No way to really describe...

The last few days.


But here are some pictures, and a few words.


Here is my son, who arrived after 2 days of contractions I refused to call "contractions" for fear I'd spend another 10 days waiting....


I insisted I was just feeling the after effects of a heavy dinner


Finally Chris said, "Tell me when the ingestion gets to be 4 minutes apart."


When we arrived at the hospital, they told me I was not only "in real labor" (at last!) but that I was 8 cm, and that my contractions were less than 2 minutes apart.


Three hours, and blinding (not figurative, but literal) pain later...


I was a different person.


This is surely the best thing I have ever done.


The best work I've ever made.


His name is Mose.


Mose Poma.


Mose Benjamin Snyder Poma.


You will love him.

"I think we'll call him Slowbert"

It turns out that there are many orders in which a labor can occur. In the beginning, you're pregnant, and in the end, you're not pregnant anymore... but in the middle there are all of these things that happen, (water breaking, contractions, and far ickier things I'll not mention)


Sometimes they all happen at once (like in the movies, when a woman wakes, places a hands on her belly, and nudges her dashing husband, "Honey-- I think it's time!")


And sometimes... sometimes, it just takes a long damn time.


I have gotten emails and calls from some of you, which I appreciate, and I want to reassure everyone that I am fine, but that I am simulataneously "in labor" and "still pregnant". I have been so for 5 days, am losing my mind, but really really really DON'T want to chat about it. Not even with you.


And you REALLY REALLY REALLY DON'T want any details. I swear you don't. No matter how you think you do. No matter how you may love me.


So you go and have a nice day, and I will stay here, at home, waiting for the puppy to come. And when he is here, I'll be sure to fill you in.


Side note-- I laughed out loud the other day, thinking how, maybe if I held a Twix bar between my legs, he'd come crawling out on his own, drawn to the sweet smell of waxy American chocolate. I didn't actually do it, mind you, but I considered it!!!


In other news, I got the page proofs for my chapbook! I'm very excited.


In still other news, it IS possible to watch too much television.

I'll be gone a few days...

Wish me luck?


In other news... nothing matters... not one whit!

A big debate....

Today, for next week's Nextbook podcast... I interviewed the hilarious Ted Cohen, Professor at the University of Chicago, and moderator of the annual Latke-Hamentash Debate, which has been happening on campus there for 60 years! Cohen was so much fun to chat with...


I can't begin to explain this event, but if you live in the Chicago area, for G-d's sake, GO! And listen to otherwise stuffy professors using field research to debate the merits of these two Jewish holiday treats. In costumes, with visual aids. They process! They recess! Before a crowd of thousands!


It’s this Tuesday at 7:30 PM at Mandel Hall, on the U. of Chicago campus...


(Oh, and if you haven't already heard it, this week is my interview with Myla Goldberg, author of Bee Season... check it out!!!)


In other news, I'm a week away from my due date and I've turned into a total harpy, but I'm told this is "normal." That doesn't change the fact that you (and you and you) are driving me crazy. Go away! Come back! Bring me a soda! I don't want a SODA! Golly, can't you do anything right???!!!


In still other news, I love you!


And beyond that, in the news down the road, I still have a secret. A secret and a baby-name. But I'm not ready to tell you either of them. So THERE!

I have cheered...

I have cheered up considerably...


I got the best email ever yesterday, after sinking into the depths of Laureliscious despair.


Another cat is wriggling from the bag, but I'm stuffing him back in for another week or so.


And no, it isn't the baby. Or the Whitman. Or a poetry prize of any kind.


It's sort of what might happen if the baby and the Whitman climbed into a magic alchemical pot together... and fulfilled my childhood fantasies...

You try and you try....

But sometimes, you can't cheer up.


Sometimes, it's just rough. And you wish and wish you lived near an old close friend, or a sister, so you could share a pizza, or watch a movie, and feel comforted. Just by the presence of the other person.


It's been a hard week. A good friend is very very sick, had a stroke, and I don't know how to help. My grandmother went in for surgery on Monday, but she is too far away to visit. So I get "reports". My husband also had surgery (last week) and he's fine, but has been recording all of this week, until 2 am every morning.


And yesterday the doctor tells me I've lost five pounds. This is not good in the last weeks of pregnancy.


"There's no need to be alarmed" she says, after checking my weight three times, looking alarmed.


"Try not to worry," she says. "If there is damage, it's already done."


"There's nothing you can do," she says. "Just go eat some cheese."


But I'm lonely, and tired of these blue feelings. And there's nobody, nobody, to eat cheese with.

A serious request...

Do you read for a literary magazine that publishes creative nonfiction/ personal essay? Do you know someone who does?


I'm looking for magazines that might be interested in publishing essays from Half/Life.


We have some truly stellar authors, and the voices range insanely. Stories from 500 words to 10,000. Women and men. Ultra-personal and writing-related. Gritty and quirky. Happy and sad and angry and bitter and idealized. And not as religion-ish as you'd espect. Not what you'd expect.


We've already got a few irons in the fire, and I'm excited about the prospects, but there are so many good magazines out there and I'd love to be in a few more...


Backchannel me with tips? Or just advice on YOUR favorite publishers of nonfiction?


I need to get this part done before I start in on the monthlies...


Pretty please?

I swear I answered truthfully...

I took this quiz, despite the fact that I'm not sure I AM a post-modernist at all. And lookit this?!


You are a Gender Nazi. Your boundary-crossing
lifestyle inspires awe in your friends and
colleagues. Or maybe they're just scared you
will kick their asses for using gender-specific
language. Either way, the wife-beater helps.

Never a dull moment...

At least not when you're carting a young (free ranging) turkey around in your belly.


We had Pieta last week, and now this week Teddy is coming for a visit! He's technically here to do some recording with hubby's band, No River City, but due to cat allergies, he'll be staying in our spare room and keeping El Preggo (that's me!) company in the mornings.


Teddy is (for those of you who don't know) an incredible incredible guitarist. Total twang and bang. When we met him he was a Tucson guy, but he has a lot of Iowa friends, and so I think of him as a home-boy. Now he lives in nashville.


One year, hubby spent a week with him in Key West, recording at Jimmy Buffet's studio, and Teddy has the dubious distinction of being among the small group of folks who saw my intensely upsetting NYC apartment, dead pigeons, dog shit, and all.


That's him, above, on the left. The other guy is our old friend Atom Robinson, who now (I think) is busy rocking the labor unions of St. Paul, MN.


In other news, an interview with Myla Goldberg tomorrow, which means I get to spend tonight cuddled up with (sugar free) hot chocolate, reading her new novel, Wickett's Remedy.


Some days I remember just how lucky I am.

Oh my oh my oh my!!!

By which I mean, Holy Shite!!!!!!


You can order me at Amazon!!!!!


(Though you'll wait a long time for THAT delivery, since we aren't out until April...)

What makes an essay???

So, yesterday was pretty exciting around these parts. Thank you so much... to all of you who backchanneled me and said such nice things. It's a pretty amazing experience to get emails from strangers who took the time to remember your name, look you up, write a letter.


The strangest part was the number of folks who asked where to buy a "book" of my "essays".


These prose things I write, have written for the last few years.... wholly spun from the web of the blogosphere... are they essays? Are they something that might grace paper? Truly?


I'm curious about what other bloggers think... Do you envision blog-posts as essays? If you were trying to turn them into essays by some strange alchemy, would you lengthen them? Would you take out all the naughty words? Would you cover your tracks?


We are all so personal here. We all know each other so well. Could these rants stand alone, in a world beyond my 56 regular readers???

I almost missed it...

Which is funny, emblematic, bordering on ironic...


What am I talking about?


My commentary on All Things Considered this evening!!!!!!


YOU CAN LISTEN RIGHT HERE!


And then this post will make a little more sense.


In other news, I burned a pot of brown rice tonight, and a fire truck showed up and everything. Embarassing. Fun stuff.