The Death of the Name E---r

All right, first I feel the need to dispute the rumor currently being circulated by US magazine. Ashley and I did not almost come to blows in the operating room regarding the baby's name. Recall (and I’ve been given permission to use the name again for this story), I wanted to name the baby Ender; Ashley was vehemently against this. Despite what you may have read in US, the name Bode was decided upon even before Ashley went into the OR. Why, you may ask, did I acquiesce so easily? Was it because I didn't want to put Ashley through any more trauma? Not really (she's tough and could handle it). The reality is the name was ruined for me by a drug dealer named Bob (the anesthesiologist). Bob is an elderly fellow, short, balding, and one of the nicest guys anyone could meet. “Just call me Bob, everybody calls me Bob,” he said when he came in to give Ashley the epidural. I was not used to a doctor being so casual, so humble. I guess I've seen too many episodes of ER, Grey's Anatomy, or watched Malice one too many times ("I am God!" says the doctor). Anyways, while Bob was sticking my wife with his eight-inch needle (don’t be perverted you sickos), he was making small talk with Ashley—'How long you lived in Kettering? Really, from Colorado? Why'd you ever come here?' and 'First baby? Really, you're 37; you certainly don't look it.' Like I said, the nicest guy you could ever meet. At one point, he asked if we had chosen a name. Ashley, who was now under the influence of some powerful drugs, told Bob that she wanted to name the baby Bode but that her husband had a different name in mind. ‘What’s the other name?’ came Bob’s soothing voice. ‘Ender,’ Ashley replied. I expected Bob to smile that fatherly smile he had done so often since he had come into the room and say something supportive. Alas, Bob, this wonderfully nice man, turns into this malicious little being (picture how Anakin changes when he kills Mace Windu and goes to the dark side). He says to me, ‘You can’t name him that,’ while menacing that same eight-inch piece of sharp metal. ‘Why not? Didn't you ever read Ender’s Game?’ I replied. ‘I don't care what book it's from. It doesn't matter. All the kids are going to call him Rear-ender.’ And there ended my fascination with the name...

There is an unwritten rule that one should never, ever, under any circumstances, ask a woman if she is pregnant no matter how obvious it may seem. There is always that one percent chance you could be wrong, and there is no known response to 'Sorry, I'm not pregnant,' that will alleviate the situation. Along this line of thought, we've learned another item on the list of 'they don’t tell you this stuff before hand' (reference the Houston, We Have a Problem post). Perhaps we simply didn’t listen to this when it was mentioned, or figured it wouldn’t apply to us. The morning after Bode was born, Ashley and I both expected her belly to be mostly gone. After all, the baby was no longer inside. Oh sure, we did expect some extra tissue, but we’d no idea she would still look 6+ months pregnant. For those that don’t know, the belly is this big because the indoor plumbing doesn’t snap back quickly. I guess I thought the return back to her normal size and shape would be along the timeline of the Hulk transforming back David Banner. Yes, her belly has gone down considerably since Bode’s birth, but it was still large enough to ruin one particular gentleman’s afternoon. We went down the street to pick up a holiday ornament holder (aka a Christmas tree for the non-PC correct). Anyways, the guy at the lot violated the unwritten rule of pregnancy comments. ‘I imagine next year’s Christmas will be a lot different after your little one arrives,’ the guy says, nodding towards Ashley’s belly. Ashley's eyes turned jet black and her hair raised up like there was a lot of static electricity in the air. I don't recall much after that, but I do know the surgeons were able to reattach both of the man's testicles. Even better, we got a great price on the tree--the guy was quite uncomfortable during the rest of the sale, and I think he simply wanted us gone...


Ok, here's the real reason you come to this blog: the Bode-man (long o, no e, rhymes with Code-man) update. Yesterday, Bode had his one-week checkup. He is now 7 pounds, 3 ounces and is doing just fine. He's eating good, sleeping better, and we think he might have smiled (or it could have been a burp aftershock, we're not sure which). First, here's me and the little guy in front of the aforementioned Christmas tree Next, we have have a picture of Bode with Auburn. He looks soooo little next to her; it's amazing how gentle the rottie is with the baby. Below we have a picture of Dudley sniffing the little man. I'm sure Dud was pissed when he realized Bode was in his sleeping area ('Who's been sleeping in my bed?' said the Dud-pug). Finally, we have a picture of Bode with Nana (Ashley's Mom). At this point, we have to give big ups to Nana, who has been with us since Bode was born and is staying until the 13th of December (although we're trying to convince her to extend her stay...until 2010). She's been awesome--changes him, rocks him, has cooked meals and cookies for us, and has been a calming influence on the whole household (we won't mention that she swipes and does the cross word before either of us has a chance to see it). We would not be as well rested nor maintained our sanity if not for the presence of this silver haired angel, and for that, we thank her with all our hearts. As a final thought: Notice in the picture of Bode and Nana all the books on the shelves on the top left. They are all Star Wars books. The little guy's future is already set: he's going to be a nerd--just like Daddy! May the force be with you, and pleasant day.

Bode's First Interview

Announcer: Live from New York, the city that never sleeps, it’s the Late Show with…hold it. Guys, cut the music…I’m reading the wrong sheet. I need the new script—yes, that one. Ok, I got it. In five, four, three, two, … Webcast from Kettering, the city that sleeps at half past eight, it’s the Way too Effing Early Show. Tonight’s guest is the new arrival, Bode Jackson. And now, your host, a dog that will tell you that he loves you just to get what he wants….Duuuudleeeeyyyy McGuirk!

Applause, cheers, and only a couple jeers.

Dudley: Hey, how’s everyone doing out there in web land? Well, we’re live this morning from the McGuirk living room. Jeff had intended to host the show, but unfortunately, he’s out cold sleeping. Auburn tried her best to lick him to consciousness, but no dice. So you’re stuck with me as the host. Now, due to the writer’s strike, we don’t really have much of a monologue. I know Jeff tried writing some material, but I looked at what he had and figured it would bomb. So we’re going to skip that part of the show and jump right into the interview, which is probably what most of you are tuning in for anyways…am I right? We could be like that BCS selection show that kept teasing us and wouldn’t cut to the chase and simply tell us LSU gets to whip, I mean play, the Buckeyes in the championship game. So, without further adieu, let’s bring out our guest. He’s a young man that arrived here only a couple days ago, an infant in the meaty part of the bell curve for all categories. Conceived and born right here in the heart of Kettering, let’s give a big round of applause for Bode McGuirk.

Applause, cheers, whistles, and quite a few cat-calls from the ladies in the audience.


Dudley: Welcome to the show, Bode. Man, I can’t get over how small you are. You’re no bigger than a liter of Coke.
Bode: Yeah, I hear I’m related to some people that were 9-pounders when they were born, but the doctors seemed very happy with my weight. In fact, they all commented that I have such a big head.
Dudley: That’s what she said.
Bode: Come again?
Dudley: That’s what she said.
Bode: You’re not making any sense.
Dudley: That’s what…oh wait, it won’t work here. You don’t get ‘that’s what she said’ type humor? You ever seen The Office?
Bode: No, ‘fraid not.
Dudley: You will. Daddy watches it over and over; doesn’t matter if he’s seen it already. In fact, he was watching a TiVoed episode right before he conked out on the sofa.
Bode: Daddy? Who’s this Daddy person?
Dudley: Daddy—you know, the guy that lives here with us? Perhaps you think of him as this:
Bode: Oh, ok, I’m with you. Yeah, I know the guy. You say his name is Daddy? He’s seems a nice enough fellow, but he really needs to work on his changing skills. How long does it take to change a diaper? Thirty seconds? A minute? For some reason, it takes him close to five minutes. And these are a cold five minutes. I mean, the guys holding my legs, exposing my bare ass to the cold night air, and he’s like a mammoth in a tar pit. I need to figure out how to light a fire under this guy.
Dudley: I think I know how you could speed him up.
Bode: How?
Dudley: Next time he’s moving too slow, hose him down some.
Bode: Really, that works?
Dudley: You bet. I used to do that in the house—you should see how fast he moves. ‘Course, he gets a bit pissed (no pun intended), but it’s really quite amusing.
Bode: Well, thanks, I’ll give it a try next time.
Dudley: Well, I gotta say you look fantastic.
Bode: Yeah, well, I was eating pretty well there for awhile. Got up to 7 pounds, 9 ounces. I thought I looked a bit chubby, so I’ve dropped 10 ounces on this new diet—nothing but milk.
Dudley: And how’s that working out for you?
Bode: Good, real good. A bit bland after awhile…kinda tastes like chicken.
Dudley: What do you think of Mama?
Bode: Mama?

Dudley: You know, the lady of the house.

Bode: Still not ringing a bell.

Dudley: Perhaps you think of her as

Bode: The Milk Lady? That’s Mama? Oh, she’s awesome. What a nice lady. I just adore her.
Dudley: Me too. I’ve nothing but love for that woman.
Bode: Is there something wrong with her?
Dudley: What do you mean?
Bode: Well, I saw ‘Daddy’ helping her put her socks and shoes on.
Dudley: Oh, she just has some swelling—developed some really nice cankles, but that should go away soon. I know she seems a bit feeble right now, but you’ll be amazed how much energy Mama has. She exercises quite a bit.
Bode: Really? Do you think she will take me running…of course, only when it’s warmer because it’s freezing here. Where I come from the temperature never drops below 98 degrees.
Dudley: Get used to it. Of course, if you get too cold, you can always snuggle up to Auburn.
Bode: Auburn? I’ve heard that name many times. What is it?
Dudley: Well, there are two Auburns: one is a college—Mama went there and she’s a rabid fan. The other Auburn is the dog—that big black and brown fury animal that roams around here.
Bode: I know him. He’s sweet.
Dudley: Auburn is a bitch.
Bode: Oh, sorry. She’s sweet. But she keeps licking me, especially when I’m crying. I like it, but sometimes I think she believes my head is a lollipop. I guess I taste good to her…I just hope she never wants more than a lick!
Dudley: Oh she’s harmless…provided she knows you. Make no mistake, she’ll protect you, and she’s quite a sight to see when she’s in guard mode.
Bode: I bet. I do like that she seems to know when I need changing; she powers her nose right into me when I’m wet or dirty. It’s a big cue to ‘Mama’ and ‘Daddy’.
Dudley: I’m sure they appreciate it. Well that’s about all the time we have. One last question. What do you think of your house?
Bode: I love it—especially the kitchen. Man, it looks awesome. I can’t believe I actually live here.

Dudley: Neither can Mama and Daddy, Bode, neither can Mama and Daddy.

Dudley: Well, Bode, thanks for being here. Come back any time.
Bode: I appreciate, Dudley. I sure will. But first, I need a nap—I’ve been awake for almost two hours; I’m not a machine, you know!
Dudley: I hear you, Bode. I need a nap myself. You take care of yourself. Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Bode McGuirk.

Applause, Whoots, Hollars

Dudley: What a nice kid…polite, well mannered, sincere. Maybe he was adopted. Seemed to hiccough a bit more than I’d expect, but that’ll pass. Anyways, before we end, we have a special treat. Drum roll please.

Drum Roll

Dudley: We have for you the Top 5 Things Mama and Daddy have learned since Bode’s arrival:
Number 5: They never knew three hours of uninterrupted sleep could be the unequivocal bliss that it has become.
Number 4: Baby hands are the most powerful, relentless vices in the world when wrapped around hair
Number 3: That a parental dinner conversation consisting of color, clarity, and consistency is not about diamonds
Number 2: All babies are born on Tokyo time
And the Number 1 thing Mama and Daddy have learned is that a baby's eyes can melt even the hardest of substances.

Dudley: That's it, ladies and gentlemen. We certainly hope you enjoyed the show.

Applause, shouts, whistles, so much so that Jeff wakes up.

Jeff (very groggy): Did I miss something?

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.