Chapter 19 - Pregzilla: What's in a Name?

Last Friday, I received some news that on its face was pretty unremarkable, but upon further explanation, was a rather stunning revelation. Sis, my co-worker, had just hung up her cell phone after a conversation with her mom, who is also Boss’ mom. Sis reported that her mom had just left Boss’ and Zilla’s, where she had been holding baby Speedway, their adorable and precious progeny.

You might remember that Boss’ mom had been one of the chosen two who were able to gain admission to Zilla’s room during her labor and delivery at the hospital, with the exception of the brief intercessory visit by the transient pastor and his wife. I had made the reckless assumption that at least the grandmothers had been able to satisfy their newborn baby fixes and had been able to enjoy their new grandson at will. On the contrary. This day, August 21, three weeks after the birth, was the very FIRST time Boss’ mom had been able to even lay a finger on that baby. Indeed, it was the very first time ANYONE on Boss’ side of the family (except Boss himself) had been able to touch the baby. And not only can Boss’ family not touch the baby, they are not welcome to enter Boss and Zilla’s house, either. After the solitary visit a couple of weeks ago at the end of which nephew got stiff-armed by Zilla for making an illegal approach too near the babe, Zilla has declared a moratorium on all visits until further notice. That visit, if you remember, was the first and only time any of them had been in the same room with the baby. Well, party’s over.


As for Zilla’s side of the family? Zilla’s mom landed herself in the hospital last Thursday. Her couple of weeks of live-in helping the new mom climaxed with some sort of health crisis and collapse. The doctors at first thought it was a stroke, then her heart. Testing came up clean in spite of her symptoms, so they finally pinned the cause on anxiety and an allergic reaction. Okay, two weeks of dealing with Zilla, meeting her demands, yet not being able to touch or draw too near her new grandson. Anxiety? Ya think???? And I’m not surprised she broke out in a mass of hives along with the chest pain, tremors and other neurological issues. Poor Zilla’s mom.


I’d like to wager that Zilla’s mom isn’t the only one close to the situation that is ready to dissolve in paroxysms. When I got the new corporate cell bill and was going over it, I saw a number I recognized. Over and over and over. Looks like Zilla’s been developing synergy with the pediatrician’s office. At least 15 minutes at a time, often several times per day. Bet they love that; an opportunity to both care for their patient AND work on their patience.


Boss himself has been strangely mum about the whole baby/parenthood thing. He will answer a direct question about Zilla or the baby, but rarely volunteers anything. No more effusive commentary than if he’d bought a new mattress, or switched toothpastes. “They’re doing fine,” is about all you can wrench out of him. We got more of a descriptive rundown about his grass mowing over the weekend than I’ve heard the last THREE weeks about that baby. No accounts of sleepy smiles and yawns, or how much he eats, or middle-of-the-night diaper changes. Nada. I wonder if Boss, not having a lot of previous experience with babies, expected his son to “do” something spectacular, even as a newborn, and is kind of disconcerted that Isaac just lies there.


Isaac. Yep, baby Speedway’s name is Isaac. Boss predicted this soon after they discovered the baby’s gender, claiming to have settled upon the moniker through supernatural means. In other words, he dreamed it. Problem was, Zilla ALSO had an auspiciously chosen name for the baby, and it WASN’T Isaac. She had already chosen paint for the nursery, picked a bedding set and begun to purchase decorations to match the name, so THAT WAS IT. Name decision made. Zilla intended for the baby to be a namesake of a different hero of the faith; one who built an ark, and cared for two of every kind of creature and rode out a flood. The baby’s room was going to resemble the inside of an ark, right down to the animal pairs.


All right, so if she had liked the name Daniel, would the nursery have looked like a lion’s den? Would little Jonah have been sentenced to lodge in the belly of a fish? Baby Adam might have really enjoyed the Garden of Eden… but would tiny Paul have appreciated peering through the bars of the crib at his room fashioned like a prison? I dunno. Maybe I’m being too picky, but I think decorating a nursery to match the biblical history of your child’s name – not just the name posted somewhere IN the nursery mind you, which I’m okay with, but the all-embracing décor – is a little creeeeepy. I guess I’m REALLY glad she didn’t pick the name Stephen… or Samson. Room decorations to go with those could have probably wreaked psychological havoc.


Anyhow, the months went by while Zilla was pregnant and she insisted that SHE had picked the baby’s name. Boss was just as sure – even MORE sure, if that’s possible – that HE had named the baby. There was no compromise for either of them. I knew better than to ask Zilla directly myself, but whenever some unsuspecting soul brought the subject up with Boss, he’d say that yes, the baby had a name. Then he’d admit the fact that Zilla had chosen a different name, and then he’d LAUGH (I thought, kind of uncharitably) and basically say that Zilla had a little bit to learn. Wow. Because he KNEW what the baby’s name was. And HER name for the baby just wouldn’t suit.


As the due date neared, neither Boss nor Zilla were budging and if anyone called attention to the baby’s possible name, Boss visibly tensed and would say only that they were seeking heavenly guidance on the matter. They reportedly sought heavenly guidance pretty much continuously for four months. After the birth, when well-wishers and family asked what the baby would be called, Boss and Zilla were STILL seeking heavenly guidance. In fact, they sequestered themselves in Zilla’s hospital room alone the whole afternoon following the baby’s birth seeking heavenly guidance.


Family members reported staking a watch reminiscent of keeping an eye on the smoke from the chimney of the Vatican when the cardinals are voting for a new pope. Not being able to gain admittance to visit the couple or the baby, yet continuing to post a strong and doggedly faithful presence in the waiting room of the hospital because Boss “is family,” they made a deal with the nurses to change the label placard on the bassinette in the nursery AS SOON as they could wheedle the name out of the parents. No such luck. The child remained Baby XXXXX for his entire stay. Boss and Zilla from all accounts, continued to seek periodic heavenly guidance for two full days, right up until the time the paperwork had to be filled out in order to be discharged from the hospital, at which time they either received a celestial answer or Boss cut some kind of earthly deal with Zilla. They named the baby Isaac.


We had a kind of informal poll going on at work regarding who we thought would win the battle of the names. Let’s just say that we weren’t surprised that Boss prevailed. We don’t know how he did it, what was said, or any of the details. We are sure of one constant, regardless of whether we ever hear the real story or not. Without a doubt, we know ZIlla was ROYALLY TICKED. She always is when she doesn’t get her way.


Even when it’s something NICE that someone does for her. Boss apparently invited VP, who is pretty good with a camera, to come on over to their house and spearhead the inaugural Family Photo Session, of course, free of charge. So VP went, on his best behavior, requesting that the family choose a time when the baby would be content, awake and alert. Boss chose 10:30 p.m. and Zilla wasn’t happy about it. Don’t know if it was that Boss had made the plans without her knowledge, or that VP was getting closer to the baby than Zilla was comfortable with, or just plain that VP was even in the house, period. It could even have had something to do with the fact that Boss had chosen the most horrible time EVER for a photo shoot, at the end of a long day with a newborn. The baby was SCREAMING, wouldn’t settle down, and kept rooting for a nipple. So the first couple dozen shots, VP said, all show an agitated baby Speedway in some state of craning his neck looking for lunch in all the wrong places.


Since Zilla had been getting HERSELF ready for the photo op , she hadn’t had time to feed the baby, so he was starving – and mad about it. Finally, Zilla excused herself and the babe to the bedroom so the baby could get some relief from his empty tummy and so they could all get some relief from the decibel level. VP appreciated the quiet, but not the forty-five minutes he had to cool his heels waiting for the pair to come back to continue the pictures. Sometime around midnight, Zilla reemerged with the baby. VP said he was able to finally go home around 1:30 a.m. Poor guy. He needed toothpicks for his eyelids.


One subsequent morning at the office, VP tossed the portrait session’s resultant picture CD to me for a look-see. Little Speedway IS a cute, cute baby. Well, as cute as a close-up taken from across a family room with a standard zoom lens can show, anyway. VP told me, with a laugh, to look at Zilla’s face in the initial pictures. Yep, she was REALLY honked off about something. What a sourpuss.


Later on, as he was taking fewer pictures focusing on the baby, and more of the three of them; Boss, Zilla and baby together, VP said he’d made a query about Zilla’s unpleasant expression. He asked her if it would break her face to smile. Marvelous to relate, it didn’t break her face. Maybe Zilla didn’t even realize she looked so unwelcoming. Regardless of the root cause of the attitude change, the rest of the CD shows images of Zilla positively beaming in various poses next to the peacefully sleeping babe (of course, being a newborn, he fell fast asleep after he ate) and the perpetually grimacing Boss.


By the way, that baby furniture apparently is set to be a permanent fixture in our conference room. We just had a fundraising sale, for which I was hoping that item had been brought, but apparently not. Someone has made room for it in a conspicuous corner. (Not in the ladies’ restroom, or in Boss’ office, but in the freakin’ public CONFERENCE room where we host important and influential guests.) A white Jenny Lind changing table, complete with clear acrylic diaper stacker/wipe holder, right next to the fancy upholstered mahogany chairs and occasional table certainly makes an incongruous addition to the décor. Wonder how many of the corporate execs and community leaders, too polite to make a comment, do double-takes when they come in for a meeting?