Coos and Smiles

I feel grrrrrrreat! I just ran for the first time in months. Being high risk in pregnancy (fallacy, in the end) was the worst hell ever, as I doubt that my heart rate ever got over 80. Walking, skiing and skating are not enough exercise, in my book.

Hungry Hippo is with the Brooks Bunch, and I have a night to myself. Matt is in Chicago for a CLE class, so I've been on baby duty ... alone ... for three days. Akk! Tonight I cleaned the house top-to-bottom, read a little Brothers Karamazov (being so short on time, I'm sticking with the classics, huddled over tomes of prose with my pince-nez, for the next 18 years) and ran. Now I'm drinking wine. Go mommy, go.

Hippo and I have had a great time together. I miss him when he's gone. We've hired a part-time nanny (know-it-all) who relieves me occasionally so I can write and think (and do laundry). When Sam returns to me he's in high spirits, and it makes me feel warm and alive. I wuv him.

We've ventured out for mommy's coffee every morning (coffee is all I have until dinner these days). We took a walk on the Monon yesterday with dear, sweet Kev. It was wonderful catching up, having the two meet. I think Kevin is a saint, and undoubtedly the kindest soul I've ever met. Hippo slept, but if I know Kevin like I think I know Kevin, he left his mark with his voice alone.

Matt escaped the seminar crowd last night and got out for some Blues. We text-messaged (verb) through Hippo's slew of bottles, and missed each other electronically. We're never apart, so it's weird hearing the house creak and Sam coo, knowing I'm alone for task. Sam slept on Matt's side of the bed the other night for a while, and I, happily leaning on my wrist and elbow in pain, stared at him and cooed along. I whispered, "I love you...and I love your daddy." Sam got that little smile on his face, which I refuse to believe is a gas pain.

Heros

I've yet to verify, but Matt and I have reason to believe that our grandfathers were friends, and played basketball at the same time at I.U.: 1937 Big Ten Champs. Our worlds were meant to collide.

Our hungry, hungry hippo already weighs 12 lbs, and I think he'll be a basketball player too. Matt has some freakishly tall relatives, but he's 6'2" and I'm 5'7", so Sam should be tallish, not smallish.

Life is still wonderful and Sam, oh my, he's the best baby. He laughs and "talks" a lot now. Grunts a lot too.

My favorite way that Matt protects us: ignore and delete. ; )~

Family Unit

Well, it's official. I'm a stay-at-home mom. At least for now. I just can't justify leaving Sam with someone else for 40 hrs + per week, and as he develops I know it'll get easier to write from home. Right now it's hard to find time to shower.

Yesterday was the first time he really smiled at me, recognized me. He did it to Matt too. My friends said this "recognition" would come around 3 months, but, well, Sammy's advanced....Ha. I love moms who say that. I'm not sure if he's advanced, but he sure is demanding.

We have "family time" every night, with Sam between us on our bed. We talk about our days, and let Sam tell us what he can. Matt stays up with him every night during the witching hours, 10-midnight, and I take over in the wee hours (when he falls right back to sleep). My average sleep each night is about 5 hours, and never consecutively. But I love holding him in the dark, when the house is quiet and he's warm and sleeping against me. A better feeling doesn't exist.

Matt and I joined checking accounts over the weekend. This was a huge step for two very independent people, but we're a unit now; we know this, we love this, and we share everything. Matt was holding Sam the other night and said, "Jill, we created this boy...look at him, he's the perfect combination of us." He is. His Brooks features are beginning to surface (appetite!) and every day is a blossoming adventure.

Right now, I have no appetite, and I'm back to a size 4: hallelujah! Lucky me (lucky Matt). ; )

Walking the Monon

Sam and I took our long, daily walk today as the wind shifted and rain threatened a visit. Sam slept in his high-tech-all-terrain-pumpkin-seat-assault-stroller, covered in mosquito netting. I took three bites myself for the home team, because that's what mommies do.

The only time he opened his eyes was to growl at a lawn mower, and then a dump truck, both making noise and keeping him from his baby dreams and heavenly, adorable sleep smiles.

I'm in love all over again.

This Is Our Life

Sam is wonderful, such a great baby. He's held up his head and looked around the room since the first 8 seconds of his life (yes, I'm sure he's advanced). ; ) My mom's in town and today we ate lunch at Bazbeaux, where they told me Sam's stroller was a fire hazzard (come on) and they played very bad 80s music. Madonna; the theme to Top Gun; the Tina Turner theme to some 007 movie; the song that goes "turn around bright eyes..." Dear God. I told Sam to plug his ears.

Matt and I are in full baby swing now and we're getting the nighttime feedings down. Am I going back to work? Eh, probably not. I must decide this week. I have lined up freelance writing with a PR firm, and I'll make a lot more moolah anyway (I never work for money, I work for a cause). I have a lot of decisions to make...immediately. I love my job...been there 5 years now!

Thanks so much to all of our friends and family for their support during these first difficult weeks. The baby is almost a month old! Thanks for the phone calls, tremendous gifts, dinners brought to us, etc. What amazing people in our lives. Matt and I are constantly looking at each other saying, "We're so blessed. This is our life...let's live it!" We love every minute.

Sam is Matt with my social skills (he's a talker!!). Blonde, blue-eyed, alert and very, very long. I can't squeeze him enough!

Baby Blues

I've been singing to my baby the Grateful Dead lyrics to Uncle John's Band: Well the first days are the hardest days... and he seems to understand. I followed it up with sound advice: when you're anywhere past the ninth grade, don't ever send someone song lyrics to describe your emotions. Don't plagiarize; either write your own poem or move on.

These first two weeks have been challenging to say the least, but Matt and I are getting it down now. We're a great team and taking "shifts" is the trick to management. My OBGYN says that new babies drive particularly organized people nuts for the first 6 weeks or so. Well stated.

Our baby, as most C-section babies are, is quite perfect. No cone head or squished parts. He's just so gorgeous, and he loves to cuddle, coo and burp...very much like his daddy. He's a keeper.

Matt's parents are in town this weekend and we're heading to a patch to allow this fellow to choose his first pumpkin.

His social security card arrived yesterday. Funny! Life is sweet.

He's Here!

He's so gorgeous. Born last week in a dramatic and emergency C-section, 8 lbs 1 oz, 21.75 inches long. Matt and I are so in love with him. He likes cuddling in the frog position. Matt's taking millions of photos and videos, and I'm trying to get over the swelling of surgery...ugh.

We're emailing photos if you want them - none here, ever.

He's a ringer for Matt's baby photo. We just can't get over how perfect he turned out. Mmm, love.

Ah, my little frog is crying. More soon....

Well, I've Done It Again

Yes, I'm still pregnant and no, I don't want to talk about it.

I disturbed nature again this afternoon. If you all remember, I ran off some baby birds last summer (and, as you also may remember, I wasn't terribly fond of the particular "breed," especially those who still call drunk around Midnight).

Today, I think I slowly killed a caterpillar clinging to my tomato plant.

I'm pretty sure I identified it from photos online: a hawkworm (soon to be a moth that gets inside and eats my sweaters, so what am I really worrying about; and, yes, I have an exorbitant amount of time on my hands right now).

The poor thing had rows of small, white fuzzy things covering it (I won't say the word, but I think they become flies), so to rescue it, I got a twig and gently (this is where plans went awry) massaged them off.

Green "blood" started oozing out; I said, "Sorry!" and ran inside the house.

If I have a prissy little girl who's afraid of bugs, I won't want to talk about that, either.

Nothing is haaaaaappening...

This baby doesn't want to come out. I scheduled inducement today, just in case. My only choices were September 11 (no thanks) or ... my birthday. Hopefully it'll come before then.

A couple of girlfriends have said, "How can you call the baby an "it???"" I replied, "I could call it a fork, and it wouldn't know the difference." Yes, it is a he or she, a boy or girl, a Sam or a Harper, but I get tired of saying that. Plus, it kicks me.

I'm already on "maternity leave," which basically means I'm cleaning the house. I won't recognize "nesting" when it hits me, because I'm always nesting. Cleaning floorboards or the fridge are common events. Sometimes I hate that I best identify with Monica on Friends. She speaks and I think, "Well, yeah!"

And I'm saddened to say that I've seen more Friends episodes than ever before during this pregnancy. Matt turns the remote control over to me around Midnight, and I feel so alone in the world. "You're not going to sleep, leaving me to my insomnia, are you? Can't you, um, try to make it through Frasier, honey? Honey? ... Honey?"

Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel still has my dream career.

Matt can't wait to float me down the Salmon River, and I can't wait to go. Our child (It) has every travel-gear item known to babykind, and we look forward to using them! We were supposed to hit the family Christmas in Sun Valley, but I don't want to be "that woman" on the airplane: It crying its little head off, and people slaying us with hateful looks. 3-months-old is a bit young for frequent flier points, anyway.

Yeah, I'm bored, but I'm enjoying the quiet. I'm trying to write as much as possible. I'm selling most of my cds (hundreds), and looking forward to the weightlessness. The Tragically Hip will be staying with me.

Things are simply great, fat belly and all.

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."