looked up lemon bundt cake recipes to see if there was an easy way to whip one up when I got home, but I got overwhelmed when I saw that most of the recipes require more than 3 ingredients. (3 is really my limit right now.)

Anyway, that intense craving has passed, and how I am obsessed with lemon-colored wedge sandals from Boden. Technically, the color is called "straw" but lemon sounds springier and happier to me. I write this as a little winter snowstorm that is expected to yeild about 1 inch of snow is blustering outside my window. (The snow actually looks like it is falling upwards because the wind is so intense by the lake. The PERFECT weather to dream about lemon sandals, no?) This obsession with these shoes is not helping my secret vow to be less driven by consumption and more attune to enjoying what I have (and to my budget given I am about to embark on a 14-week unpaid expedition into motherhood). But, damn those shoes make me think of hope: hope that my legs will be able to support my body in those fine shoes even as a mother of a toddler and a newborn. Hope that spring will one day (soonish?) descend on the stark Midwest. Hope that I will have a place to go that will require me to be shod in buttery/lemony wedge sandals.

This all sounds ridiculous, but I can't control where I find my hope. By the time I am sashay-ing around this city in those shoes, the question of how our son is born will be resolved and already processed in the memory bank. He will have a name. He will have preferences. Given how long it takes spring to come in this area of the country, he'll probably also be eating solid food. The yellow of that sandal matches the yellow tops of the Medela bottles we'll use to feed him breast milk I have pumped (maybe while wearing the shoes). Time will march on. These wedges will give way to the next shoe obsession of Fall 2011-- the perfect boot; the updated UGGs, the shoes that will bring hope for whatever psychological ailment plagues me at the time.

We'll have two children. We will all have plenty of shoes, a fact I pray ardently not to take for granted for one second. Sadie either will or will not be accepted into Montessori School (for which we either will or will not pay premium Montessori prices) and I either will or will not be able to drop down to 80% work so I can spend time with my children. (And my shoes.)

It would be way more "responsible" to find hope in a learned text or some internal resource I tapped into through yoga or meditation or even pilates. That's not the provenance of this particular brand of hope. It's from an on-line website, which, for the record, I have never ordered anything from. But, when you need a little hope, do you care where it comes from?

A Moment in Time

You know how when you see a movie about the 1970's the movie soundtrack is full of music reminiscent of the era: Lou Reed, early Elton John, Helen Reddy, Simon & Garfunkel. The music helps create a sense of the cultural moment in time.

In some distant day when I recount the story of his birth to him, I want to be able to give the Meatball as many details as possible. I like hearing stories with lots of (pop) cultural detail: What songs were popular? What was the big movie? What were the political debates? It feels like giving additional context to a story. So, I am going to take this time and this post to describe the intersections of my life and popular culture in this moment so that Meatball will have some context.

Here are the pop songs that ubiquitously run through my head (and the radio, and the grocery store, and the gym, etc.):

Just The Way You Are or Grenade-- Bruno Mars
Firework and Teenage Dream-- Katy Perry
Alejandro, Telephone, Bad Romance, Poker Face-- Lady Gaga
Only Girl in the World-- Rhianna
Raise Your Glass-- Pink
Forget You-- Celo Green
DJ Got Us Fallin' in Love--

I would talk about movies, but I've only seen three in the past 12 months: Sex In The City 2; Eat, Pray, Love; and The King's Speech. Clearly, I am not qualified to talk about what's going on in the movies.

I will note that there is a baby explosion in Hollywood right now. Here's a list of celebrities who are pregnant or who very recently gave birth:

Kelly Preston (wife of John Travolta)
Jewel
Alicia Silverstone
Kate Hudson
Penelope Cruz (with yummy Javier Bardem)
Orlando Bloom and his partner, Miranda Kerr, just had a baby boy, Flynn
Alicia Keys
Alannis Morrissette
Natalie Portman
Jane Krasinski
Nicole Kidman (has a secret baby, which I don't know anything about)
Christina Applegate
Victoria Beckham
Pink
Selma Blair
Marianne Cotillard
Owen Wilson and his Baby Mama, Jade Duell, just had a baby boy
Ivanka Trump
Mariah Carey
Jennifer Connelly

The most popular thing I am doing right now is gestating! How exciting. Owen Wilson and I have so much in common.

In local politics, there is much hand-wringing about whether or not Rahm Emanuel will get to run for Mayor of Chicago, given that he hasn't been technically in residence in the past year because of his Washington, D.C. duties for President Obama. The latest I heard (from Jeff) is that the Supreme Court of Illinois agreed to hear the case so there has been a stay issued, the practical effect of which is to prevent ballots from being printed without Emanuel's name on them.

Even closer to home, should we name our baby Rahm? Emanuel? Court?

At tonight's State of the Union address, there may be some bipartisan seating arrangements to show solidarity and signal that some of the acrimony and partisan politics can and should be toned down for the good of the country. This is a response to the violence in Arizona.

The Oscar nominations were just announced this morning. Looks like I better see Black Swan, The Fighter, The Kids Are Alright, True Grit, The Social Network, and 127 Hours ASAP. There were movies on there I have literally never heard of, but again, that's not really saying anything. I can't have a goal to read 30 books, be a lawyer and mother and wife and get to the movies on top of it. Ain't gonna happen any time soon.

These are heady times indeed.

Spending time on the mood swing

Whew. We had our 39-week appointment today and I am having so many feelings on the back end of it. First, we saw a great doctor in the practice who is both seasoned and very frank. I was so happy to be seeing her at this juncture. I looked her in the eye and asked her what she thought about VBACs and whether it was a good idea for me. She said she would examine me first and then answer that question. She did what felt like a very thorough examination to me, and then gave it to me straight. She put my odds at a VBAC success at 50%. I was hoping for more like 60 or 70% (or higher), but she explained that there is some narrowing of my pelvis that may spell difficulty for vaginal birth. In almost every other corporeal circumstance, I think being described as narrow would thrill me, but in childbirth, it seems like being narrow is not exactly the first ingredient of success. She assured me that the doctors in the practice would not let me do anything stupid; they are in charge at all times. I was a little afraid that I was pushing a procedure that isn't a good idea, but doctors don't let patients run the show. And for that I am grateful. I hear lots of stories about women refusing to have a C-section or demanding the change to push for "one more hour," but that's not me. I don't want to call the shots until I graduate from medical school and know what I am talking about. Which is to say, NEVER. I am happy to surrender to doctors.

So, here at 38 weeks and 6 days, I am 1 cm dilated and 50% effaced. It's not bad and yet I feel disappointed at the prospect of a C-section. What runs through my head is that I will have so much on my plate: a deliciously lively toddler and a newborn, but I will still have to spend so much energy recovery from Major Abdominal Surgery. As working mom, my time to be at home and focus on my kids is limited; at this point, limited to 16 weeks. I want to spend that time nursing and playing and catching fleeting moments of sleep and watching spring unfold. With a C-section, I have to contend with drugs and scars and tenderness of the abdomen for weeks. I really need to accept that it's a possibility and that having surgery for the health of the baby and me is the greatest reason ever. I have this somewhat irrational idea that having more surgery will shorten my life overall. I read it on some checklist (probably from Dr. Oz) once while in a dentist's waiting room. Good lord, if they are going to cut these children out of me, then I want to live a LONG LONG time to enjoy them (and maybe remind them of what I went through to give them life).

I am glad that for as violent and scary as a C-section is, that it is an option. If I really do have a narrow pelvis then it's a good thing there are other options.

I will note that the nurse mentioned that I was "doing great" with my weight; she said something about me barely gaining a pound here and there. Let's get real: That's cause for a happy dance. I certainly feel great and haven't deprived myself of anything (though yesterday I didn't eat any carmel corn from Garrett's because it's too damn addictive) so it's great to hear some confirmation that surrender is a very nice path to follow.

And, I've got some options on being proactive about labor, including accupuncture and staying active. You know what, I just don't want to. I want to spend time with my family and friends and relax and not run all over the city chasing dilation. I can't imagine that would help me relax. I reserve the right to change my mind on this, but for now, I am holding off on accupuncture treatments. I did see what another suggestion was to have a big old cry: rent a tearjerker and just get some release going.

Please. I don't need to rent a tearjerker. I can cry at the drop of a hat. Last night, Jeff and I were finishing up a Scrabble game and I got very emotional thinking about my relationship with Sadie and how much I love her. I started wondering if she'll ever have any idea how much I love her. Jeff says she'll never know or understand until she's a parent. That may be true. When I think of pain coming to her for any reason at all, I practically come undone with sorrow. The other day she fell out of a chair trying to get at the computer, and I can still see her falling in my mind's eye. She wasn't terribly hurt; she was mostly scared and upset about gravity. When she scrunches up her face and those tears start to fall it takes my breath away and squeezes my heart.

Man, this is going to be a very eventful 2 weeks.

Chicago Weekend

It's impossible to be in Chicago right now and avoid these two topics: the weather and the Chicago Bears football. It's 5 degrees outside, which is actually fine with me because the sun is out and I am always hot. The lake looks like a sheet of ice and it's definitely nippy out, but I prefer that to the sweltering heat where my thighs rub together and chafe. Both my kids have birthdays during the extreme weather. I respect that in kids; it shows me they won't shy away from dealing with extremes in their lives. Like, for instance, their mother.

As for the Bears, I have been a staunch, non-sport fan for most of my life. Certain exceptions have crept in: the Tour de France and some golf viewing with Jeff. There were a few tennis matches where I got to watch one of the Williams sisters curse out a line judge and one where I saw a Kim Clijsters win a huge tournament 18 months after giving birth. Maybe those events occurred in the same match. Every now and again I would get into the Final Four during March Madness, mostly because my entire law firm seemed to shut down during those pivotal spring days. I got a kick out of the vuvuzelas during the World Cup, but none of this qualifies me as any kind of sports fan.

I generally have been very proud of that. I have been too cool for sports, too intellectual, too busy and too un-Southern. Doesn't take 11 years of therapy to see it might have been a reaction to my Texas upbringing. (Or maybe it did take 11 years of therapy to understand my particular flavor of rebellion: some people snort coke; some people refuse to enjoy sports.) But now, thanks to Facebook, I can see how much unadulterated joy sports bring to so many people. Turns out that lots of smart, well-read, highly evolved individuals really love football, basketball and a host of other sports. I honestly had no idea.

I want to be a part of that spirit. So, this weekend, the Bears are playing the Green Bay Packers in the playoffs, and I heard on the radio that this game may be even bigger than the superbowl. Something about a long-standing rivalry between the two teams, both of which seem hardcore to me to play in this ridiculous weather. (Wait, it's supposed to be a balmly 24 degrees on Sunday, so that's practically spring around here.) I have told Jeff I want to watch the game this weekend. I will need a few human interest tidbits to hook me in, which I will gather before kick off. I know there has to be a Brett Farve anecdote that will pique my interest.

So, this weekend, unless I am giving birth, I hope to ride the orange and navy wave of celebration at my city's team. I may learn players' names and numbers. I want to join in and not use it as an excuse to go to the grocery store or Costco because the lines are guaranteed to be short during the game.

Other than that, this weekend I think we are going to just be on Baby Watch and hang out with Sadie, whose life without a sibling is in its twilight.

I will note that I read on a baby message board that some OB/GYN told his patient that the following would help her dilate: Running around the neighborhod "like a horse" while "neighing." Apparently, the woman who posted this little nugget tried it and found herself dilated 3 cm at her next doctor's appointment.

Are you sh*tting me? Seriously. The most embarassing part of this post is that for about 5 minutes I considered trying this. There was something in that post about how the movement of the body ("like a horse") joins with the soundwaves from the "neighing" to induce labor. The fact that I thought that would work or that I wouldn't get picked up by the neighborhood watch is a signal to us all: I have totally stopped thinking rationally about anything dealing with labor.

So, if you hear a distant neighing, it ain't me. Oh, dear lord, I hope it ain't me.

From the Humor Department

I walked around all day yesterday with a secret smile of satisfaction on my face after finding the you-know-what had come unplugged.

The best part? Jeff told me last night that on a conference call he announced to his team and (female) boss that I had lost my M.P. (mucus plug).

Wow.

Show me a more modern man than my husband.