One of my last posts (here)

I'm not gonna Mommy Blog on this page...it was intended only for Prenatal Blogging. If her name remains Lyric Stiles, then I'll save this URL for her to blog at later. If her name changes, then I'll archive the text for her and let the pages float into the virtual wind. Either way, there's will be a new site for you visit to witness my neurotic motherhood experiences, and I'll let ya'll know what it is.

As for today...with about 28 hours until blast-off...I'm bored. The house is dirty -- not a mess, just in need of dusting and mopping, and I have no interest in cleaning it. Nesting for me was all about reorganizing, not mopping. My super awesome husband will clean it while I'm laying in the hospital playing Milk Factory.

I am not sure how to feel right now, but I don't feel good. Yes, I am tired of being tired, of walking like penguin, of severe back pain, of being unable to breath when I lie down. But I'm not feeling ready for the quiet little nugget that nudges me from inside to emerge as a loud, energy-sucking, unstoppable life force and to watch our lives thrust forward. Everything is about to change, and it's not on our terms. I'm feeling my age and the persistence of time and this sad wish that Kev and I were again sitting outside at Zeitgeist having a drink in the sun and playing pool and carrying on for hours and hours on a Sunday afternoon without a care in the world, and no concept of anything except Us and feeling the moments.

And I must be scared of the surgery, because I dont think about it much, even though I tend to anxiously mull everything until I have a meltdown. Instead, I sit on this not-quite-black sofa while staring at my cat, who is staring at himself in the mirror, and I can't get up to accomplish anything on any of my little sticky to-do notes. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be depressed yet.