First Pics

All,

If you have come to this site, you most likely care about the pictures of Bode Jackson McGuirk, born 28 November 2007 at 9:58 PM. These are shown below. We will be using this site to post pictures as Bode grows up. We won't send out mass emails every time this site is updated, so check back as often as you like, add the site to your favorites, make comments if you wish, or simply enjoy anonymously. These images were taken about 20 minutes after Bode was born. I've no idea who he looks likes; I've never been good at recognizing resemblances in babies. His hair was light brown and he has brown eyes, and he also has a Simean crease on his right hand. This is when one of those dark lines on the palms of your hand runs straight across rather than curving upward. Evidently this is not too common because two docs commented on it.

No major news to report today other than Mom is recovering nicely, and we hope to go home tomorrow. Then, we will take pictures of the whole family (dogs included).

Happy Friday.

Do You Want To Know How It Ends?

If you are anything like me, when you see a movie or read a book, you like to be completely in the dark about the plot. This is why the original Star Wars trilogy could never be topped by the prequels. We all knew what was going to happen, who would live, who would die, etc. Oh I'm not going to commit blasphemy and say the prequels were bad. I did enjoy them, but there was no shock, no suspense, no "I am your father" type moments. The journey is much more fun when the ending is not known.

I recall one time I was driving from Iowa to Florida. I had bought Michael Crichton's book-on-tape, Airframe, the unabridged version, 22+ hours of audio. All I had to do was keep my hands on the wheel, my eyes on the road, and in no time, I'd leave the cold confines of Iowa and find myself basking in the warm Florida sun. I left early in the morning, found the interstate, and popped in the tape. The audio played for about 20 minutes and then I heard, "This has been a presentation of Bantam Audio Books." To my horror, I discovered I had put in the last tape, not the first. I had thought the story seemed a bit cluttered but reasoned some books start well into the plot line only to develop the back story later. This was not the case, and I had learned why the plane had crashed, the cover up, who was blamed, etc. In essence, I heard both the climax and the denoument of the story. Although a little bummed, I did listen to the whole book, and enjoyed it, but the ride would have been more fun had I not known how it all turned out.

We had a doctor's appointment yesterday morning. First, the medical terms: "Ashley is 60% effaced but still only a finger tip dilated." In layman's terms, she's moving along, but not as fast as the doctor would like. Additionally, since Ashley is a "mature first time mother" (35+ at the time of the baby's birth), her body may not be reacting to the hormones and enzymes like that of a younger first-time mom (yeah, that went over well). This is not to say there are any problems or issues. Ashley is fine, and the baby is fully developed. "Good lung maturity has been achieved," to use doc-speak again. However, since these other "things" are going slowly, the doctor thinks it best to help grease the skids (my term, not doc-speak). This isn't required, but if we wait for Ashley to go into labor, it might be after the due date. This simply is more time for the baby to get bigger, and birthing a bigger baby is no fun for Ashley (or Ender, for that matter) Thus, we are scheduled to go to the hospital Tuesday evening. Various gels will be applied to Ashley throughout the night, and hopefully Wednesday morning, things will have moved along such that the inducement of labor can begin, and sometime later that day, Ender will be born.

Of course, we are excited. But I can't help feel a little like I did when I realized I had learned the ending of Airframe. The suspense is gone. I had always envisioned being at work, the cell phone ringing, and hearing Ashley say, "Jeffy, my water broke." Or perhaps waking up in the middle of the night to contractions and rushing to the hospital. Knowing ahead of time that on Tuesday at 5:00, we are going to the hospital to begin the birthing process takes a little of the fun out of it. It feels like it's a task on my Outlook calendar, and at 4:45 on Tuesday, a little reminder will pop up and say, "15 minutes until you take Ashley to the hospital." There isn't much suspense in a scheduled birth. It seems a little too organized for me, but I suppose that really isn't a bad thing. However, there is still some hope for a surprise delivery. The Auburn-Alabama game is Saturday night. I'm secretly wishing for a very close game with a hugely drammatic ending. With only seconds remaining, I want Auburn to score a spectacular game-winning touchdown, after which Ashley will scream, cheer, shout, and go into labor. Or perhaps she might even go into labor during the game...knowing her, we will stay glued to the TV until the game ends, and only then will we grab out bags and head out. But if that doesn't happen, hopefully come Wednesday, things will have gone well and Ender will make his entrance. The suspense is kind of gone, but in all honesty, the end of the pregnancy is really just the beginning...

Pleasant Turkey Day.

Ender's Log

The following pieces of manuscript were found floating on the shores of the now defunct dungeon, La Wom de Ashle, a prison similar to La Bastille but not as notorious. They are pieced together in what seems to be a sequential order.

I’ve been in this cell for as long as I can remember. Any memories I had before being in here have been wiped away. My mind is blank, void of substance. I don’t even know my name, or what I am, or what I look like. It’s always dark, pitch black like a starless night; my captors don’t even have the decency to give me a candle. Or food for that matter, which is somewhat peculiar. I’ve never eaten or drank in here, but I’m not starving. Perhaps they are drugging and then feeding me intravenously. On many occasions, I’ve gone to sleep hungry only to have awoken with a full stomach. I do know my captors are evil. Not only am I confined to the smallest of spaces, they feel the need to tether me to the wall with some sort of chain attached to my abdomen. I’ve tried yanking on this chord, but it is impervious to anything I try to do to sever it, and I’ve given up trying to remove it. Fortunately, it is rather long and doesn’t impede my movements, although I do have to be careful so as not to accidentally wrap it around my neck…

I’ve had no direct physical contact with those that imprison me, but I know they are near, watching me, monitoring me. I can hear them, their voices garbled. If I listen real close, I can make out the occasional word. I know there are at least two guards that are monitoring me on a regular basis, as I’ve grown to recognize their voices. One is male and one is female, and I think the female is guarding me the majority of the time. The male’s voice…I don’t hear it as often. Perhaps he’s in charge of my captivity and only comes along periodically to check on my status. He doesn’t say much. In fact, he always seems to say the same thing: Hiender. I’ve no idea what ‘hiender’ means; obviously this guard is the less intelligent of the two. The female says many things, but the two I recognize most often are ‘Hey buddy’ and ‘Come on Auburn!” which is usually shouted. The first seems like a greeting, while the second can only be some sort of tribal war cry…

I’ve performed numerous checks of my cell, and I’m convinced my captors are shrinking its size. I can no longer stretch my arms from side to side without touching the walls and my ability to maneuver is diminishing. But there is hope. The walls are not as solid as I once thought. My cell is more like a flexible membrane. I’ve tested all areas and if I push hard enough, the walls move outward. I thought I might be able to apply enough pressure, pierce the membrane and break free. Unfortunately, it seems that every time I push too hard, one of the guards pushes back. My captors are quite vigilant—they know every move I make. Every place I try, they are there, pushing against me. This frustrates me, and at one point, I lost it. I started kicking and punching and spinning around until I exhausted myself. The walls are closing in on me, and I don’t know what to do…

The cell continues to shrink, and I get the sense I’m sinking lower and lower. Still, all hope is not lost because I think someone might be working on the outside to help me break free. The other morning, I was resting when I felt something touch my head for only the briefest of seconds. I thought I might have imagined it, but a week later, the same thing happened. This time, I was ready, and quickly investigated the area from which the touch came. Oh euphoria! There is a small, minuscule opening, no larger than a pencil width. I think I can even see the vaguest of light. Someone has bored a passageway for me to use to escape. I don’t know how I could ever fit through something so small, yet I do know I can’t survive much longer in this cell. I must make an effort to increase the size of this opening. Hopefully, my friend on the other end will continue his efforts to do the same. I’ve tried numerous positions, but the best leverage I get is when I place my head over the opening and push downwards. The guards don’t seem to know I’m doing this, so I can only hope the escape passage is unknown to them. I have perhaps another week before the cell becomes unlivable. I hope I can increase the size of the opening. It’s going to be tight but I think I can manage…

There is no more manuscript. No one knows the fate of this prisoner, if these writings are valid or if they are simply fabrications of an idle mind…

Houston, we have a problem.

Ok, before anyone gets scared, Ashley and Ender are both fine. We had a checkup this morning, and the doctor said things are going along nicely and that Ashley's hips have moved considerably since our last visit. Evidently things are "opening up" to allow smooth passage as Ender makes his way from the womb to the world. Hopefully this assuages any fears you may have had after seeing the title.

Now, here is the problem: Why was I never informed about the "six-week layoff" following Ender's birth? This wasn't mentioned during our classes, nor have I ever heard the topic discussed in a "should we have a baby" pamphlet, which only seem to cover questions like, "Are you financially able to support a child?" and "Are you willing to sacrifice your personal time to care for a baby's needs?" While maybe not as important, the question, "Do you realize it will be at least six weeks following the birth of your baby that your wife is off limits?" should be broached well in advance of any activity which may involve conception. I'm not saying this would have been a deal breaker, but this certainly alters my "Welcome Home From the Hospital, Ashley" plans.

Oh, don't think I'm idiot--I figured there'd be some recovery time, like when I sprained an ankle (I was back running within a week) or tweeked a shoulder (two weeks off from swinging a racquet), but I'd no idea it'd be until 2008 and then some before Ashley is (and to use a football term), "ready for game speed." When the doctor mentioned the six weeks this morning, I thought she was joking. I waited for the punch line, but it never came. I looked to Ashley for confirmation, and she just nodded like it wasn't news to her. In fact, she was somewhat surprised at my reaction, claiming that we had talked about this a bunch of times. Sorry, little lady, but a conversation which involves me and discusses that particular topic is likely to be ingrained into both my conscious and subconscious for all eternity (or, in this case, six weeks post Ender's birth, which is like an eternity). What's even worse is Ashley's rather subdued reaction to the six-week sentence of abstinence, which has me starting to doubt myself. Then again, it was this particular act that resulted in Ashley's current condition and the less-than-enjoyable last nine months. Still, she could at least act a little more disappointed (for my sake).

There are now two very important dates in the McGuirk family: 29 November 2007 (Ender's arrival) and 11 January 2008 (Game Day). Heaven help us if Ender's late...

Pleasant day,

Jeff

Get Ready, Get Set....Wait.

Today marks the completion of week 37 of Ashley's pregnancy. Thus, if the kiddo were to come anytime after today, he would no longer be characterized as premature. This is a good thing because it means Ender is almost his full size and weight and could come at any day. This is also a frightening thing because it means Ender could come at any day. That being said, we each packed a hospital bag. Ashley packed stuff like comfortably jammies, an outfit to wear home, toothbrush, etc. I, thinking I was showing great foresight, had packed all six Star Wars DVD's (in case of a long labor). Ashley was not amused and has banned all Star Wars related items from the delivery room. This ruined my plan to have the Empire Strikes Back cued up such that I would press play when the nurses hand Ender to me for the first time. Ender would look at me and hear Darth Vadar say, "I am your father." First impressions are important.

A lot of people have been asking us if we have a name picked out. Yes, we do have a name. However, we feel we need to actually see the boy first to ensure the name suits him. After all, it is possible Ashley could take one look at him and say, "He really is an Ender." Doubtful, but entirely possible. Or she could suddenly have a change of heart and think Pigot is a good name (Pigot is an old Rankin family name; it is pronounced with a long i). Also doubtful, but possible. However, we do know the kid won't be named after me (there's only room for one J.S. McGuirk in this world), nor will he be named after any of our family members. In fact, we don't think anyone in our families has this name. Nor is the name in the top 1,000 baby names from 2000 - 2006 on the social security data base http://www.ssa.gov/OACT/babynames/decades/names2000s.html. And no, we didn't take a common name and choose some crazy spelling. As a hint, I will say a character from a movie in the 1990's had this name. Not the lead in the movie but certainly integral to the film (and no, Obi-Wan, Morpheus, or Hannibel).

Now, some dog pictures. First, me and the little pug. Hopefully we'll have a similar picture in a few weeks of me and Ender; in all likelihood, Ender will then be wearing a hat and hopefully won't have fur or weigh 20 pounds.

Note the massive stack of pillows behind me on the bed. Now imagine a pregnant Ashley, a one-eyed pug, all those pillows, and me, sleeping on the same bed. Also, realize even though Ashley is pregnant, I am still the most massive. Yet of all of the above, who do you think gets the least amount of space on the bed? I've become quite adept at being able to will myself awake just before I fall off the edge.

Finally, a not-so-flattering picture of me and Auburn lying on Auburn's sleeping area. Note how plush and wide-spread her bed is. Maybe I should start sleeping there

Pleasant day.