She’s got a full name, but this doesn’t seem like the moment to ask for it. That’s what they call her, by the way: Y. She and Musk used a surrogate this time, which in combination with the pandemic enabled them to keep their daughter a secret, right up until Y shared the news just now on her own. Around the time of her daughter’s birth in December, though, she relocated full time to Austin, and that’s where I’m meeting her-on a sleepy neighborhood cul-de-sac 15 minutes from downtown, less than an hour by private jet from Starbase, and a short drive from the Tesla factory.Ĭlose followers of Grimes on social media may recall that she was definitely not pregnant during the latter months of 2021. Grimes was bunkered in Los Angeles with X and working on Book 1. He was spending more time in Texas, where SpaceX operates its Starbase complex and Tesla is opening a new Gigafactory. He chalked this up to busy careers in distant cities. “Grimes and I are, I’d say, probably semi-separated,” he told Time, which named him its 2021 Person of the Year.

Last fall, though, Musk appeared to confirm rumors that they’d split up. It was scary.” She and Musk wanted more kids, but she feared serious complications. So I would just crawl to the bathroom and crawl back or whatever.” At one point during the pregnancy, she thought she was dying. It was kind of scary, because you don’t want to fall a lot when you’re eight months pregnant. “He was pressing on my nerves, so I kept collapsing,” she says. The last month of her pregnancy with X, she couldn’t walk. Grimes, meanwhile, used to get called “waifish” so often in profiles that she railed against it in a viral 2013 Tumblr post. “I was like, ‘I feel like he’s going to be a peaceful giant.’ ” She was right. When Grimes was pregnant with X in 2020, she had a clear sense of the boy he’d turn out to be. I don’t know what I was thinking.”Ĭongratulations to Grimes and Elon Musk on the birth of their second child together! It’s a girl! “She’s a little colicky too.” She laughs again and buries her face in her hands. Now we both start laughing.ĭid she really think I wasn’t going to hear a baby? It’s a calming period that breaks with a sitcom punch line: full-blown infant screams upstairs, followed by the voice of a woman pleading SHH. I suggest we pause for a moment to discuss the surreal professional ethics at play, which are that I can’t pretend I don’t know she’s got a secret baby with the world’s wealthiest man hiding upstairs. She’s rattled, and I’m mortified by even accidentally making a woman-a new mother, no less-feel exposed and vulnerable.

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