Evil postcards, bizarro kids

CNET News (full disclosure: they send my paychecks) has published not one but two good pieces that I wish I could say I edited, but I'll plug them anyway.

The first has about a dozen wonderfully cruel and funny online postcards that random Webbies have created. I'm secretly concocting my own right now. Who will be the recipient? Will it be you? Or you?

The other is a feature that illustrates how totally wierd and cool little kids are nowadays when it comes to technology. Makes me wonder how funny Lyric will find our CD player one day. At least our turntable will still be cool.

Nothing much to report on the Lyrical front this week, except that she must be having a growth spurt. I was ravenous for the first few days of the week; by Thursday I couldn't stay awake for more than a few hours at a time; and now my midsection feels like My Favorite Fetus is using a crowbar to create more space for herself inside me.

I also have the urge to rearrange furniture and, more oddly, clean things. Not a lot ot things, but as my dear husband can attest, any urge to clean on my part is both welcome and clearly indicative of my falling deeper into BizarroWorld.

I want my cub

Seeing pictures like this makes me really want Lyric to get here, now!

(My immediate next thought was: Do baby tigers cry all night so the mommy tiger gets no sleep?)

Source: my awesomely sappy husband.

Wikipedia Creepiedia (more Latin)

After saying her own results were dull, my best friend asked me to look up my birthday in Wikipedia. So I did because, well, she's got some pull around here.

Here's what I got for August 10:

1988
File under: "Too little too ___," or "God, we really suck sometimes."
U.S. President Ronald Reagan signs the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, providing $20,000 payments to Japanese-Americans who were interned during World War II.

1981
File under: Creepy.
The head of John Walsh's son Adam is found in Florida. This event will later prompt the U.S. Congress to pass the Missing Children's Act.

Thanks for that, Kath.

No acid, Pony! Bad Pony!

My husband pinged me today and said "We should flip to see who takes Lyric to see this."

Then he sent this link, and he said, "Loser has to take her. Obviously."

I lost the flip.

So for me, one day, it will be all "Teapots and rainbows, castles and unicorns, balloons and fancy dress-up clothes will fill the stage…"

But the key moment of horror, dear readers, happens only after you click "WATCH STAGE TRAILER SHOW NOW!"

So you really must watch the trailer video. (And I really must remember to ask Kevin what he was searching for that he ran across this?)

If you've never dropped acid, I think it's now reasonable, after watching the video, for you to say that you have. And if you are still dropping acid (why are you still dropping acid?!), you know where to go hang out next time you get some.

Although, when I said that to Kevin, he said "If I were on acid at that show, I really think I would kill myself. I mean it. Really."

Poor Lyric. She has no idea what she's getting herself into if she decides to like ponies or the color pink. Maybe if we take her to this show early on, she will develop a lifelong aversion to both.

Barfing up the baby

"I had no morning sickness." 

I can't count the number of times I said that. Gloated about it even. 

I gloated well past that first trimester, when you're supposed to be tossing your breakfast cookies daily...except that I never did.

"I had no morning sickness." 

Now say it again and place the emphasis on the HAD. Dammit.

Here I am, more than halfway into this deal, and I get blindsided this morning by the distinct urge to barf up the baby, and all that surrounds her, all of over the bedroom floor at 5AM.

Lame.

I felt like I had a hangover, dehydrated and dying to hurl but unable to. But since I drank and ate nothing all for dinner last night….ah yes, therein lies the problem. For the first time in 5 months, I skipped a meal. 

I guess there actually is a *good* reason that I've eaten every two hours for the last 1,680 hours. Kept me from yorking. Irony.

My dear husband came to the rescue, as always, this time with a piece of nice, dry toast--the only piece of anything edible in the apartment. 

I ate while crouched on the bathroom floor--which, by the way, is a place one should ever have to eat. Ever. In no time, all was right with my internal world again.

My sincerest applause to all the women who dealt with "morning" sickness every day, all day, for the first 3 months of their pregnancies. I'd have turned poor Lyric over to a surrogate mommy for baking if I'd felt like this more than twice.

Learning Latin: Placenta Previa

First we saw the awesome set of itsy bitsy fingers and toes on our 7-ounce wonder (see previous post). Then the ultrasound technician gave us something new to obsess about: placenta previa.

This means the placenta (definition: the inner lunchbox of food, air, and other assorted snacks I pack for Lyric 24/7) is way down at the bottom, blocking Lyric's exit route. That's bad interior design on my part. If the placenta doesn't scoot over (my doc seems to think it won't, but the nurse thinks it will...), that means a three-week-early c-section for me, so they can snatch Lyric out before she tries to leave on her own (i.e., "labor") and then discovers the door is jammed and freaks out.

It's a little scary, but about 1 in 200 women get it, so not so unusual that it concerns the doctor (much).

I dont have many qualms about the c-section...both the 'natural' and surgical methods of "delivery" (isn't that a funny word? Given the options, I choose Fed Ex) are pretty disturbing. After all, a human being is trying to live in, and then will be evicted from, my body. It's bizarre no matter which way you go about the transition. Can you picture yourself emerging from inside your mother's womb? I didn't think so. Seen Total Recall?


I am, however, restricted to a low-movement regimen (to keep the placenta from tearing away, thus killing us both). Specifically, I was told "No bouncing" allowed. (That means you, treadmill and elliptical machine).

And no sex. (That means you, Daddio).

And no sex-like reenactments. (Uh, that means me, alone, in the shower...no!).

What do all those restrictions really add up to? To start, my ass already has its own zip code. I eat just about whatever I want---translation: chocolate and beef in all their incarnations (tho they don't do well together, even in the same sentence). Yes, I've renounced my vegetarianism in lieu of almost total carnivorism.

But I'm definitely not "bouncing."

Where that leaves me: No exercise, little energy, little motivation for socialization, no desire for the hooch. Turns out I'm a happy recluse. Apparently, it was my Alter Ego who liked to drink large amounts of wine with large groups of people. So now, Alter Ego goes out alone (I have to assume...I never see her anymore), while I discover all TiVo has to offer, which is a lot (think quantity, not quality).

I don't even feel like reading about babies when I get home from work each day--but it will all be intuitive anyway, right?

Or maybe it will be a lot more learning of scary Latin terms.

Lyric is half-baked today

After discovering I had a fetus within--and that it was a girl--the first question anyone had was "Are you gonna blog about it?"

It seemed silly, overstating the uniqueness of the event, but now that I've told the same stories to 25 different people at 25 different times, I find the broadcast medium more appealing.

I've never made more than a couple of entries into a blog before I lost interest. Let's see if the little alien can hold my attention.

Looks like little ms. lyric is cookin' right along now, so it's safe to document her online. so I hereby join the ranks of the baby bloggers.

If I have the "weeks" thing figured out, I believe 20 weeks have passed as of today, so I'm halfway to being "Lyric's Mom." Good title for a Lifetime special. 

Second question everyone has had is: Have you felt it move yet? 

Answer: No. Or yes. Maybe. It's hard to say...there's a lot happening in the my midsection at the moment, but I haven't felt anything I would definitively describe as "a human being bopping around inside me" --or "fluttering," as all the Baby Web sites (and lo, there are many) so quaintly describe. Consequently, I was extremely relieved by the latest ultrasound pics. She's moving all over the place, rubbing her little head and whatnot. She is does it all rather stealthily it seems. What nice quiet little alien.