I'm alive! I'M ALIVE! But only just barely.

Thank you for all the phone calls that I haven't answered and emails that I haven't checked. (My new mantra: I Will Not Always Be This Tired.) Please know that I feel very loved but with a mere hour between feeding sessions I can either choose to sleep, eat, or shower. (I haven't figured out the whole multitasking-while-breastfeeding thing yet. Or how to nurse without completely disrobing.)

But you don't care about this booshit! (That's not technically a curse word, right?) The boy has been born! And he is awesome! And HUGE! (9 lbs. 6 oz. Delivered vaginally. The birth story, she's a whopper.)

STATS:

Length - 21"
Weight - 9 lbs. 6 oz. (I never get tired of mentioning that.)
Hair - Strawberry blond
Eyes - Blue (Although I fear they will change to mama's less exciting hazel far too soon.)

Sorry to blog and bolt but mama needs to eat. In the meantime, here are a few pics to tide you over. More soon, I promise!

WHOLE! LOTTA! NOTHING!

So we got to the hospital at 6 am and were immediately informed that they'd had a record number of births and there wasn't a single bed available BUT I would be the next one in. So we sat there and sat there and sat there until 11:00 when they hooked me up to a monitor, declared that I was fit, and sent me home.

SENT ME MOTHERFARKING HOME!

I'm supposed to come back at 5 to see if anything has opened up. On the plus side, if I'd been admitted this morning I would've had to wait for an anesthesiologist (they're slammed with C-sections) whereas if I'm there tonight I should be able to have one when I need one. I can also get a nap in which is good, seeing as how I didn't sleep last night. So... yeah.

I finally lost my mucus plug!

The kid's still in, which leads me to believe one of three things:

- He's gunning for the Baldman's record (10 days late)
- He thinks he's the son of God
- He really, really doesn't want to be a Sagittarius

It looks like we're going to have to give this fella a little nudge. Tomorrow morning at 6 am we're having ourselves induced, which is exactly not the way I wanted it to go. I'm still only 50% effaced (nothin'), 1 cm. dilated (nothin') and he's as high up as he can be (unbelievable amounts of nothin') and at 41+ weeks, that ain't good. Just to be safe we went ahead and got a second opinion from the doctor I love (the woman who'll be delivering) and as soon as she saw my stats she agreed that inducement was the way to go. Even though I feel like I'm making the best choice given the circumstances, I'm really scared. It's weird to schedule pain. That said, the doctors said that as soon as my contractions become regular I can have an epidural (WHICH I WILL) and since I am dilated I won't have to have Cervadil (which "ripens" the cervix - seriously, they have got to come up with better lingo - and supposedly hurts like hell). The biggest hurdle for me? The IV. I'm TERRIFIED of the IV. I had heart surgery when I was five and have vivid memories of that thing sticking out of my hand...

But by tomorrow night, God willing, I'll have my kid.

Wish me luck. Send good vibes. And if you have any advice, I'll take it.

Zing!

So Britney's 16-year-old sister is knocked up, huh? Didn't see that one coming. This morning People magazine (or as I call it, "the news") offered up this brilliant headline trifecta:

- Britney's Teen Sister Jamie Lynn Spears Pregnant
- Britney Goes Shopping After Sister's Pregnancy Shocker
- Lynne Spears's Parenting Book 'Delayed Indefinitely'

Bwa-HA!

He probably knows that hospitals are understaffed on weekends

Most first timers are late... The baby will come when he's ready... Babies won't come out if you're anxious... (That last one really burns.) I've heard it all and let me tell you, none of it means squat when you're harboring an un-budging eight-pounder, a perilously expanding waistline, and a looming fear of induction. I'd love to say I'm doing a great job keeping The Freak at bay but please, you know me. Yesterday I felt him on my cervix and got excited (at least I assume that's what it was; it felt pushy and ouchy like when the doctor checks for dilation) but today, nothing. I've already hit the gym (two women actually applauded me) and did the 12-story climb. Next up: mopping the kitchen. Good. Times.

I'm bouncing on the ball, hula-hooping my hips, and generally driving my husband to distraction with my incessant fretting. I know worrying isn't helpful. I fully appreciate the fact that I should be enjoying these last few vomit-free days. Trust me, if I knew how to access the OFF button I totally would. How do you stop your brain when it's stuck on squirrelly? (I should probably warn you that at this point, any variation on "Just relax" might land you a pop in the snout.)

See that guy in the white jacket? I was totally that guy.

Maybe New Yorkers will be the only ones who find this hilarious. And by "hilarious" I mean (insert sound of weeping)

I'm not sure whether to be horrified or impressed... Wait, yes I do.

If my son ever acts like this kid, we are so outta here.

A portrait of a New York childhood in the extreme. Read it and weep.