Yes Please by Amy Poehler Read Free Book Online

looked at him and thought, “I’ve turned into an animal now and I have a feeling this will be the nicest thing you see all night.”
    I took drugs and pushed. It was hard and long. I texted Shoemaker and Seth and told them I wouldn’t be coming to work. While I tried to get my little bugger out, SNL scrambled to replace my parts. The real Elisabeth Moss came in to play herself, and she met Fred Armisen, who one year later to the day would become her husband. I would go to their wedding on my one-year-old boy Archie’s birthday. Seth Meyers prepared to do “Update” alone for the first time. He would go on to do it alone successfully for years, although I like to think it was a tiny bit less fun. My big-headed wonder couldn’t get out, and I started to think crazy thoughts. What if this was the one baby they couldn’t get out? What if they just handed me back my clothes and sent me home and said, “We are so sorry, we did what we could but we just couldn’t get him out. We wish you the best.” I felt like the bouncer of my own uterus. I was ready to turn on all the lights and kick that baby out. “Time to wrap it up. I don’t care where you go but you can’t stay here.”
    I finally had a C-section. As I was wheeled into the operating room one of the nurses said, “Hey, it’s Hillary Clinton!” and I answered by barfing all over her. Full circle.
    Archie was born Saturday, October 25, at 6:09 P.M ., just about when we would have been getting ready to do our first run-through for “Weekend Update.” He was, and remains, perfect. My whole world cracked open and has thankfully never been the same since. I watched Saturday Night Live that night, drugged to the gills. I watched scenes that I had rehearsed hours before. I watched Maya and Kenan sing a song to me, and Seth tap my spot at the “Update” desk and tell me they loved me. I cried and cried and then laughed and laughed. I added a few more years to my life. I kissed Archie’s giant head, which was shaped like a beautiful balloon. Today we wear the same size sombrero. He is six.

H ELLO, EVERYONE. MY NAME IS SETH MEYERS and I will be writing this next chapter so that Amy can take a break. It is very hard to write a book. I haven’t written one myself but I know it’s very hard because every time I have seen Amy in the past year she has greeted me by saying, “Hello,” quickly followed by, “It is very hard to write a book.” At one of these meet-ups I offered to write a chapter for her so she could rest. She said, “Yes please.” After I complete this favor for Amy I will only owe her one thousand more favors. I am not unique in my great debt to her. Most of Amy’s friends owe her around one thousand favors. She never holds it over you though. She’s not that kind of person.
    I’m going to write about the night that Amy gave birth to her first son, Archie.
    Before I get there, a bit of background. I first saw Amy Poehler perform in Chicago at a theater called ImprovOlympic in the midnineties. That theater is now called “iO” because the Olympics threatened to sue. The International Olympic Committee was worried people would walk into a one-hundred-seat theater on the corner of Clark and Addison and wonder why no one was jumping over hurdles.
    The night I first saw Amy, she and the other performers were playing an improv game called “The Dream.” She asked for a volunteer to come onstage and tell her about their day. I raised my hand and she picked me. My first conversation with Amy was in front of an audience: me in a chair, her standing beside me. She was charming, funny, sweet, and sharp, and I left thinking, “I would like to be her friend.”
    The next time I saw Amy perform was with Tina Fey in the same theater. They were workshopping a show called Women of Color . I would learn later that it was the only performance of that show. Amy would move to New York soon after and Tina would quickly follow. There weren’t a lot of people