And I Feel Good

It's 10 pm. Matt is watering my to-mahto plant and I am trying to breathe. Baby weighs 7 lbs 4 oz. I'm finished working for now and hoping next week is gorgeous and cool (although I've heard hot and humid, damned Indiana weather). I plan to lunch and nap a lot.

Friends of Matt's gave us a DVD called Dunstan Baby Language. I've been through it once, and I can't wait for Matt to watch: 30 minutes of crying (some screaming, all Australian) infants. I'm learning their language so that we can take appropriate action with ours, though I'm certain our baby will not cry. Neh = I'm hungry; Owh = I'm sleepy; Eh = Please burp me, and so on. Our lives are changing rapidly and Matt has learned to change a diaper. I laugh.

Matt said that if the baby is in fact a male, it's going to be a mama's boy...because it doesn't want to come out! Soon now, so soon.

I was up writing my story from 4-6 am today. I'm living on tosses and turns. A new dawn, a new day, a new life for me...

I Think I Love You

My friend Eric has the best job: producing bands, which I like to call "hanging out with bands." Over the years, he’s shared this ability, letting me go backstage and hang with the likes of Peter Gabriel, Lenny Kravitz, John Doe, Squeeze, Crowded House, Sheryl Crow, Camper Van, Wilco, Counting Crows, Smashing Pumpkins, Stone Temple Pilots, Michelle Shocked, Stray Cats (or did I manage that one myself?) … and far too many more to mention. But this summer he got to hang out with David Cassidy and, c’est la vie, I was too pregnant to join in on the fun.

David Cassidy began his career with state fairs, and it looks like he’s ending on the same path. Eric said that someone from “security” had to pick him up at his hotel, and that David was booked under a fake name (not allowed to mention it, but it’s someone famous from Indiana), which he always uses so that his swarm of fans can’t find him. Hehehe.

(An aside: Did you know that the Partridge Family was based on the real-life family, the Cowsills, who also sang the song "Hair" for the Hair soundtrack?)

David waited backstage until Eric told him “you’re on,” and then he played guitar, apparently very badly, for his 1,500 women fans, thanking them repeatedly and telling them, again repeatedly, that he doesn’t “do” encores.

He was contracted to play for 90 minutes, and at 88 minutes he ended the show, walked down from stage and asked Eric what time he had. Eric told him, and David said, “I’ll be back in 2 minutes,” playing another song. Eric, of course, wasn’t going to sue over the infraction, and summed him up as: What a weirdo.

Mitch Daniels’ wife met him and I didn’t. I’m pissed about that.

Digressing to the baby front, I’m so very tired of people asking, “When are you due?” (because I’m obviously ready to pop). Matt said I should start answering, “Oh, around Christmas, but we think the doctor made a mistake, it’s more like early January….”

Matt told me I should shoot for 09/08/07.

Reward

Matt's car broke down on I-70, and he called me to save him. "Hoosier Helpers" beat the AAA truck to the scene, but Matt cooked me a lobster dinner anyway, for helping. Sweetie, and can he ever cook! He hates lobster. We listened to jazz, sipped wine. Anything Stan wants, Stan Getz.

Nanny Diaries

Matt and I met with a neighborhood nanny who came highly recommended by friends. She's from Mexico (legally), and has the name of a hugely popular Mexican drink. I thought it was a sign at first, because I'm partial to alcohol.

We went to her house, where, there dwelling with her family, were at least 19 Guadeloupean Virgin Mary and Jesus icons, either hanging on walls or collecting dust on carved, folksy, wooden tables. The kind lady never stopped talking during our entire visit, and when we left, Matt said, "I'd rather go to the dentist once a week than have to pick up my child and talk with that lady everyday. I would just honk from my car and let her carry him/her out."

We also decided that one Virgin Mary or Jesus -- your choice -- is ok, if you're in to that type of thing, but that 19 was way too scary for our little non-denominational cherub.

I cried when we left, and told Matt that I know the answer: the best nanny is ME. He wholeheartedly agreed. Details to sort out later.

Zzzzzzz

Ah, we were delighted to see that the couple sitting next to us at Ruth's Chris this weekend (in the bar, I kid you not) had their 2-yr-old daughter accompanying them. Hooray: Ruth's Chris is kid-friendly! Our waiter asked if we were celebrating an occasion. Every day is worth celebration, no?

Personally, I celebrate our conversation. (happy happy joy joy.)

Last night, twice, Matt pulled my arm over him while we slept. I was finally, actually, getting some sleep, but I was awake enough to think, "Aww, how sweet."

This morning he confessed that it was because I was lying on my back snoring.

I've never been accused of this before, but I said, "You try sleeping with a 6 pound kid (with a larger femer) on your lung."

Okay, add snoring to the list. Damn it.

At Last, Babylon

I’ve spent a good part of my morning reading my good friend Dave’s blog as he travels through Europe, India, Malaysia, Indonesia, Australia. Most of my friends are quite well traveled, but I think Dave wins.

Considering my current position in life –ridiculously pregnant and quite bored with it all—I’m a bit jealous. This is not to say I’m not happy, because I’m giddy, blessed and loved, but I must create a lever/fulcrum each morning with my arms just to lift myself out of bed. In a nutshell, it truly sucks.

I had yet another ultrasound yesterday, and I have to tout that Matt and I seem to have created a little cutie. It’s amazing how clear the images are; the baby was looking right at me, and then posed with its hand under its wee chin. It looks so bored. We want it out so we can play.

My sister gave us a baby-jogger, and the thought of being out running in 3-4 weeks makes me ecstatic. I’m not worried about getting my shape back as I’ve gained every ounce in my belly (I really should have entered it in the State Fair).

The excitement of my week was finding out that Charlie Trotter now makes marinades: http://www.charlietrotters.com/

Alas, pregnancy.

Blonde, Blue-eyed & Very Stylish

I keep dreaming of what our child will look like, but I have a pretty good idea, based on these findings. Matt said we should have met 10 years ago. I wasn't ready for him 10 years ago, so thank God we didn't. Timing really is everything.

My bag is packed for the hospital, and the baby countdown is on... We're going out for as many elegant dinners as possible before Applebee's enters our life (such a depressing thought). Last night it was Ambrosia; tonight it may have to be Sullivan's. : )

Family Pics

Cat On A Hot Tin Roof

Well, the third trimester won’t get a good write-up from me. I'm certainly not feeling as "glowing" and bubbly as I did in the second trimester. I'm wobbling now, and I only have 4 shirts that cover my belly completely. In a word: misery.

I need to jump. I'm up all night, and I say things to Matt, around midnight, like, "Want to watch a movie?" He said that I'm frightening him.

I passed a girl running yesterday, and under my breath said, “Bitch.”

Boredom sets in, moments where I feel like doing nothing, enough to read blogs as bad as B-movies; something along the lines of Titanic, or Valley of the Dolls. Snore.

I finished another Michael Chabon book. What a yummy writer. I’m giving my 16-yr-old brother Summerland, a Michael Chabon for young adults. Start ‘em early.

Last night, feeling exceptionally fat and unglamorous, out of nowhere Matt said, “You’re beautiful.” That is such a nice thing to hear while pregnant. He sweeps me off my swollen feet.

Finally, true love.

Late Night Chronicals

I’m going through a stage. The stage, regrettably, is called television. My sister called last night and asked if I was watching the democratic debates on YouTube, and I said, “Hell no, we’re watching our cooking show.” Yes, Matt and I are addicted to Hell’s Kitchen.

I never once watched a reality show and I still really hate them. Matt, as smart as he is, can choke down some really bad TV sometimes, and even if I feel like hanging out, wrapped up in a blanket with him on the couch, I can’t do it. Jé deteste le téle.

But cooking is an interest of mine, and I got sucked in. I really don’t like any of the participants left: Rock, the jerk; Bonnie, the crybaby; and Jen, the hick. I’d like to vote all of them off.

Matt and I have a theory, though, that Bonnie and the chef (also jerk) are having an affair, so we’re anxious to see what will happen when she flubs the veggie prep again, then cries about it.

I’m coasting on 3 hours of sleep today. Matt was restless around 1 a.m., and I joined him. We looked up vacation destinations on the Internet. We’re going to California for Christmas (with a newborn!!), but we’re planning to take our own trip once the baby is at least 6-months-old (my family owes me big time for babysitting). So, at 1:30 a.m., Matt said, “Let’s go to Hawaii.” Yeah, baby!

The only part about this baby thing that is freaking me out is the lack of independence in my travel schedule. I have always been spontaneous, hopping on airplanes about every 4-6 months and going to amazing places. Friends with kids say that those days are over, but I say they don’t have to be. Matt and I are going to be the laid back parentals who take our kid everywhere, introduce it to everything possible. (Read: I say "kid," but Matt is already planning our second. I define "big gulp".)

I’m working on my book now, and after Matt went to bed I stayed up until 3:30 writing. I understand why writers do this, because the wee hours are when the brain won’t shut down. I made some real progress last night and it felt great. Truth is always greater than fiction, and I’ve gathered some pretty good characters over the last couple of years that I’m now developing further. I’m always thankful for a stir in the pot because it makes for good material.

It’s relaxing having a baby moving inside my stomach when I write, too—it feels like I have a co-author. : )

The Luckiest

Matt and I are plotting a big adventure for next year. Mexico (we've both already been). Australia, maybe (neither of us, ever). We can spend every life moment together and want more. I mean, who does that?!

My mom was in town last week and I played her my Matt song, "The Luckiest," by Ben Folds. I started bawling, which made her cry. I am the luckiest. With a baby just a few weeks away, and a guy who, just last night, said, "I want us to spend more time together," (even when we're together every night), I know that this is what I waited for all those years.

I was missing New York this week. I love the city and could live there easily...with Matt. The last time I was there I dined with friends at Megu, a posh sushi joint, and Robin Williams came up to our table and shook all of our hands. We didn't bother him, he invited himself (it was a table full of 6 blonde women, which might have had something to do with it). 15 seconds later, Lindsay Lohan waltzed by and the two of them brushed star kisses against each other's face. I sat smiling quietly, taking in the fabricated friendship, and thought, "I want something more than this, something much more real."

When I returned home, I got it. That was two summers ago, and now I'm sitting here wondering what Matt and I will cook for dinner tonight, which music we'll play, what we'll talk about, and how many times he'll say, "I'm the luckiest."

Thank You!

Thank you everyone (who reads this blog) who was a part of our three showers in the past 3 days! We received so many wonderful gifts and we both learned about so many new baby items. At our shower on Saturday night, Matt quietly asked me, "What are these?" I replied, "Diapers, honey."

We appreciate all of the wonderful gifts, and the efforts of our family and friends! Thanks so much.

p.s. What is a Bumbo?

My friend Ken Bethea, guitarist for the Old 97s, just called me...from downtown Indianapolis. He asked if I'm going to the show tonight. Say what? Pregnancy not only makes you fat, but tired and uncool too.

Ken said not to worry about the belly. When he's home in Dallas, he plays Mr. Mom quite often. He said, "Jill, most of my daytime friends are pregnant...I'm used to it."

I have a sore throat, got about 5 hours of sleep, have a banjo lesson tonight, but I'm going to the show; yeah, I'm going, and I'm dragging along my better half too.

Ken and I have been friends for 6 years, ever since my Scottish mate turned me on to the band. We're very much like peas and carrots; our friendship was a natural progression.

If you saw that horrible Jennifer Anniston movie (aren't they all?) about discontinuing a relationship, the Old 97s were in it...I love 'em.

Thoughty

Whew, looks like a case of attention starvation. We already ate.

I'm writing again; been saving all the good stuff. Freelancing is around the corner, soon enough from another state. I need an ocean.

Happy 4th

Matt brought home $60 worth of fireworks last night and put on a show for baby and me. He made me wrap two heavy blankets around my waist so to not deafen Junior; I sat on the front porch, hot, and getting eaten by mosquitos, and watched his display of patriotism. A couple of the firecrackers (Swarm of Killer Bees, to be exact), made me jump, making baby jump too. We felt so guilty. Matt, California boy, still can't get over the fact that these things are legal, that he can aim a bottle rocket right at Paulette's house across the street and not go to jail. I'll soon have two little kids. : )

I'm learning You Are My Sunshine on banjo, we're gearing up for the "Week of Baby Showers," and we're making incredible plans for our future. The recent past seems like a lifetime ago. I now cut coupons for Huggies.

Baby's Room & Belly

I put the final touches on the baby's room yesterday (minus a cool piece of art my sister will be adding soon), and dragged Matt in to see it last night. We both get such a kick out of the fact that, ya know, there'll be a kid in there soon.

The belly keeps growing.

Grueling Banjos

I started lessons last night at Arthur's Music in Fountain Square. My instructor taught a harmonica lesson before me and a violin lesson after me; he prefers teaching banjo, though, and has been teaching since 1970.

I learned three chords: G (easy); C (need to trim my fingernails) and D7 (need to grow longer fingers). I'd actually cut back my nails before I went, and Paul, my instructor, said, "Those are trimmed nails?" Damned music teacher.

Later, I practiced my chords at home while Matt reviewed a contract: opposites do attract. He kept looking up, giggling, saying, "Sounds good, honey...I love it."

Friday and Rainy

So, Jill, what have you done today?

Well, first thing, I interviewed for a very cool new writing adventure, then called my boyfriend (he helped set up the company, we found out after I got the interview), then ate a piece of someone's ice cream birthday cake, then downloaded a Tragically Hip ringtone to my phone.

So, overall, a productive morning?

Um, I don't have to answer that.

Matt returned from Dallas at Midnight and came into the bedroom, kissed me, kissed my belly, and as we talked the baby started kicking. It missed him too!

From The Writer's Almanac

The Calf-Path
By Sam Walter Foss

One day through the primeval wood
A calf walked home as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.
Since then three hundred years have fled,
And I infer the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.
The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bell—wether sheep
Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bell—wethers always do.
And from that day, o'er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made.
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because 'twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed — do not laugh -
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane
That bent and turned and turned again;
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.
The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street;
And this, before men were aware,
A city's crowded thoroughfare.
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed this zigzag calf about
And o'er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way.
And lost one hundred years a day,
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf.
Ah, many things this tale might teach —
But I am not ordained to preach.

Baby Face

Baby weighs almost 3 lbs now! Today it looked right at me ... and yawned. It's bored; who wouldn't be? I e-mailed Matt the photos of our beautiful babe, as he's in Dallas and couldn't join in the ultrasound fun.

He called immediately and said, "My God! It's so amazing!" as I smiled on...

We're making a family (with me doing the heavy lifting, so to speak).

It's kicking as I type this ... go to sleep, little one.