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.

I'm going to start charging rent

Baby: 1
Spicy food: 0

I'll get you, my pretty!

Okay, I thought I loathed Michael Chabon's wife but that was before I read this article by Plum Sykes. Anyone who "glumly resigns" herself to wearing her Burberry trench ($975) and J. Crew wellies ($98) can bite my (increasingly) flabby ass.

Whole. Lotta. Nothin.

WHERE THE HELL IS THIS KID?!

Happy due date to me

They say it's my due date (dun-na-na-na-na-na-na) but apparently somebody didn't get the invite. (As Comfortingly Gay doctor put it, "Whole lotta nothin', hon.") There's something so disheartening about arriving at your due date only to discover that very little has changed in almost three weeks. I've bounced, I've walked, I've cajoled and climbed stairs. I'm calling to make an appointment with an acupuncturist and will soon be pursuing all the other routes you mamas know so well. (For those who aren't mamas, the routes are far more ookifying than acupuncture, trust me.) Something's got to motivate this kid! (My niece, the comedic genius, suggested placing a tiny glass of orange juice Down There. I'm not ruling it out.)

A friend of mine with two healthy, adorable kids said that her midwife recommended a glass of wine at night to make things a little more relaxed. Having bought hook, line and sinker into the whole No Drinking While Procreating thing I feel a little iffy about tippling, but I can't lie and say that a half a glass of red wouldn't do me a world of good. Of course I had to call the doctors office and ask if it was okay and of course I got Mean Doctor who belittled me for asking such a ridiculous question and why did I want to know if I could drink and who was this midwife who recommended this and did I honestly think it would help bring on labor and... and... a half a glass of wine probably wouldn't harm the baby. (I discovered that it's not just me he loathes. I heard him on the phone this morning berating a woman for passing out at her amnio. He kept going, "But why did you pass out? What would make you pass out?" I wanted to shout, "The REALLY BIG FUCKING NEEDLE IN HER STOMACH is what made her pass out, asshat!" But since there's a strong possibility that he'll be delivering my child, I felt it best to keep my trap shut.)

I'm supposed to go in on Monday to get checked again. I have absolutely no interest in getting induced unless I absolutely, positively have to and the doctors seem to feel the same way. That said, if I wait until week 42 - which is the longest they'll let me go - it'll just be the baby and me. (Matt will be back at work and mom will be gone by then.) That prospect? Grim indeed.

Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya! Tomorrow!

Since today's the last of week 39, I suppose I should update. Surprisingly enough, week 39 isn't pretty much like week 38 only with more ____. It's actually been a little rough. I suppose that comes with the territory, what with my body trying to figure out how to get a (nearly) 8 lb. human out of me and all, but it's leaving me feeling a little less-than.

- I have officially left the marital bed. After two nights of teeth grinding, wide-eyed insomnia I've decided that the sofa is much more conducive to actual sleep. The back of it props me nicely so I don't have to keep doing battle with Pillow Mountain, and now that we've removed all traces of comfort from the bed (bye-bye pillow top mattress. So long, egg crate foam), I don't spend the night feeling like I'm on the slab. (Soft, enveloping bedding is a leading cause of SIDS, and while we don't plan on actually sleeping with the kid I'm certain a nap or two will take place. And even though we know the risk is slim, we ain't taking any chances.) Anyway, now that the soft is gone, THE HIPS AREN'T HAVING IT. Hopefully Matt is sleeping a little better too. Every time I get up to pee I hear a groggy "Wha-? You okay?" from the other side of the bed. (Trust me my love, you'll know if I'm not.)

- My body's freaking out a bit. Things that should be coming out aren't, and things that shouldn't... are. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

- STRETCH MARKS. Dammit.

We went and saw what might be our Last. Movie. Ever on Sunday. The Golden Compass. I was pretty excited to see it. Not only did it feature my movie star boyfriend, Mr. James Bond, but it held the promise of watching Nicole Kidman try to act through a face full of Botox. Now that's entertainment!

Then I read the book.

Here's the thing: The book? Genius. Philip Pullman is crazy with the brilliance. The movie? Oy. Don't get me wrong, it sure is pretty. The acting's really good. But when an audience boos a children's movie, that's some serious suck.

*If I may crow for a moment - Philip Pullman's US editor? Also Matt's!

2 more days

Yeah, he's still not here.

Says the hypocrite who loves to read about it

No to go all Girl Power, but am I the only one who doesn't get the hub-bub about JLH's butt? The tabloids are freaking, she's issuing press statements... All this over cellulite?

He still ain't here

The hard drive on our desktop kicked the bucket the other day which means that I'm forced to use the laptop - which means that posting will probably be a touch sporadic until the Geek Squad shows. (Using a laptop becomes surprisingly tricky when one has no lap.) Still, thought I'd peek in to let you know that the babe's still happily (very happily. Oh so happily) ensconced in my belly. But I'm currently 50% effaced and at -1 which means... um...

I have no idea what that means.

I know we covered this stuff in childbirth class but I was too busy trying not to watch the videos to pay proper attention. I think that being 50% effaced means that my cervix is halfway to GO, and once I reach 100% I'll start dilating. The -1 thing? No clue. I wanted to ask my doctor but it's tough to formulate a sentence when someone's hand is all up in your bizazzness.

Unfortunately the boy is facing front (no good) and his back is resting on my right side (again, no good). Doc didn't seem concerned though; she said that contractions tend to corkscrew the kid into proper position and only 5% of babies that face front stay there. Still, a little gentle encouragement can't hurt. (If you think I haven't broken out the flashlight, you don't know me at all.)

Oh the weather outside is... actually not all that frightful

The season, she's upon us, and I am feeling it, kids! I woke up with Bing on the brain and a twitchy urge to spend. What I'm not sure since we're down to one income and I still need a g-d breast pump but I may have to eek out some quality time at Bryant Park's holiday market this week. Every year Bryant Park (love me some Project Runway) transforms into a European-style market with artisans and miniature boutiques. You can grab a hot chocolate from 'Witchcraft (love me some Top Chef) and browse to your heart's content. It's crazy adorable, and made even more so by the presence of a genuine ice skating rink. (That's it next to the gigantic tree.) The best part? IT'S FREE. I've been dying to partake but my delicate condition (and general tendency to hurt myself) prevents such antics.

We set up our little aluminum Christmas tree this weekend (I'm desperate for a real one but as Matt put it, "I think we'll have enough to take care of this year...") and hung our stockings with care. (In other words, we nailed them to the wall.) This year Possum's stocking is one of his baby socks but it's red and white so I figure it counts.

Are you guys feeling it? The season? The reason for the season? Seasonal Affective Disorder? Bring on the 'nog!

For the record, I know I'm too old for these

From the NY Times Sunday Style section:

KNEE SOCKS are rarely considered chic, but a version by In God We Trust have become a hot ticket among young women. The cotton-spandex socks are embellished with gold-plated bridle bits (think Gucci-esque equestrian meets schoolgirl). Wear them with miniskirts, wool shorts or under boots with the bits peeking over the tops. And imagine how cute they would look with ice skates. In black, white, gray, brown, camel and blue, $20 a pair at In God We Trust in New York, (212) 966-9010.

8 more days = much sarcastic apostrophe-ing

I cannot believe this child is due next week.

I spent the day "nesting". And by "nesting" I mean "not".

I don't know about you but whenever I hear that word I immediately picture plump women folding baby clothes while sipping chamomile tea - which seems like exactly the sort of Vaseline-smeared life I should be leading before being covered in milk vomit. My version seems a bit less... pastel. I spent the bulk of the morning on my hands and knees scrubbing grime off the base of the toilet. Then I attacked the moldy shower tile grout with a bleach pen. (Someone told me it works. It doesn't.) I followed that with a complete overhaul of the fridge (why do I have two jars of molasses? Wait, why do I have one jar of molasses?), then lugged ten pounds of miscellany to Housing Works before hitting up TJ Maxx and Babies R Us for some last-minute bath gear.

What happened to the napping and pie baking? Why aren't I making casseroles and learning how to knit? Where's my goddamn chamomile tea?

I can't seem to shake that Beat The Clock feeling. I suspect I'm not alone in this (martyr, thy name is Mommy) but I'm not alone in this, right? Anybody else hit warp speed in those precious pre-baby days? More importantly, anybody got any good stew recipes?

9 more days

Possum is still happy as a clam scootched up by my ribs. Although I've successfully avoided going back to the gym, I haven't given up my quest to get this guy going. I'm rocking, rolling my hips, visualizing optimal birthing positions... You name it, mama's done it. Well, most of it.

At prenatal yoga class today my teacher recommended a new technique: Shining a flashlight down there.

Yes, there.

At this stage babies are very attracted to light and studies have shown that if you shine a bright light on your stomach they will gravitate towards it. Shining a bright light up your woot is just taking that trick a step... further. Babies are also attracted to sound so Matt is supposed to talk to the little guy.

Yes, THERE.

Both the teacher and one of the moms-to-be swore by this. The mother said that during her first delivery her baby wouldn't budge so she actually had a team of doctors gathered around her, talking to her crotch. (Where was that video during Childbirth Education?)

Prenatal yoga class? $15
Convincing your husband to talk to your vagine? Priceless.

Still not dilated.

Halfway through week 38, which is pretty much like week 37 only with more random discomfort.

- The bag, she is packed! I'm still missing a few vitals: numbing spray (gah!), nipple shields (gah!), stool softeners (gah!) but the big ticket items are there. If there's anything you mama's found indispensable, let me know.

- I've gone a little Martha recently with the cleaning and organizing. Last night I spent a good hour organizing - wait for it - the tool chest. I blame the writer's strike. There's only so much "Bringing Home Baby" a girl can watch.

- Nightmares. Crazy, horror-freakshow nightmares. Really, do I need more trouble sleeping?

- I've been hitting the prenatal yoga classes and enjoying the hell out of them. ("Stretch to the left and... relax. Rotate your ankles and... relax." What's not to love?) We were talking about the stuff people have said to us throughout our pregnancies - we've all had something - but one poor woman took the cake. A co-worker actually came up to her and said, "You're pregnant, right? I can tell by the size of your ass."

OH. MY. GOD.