Spin Cycle: The Best Of...

Jen at Sprite's Keeper really saved my butt this week, because frankly, I'm too busy drilling studs in my closet and singing praises to the Lord in my choir to write anything thoughtful or hilarious. And this week's Spin Cycle topic is...The Best of... Which basically means...a rerun! Too bad this isn't syndication, that's where the real money is. I still make a nice little income from my Seinfeld syndication. But, I digress...a rerun...

I have chosen to drag out for your reading pleasure the very first post I ever wrote. Because I always liked it, and because nobody ever read it except for a handful of friends. And because it "splains" a few things, as Ricky Ricardo would say.

It's kind of interesting to read something I wrote so long ago. My blogging style has definitely evolved over the months. I am now much more informal and...um...potty-mouthed.  

Okay, I'm off to hang closet fixtures. And sing Handel. Enjoy! By the way, I appreciate the irony that that little "You may also like..." widget thingy at the end of the post may actually suggest that you read the original posting of this. And why not?

Jude

One thing I’ve always known for certain, is that I was going to be a mother. I didn’t have a “need” to be a mother, or a “desire” to be a mother. I had what I felt was an actual knowledge that this would be part of my life. So when I woke up one day and realized that I was 40 years old and had still produced no offspring, I decided that I couldn’t just wait around “knowing” it would happen, but that I had to actually get off my ass and make it happen. So my husband, Jimmy, and I started actively trying. And trying. And trying. Which is difficult when you have a husband who only wants to “try” when it’s wild and spontaneous (something which thrilled me in our earlier days together). I was forced to hide the basal thermometer and feign “spontaneous” enthusiasm for “trying”. My husband never caught on as to why I was oh so very frisky at the exact same time every month. He did, however, enjoy it tremendously.

But alas…no pregnancy.  At 41, I faced the fact that I should probably get some professional help, and went to a fertility doctor. And being the aging Catholic that I am, I started lighting a candle to St. Jude every Sunday. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes (and fittingly, actors, which my husband, Jimmy, and I both are), and I thought he would certainly be my go-to guy.

 
We got pregnant! And lost it. Hmmm. Okay, let’s try again. Only this time, I realized it was time for me to marshal the forces. Our health insurance would only pay for one more go with the fertility treatments. This was my Waterloo. My Alamo (we Texans LOVE Alamo analogies!). I needed to bring out the big guns. So…I sent out a plea to all my spiritual-minded friends, and they came through for me in a big way. Catholic friends had novenas going across the country, Christian friends added me to their prayer chains, Buddhist friends had their meditation groups chanting for me, a friend on a trip to Europe lit a candle in every cathedral in France, Japanese friends performed Jorai healing over my womb to get it prepared to welcome the child. And then I decided to play my trump card. I went back to St. Jude, and this time, I promised him that if he’d help us have a baby…I’d name the kid after him. Big, right?

And it worked. It worked! We were blessed with a healthy, thriving pregnancy. My fertility doctor loved me because I was a 41 year old woman who got pregnant TWICE, thus skewing his success rate nicely. And my Italian-American in-laws were overjoyed to learn that it was a masculine child.

Now…how to tell Jimmy that I’d already named the kid by making a vow to a saint. Oh no. Jimmy does not like being told what to do. Oh no. He does not like having decisions made for him. Oh no. And even though Jimmy's spiritual beliefs have now taken a sharp turn to the East, he is still enough of an old Italian Catholic to know that you don’t screw around with a vow to a saint. Oh no, no, no. A vow to a saint is very serious stuff.

We bounced around a few names. Jimmy wanted Vito (I know. But Jimmy’s an Italian actor and has a Godfather thing, and anyway, Vito means “life”, so…). I suggested Levon, for Levon Helm of The Band, a mutual favorite of ours. All the while, I was getting up the guts to make my confession about the wacky vow-to-a-saint thing.

So one night, when I was about 6 months into my pregnancy, we decided to meet for dinner at a local Italian restaurant. When Jimmy got there, he was very wound up and excited (people who know him know that he is usually this way, but this time he was particularly so), and as soon as he sat down he announced “I know what we have to name our son!”

Oh NO!! It was now or never. I had to make my confession.

“I was driving in the car” Jimmy continued, “And ‘Hey Jude’ came on the radio. How many millions of times have I heard this song? But today, I felt like I was hearing it for the first time. And it hit me like a ton of bricks that that’s what we have to name the baby. Jude. What do you think?”

Now, according to Jimmy, I got a look on my face of joy and relief like nothing he’d ever witnessed before, and my eyes welled up with tears. “Yes!” I blubbered, “That’s his name!!”

St. Jude had fixed it.

And on May 6, 2003, my one perfect, silly little boy, Jude Antonio, was born, and since then I’ve been Jude’s Mama.

Comments

[elizabeth]

That is just the sweetest dang story. I love the name Jude -- but I am glad that the patron saint of lost causes wasn't Beelzebub or Frederick or something.

[Viki]

You were pretty big there girl LOL. So did you ever tell Jimmy the real story about how he ended up picking the name Jude?

[Nony (A Slob Comes Clean)]

Wow! This made me tear up. Love it.

By the way, who were you on Seinfeld? Hubby and I embarrass ourselves regularly by making references to Seinfeld that no one else gets.

[Sprite's Keeper]

Love it!
Maybe I should send out a prayer request since we're hitting walls on our second go around.. I mean, it worked for you! That's a great success ratio!
I just can't name the baby after Saints. You know, the Jewish thing.. :-)
You're linked!

[The Bug]

I can't believe I didn't comment on this story the first time I read it - sheesh. I LOVE it. It's a great story for Jude to have - instead of the one my parents told me: "I don't know, we just liked it." Really? And how did you come up with DANA when the only other Dana you could name when I asked was Dana Andrews? Hmmm?

[Maureen@IslandRoar]

What a great story!
And my very favorite Beatles song.

[Maureen]

I am always impressed when things turn out like this. It has to be more than just coincidence.

[Carol]

I love this story Gretchen. Gives me goosebumps!

[VandyJ]

What a great story of how your son got his name. Things like this always work out.

[Stacy (the Random Cool Chick)]

Major goosebumps I tellya! :) I love that St. Jude 'fixed' it so you didn't have to break your promise. ;) And I also love that you are an 'older' mommy like me! Jude is only 6 months younger than Princess Nagger - cool! :)

[Shelby]

LOVE this story! Naming our son was so straightforward it was embarrassing. It went like this--
Me: "How about MyGrandpa YourGrandpa LastName?"
Him: "Okay. But not [nickname my grandpa went by]"
Me: "Oh definitely not. How about [significantly cooler nickname]?"
Him: "Okay."
And before he was born, we told everyone we were naming him Biff.

Had the baby been a girl, we'd still be arguing about it.

I frequently light candles to St. Jude. Especially in Europe, since it feels like the older the cathedral, the more likely he's listening. I also light candles to St. William of Rochester whenever I can find him. Figure that one out and you'll learn a secret about me. Shhhhhhhhh!