Now I understand....

....why the tiny Chinese manicurist kept telling me how much bigger I am than she'd been:cripes. where did that come from?

it really is quite shocking. kevin agrees.
she must weight 9 lb. already. losing the other 40 i gained is sure to be a treat. all hail the jogging stroller.

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.

Next: Baby treadmills

A stationary bike for your toddler sounds funny to me, but I suppose no more so than putting a helmet on a toddler steering a tricycle. But alas, it seems don't they make one that looks cool in my living room. My living room, shockingly, is not made of white and bright green plastic--so apparently I'm woefully unprepared for motherhood. Poor Lyric will be stuck riding a little red metal trike, sans helmet, at the park.
In other Mommy News, there is something new being tested, called a "Womb Room," for the tiny buns who must exit the oven before they've been fully baked. One of the quotes is so telling with regard to how fragile these little 6 month preemies can be:

“Their eyelids are very thin, so closing their eyes isn’t much protection from even a fairly dim light if it’s directly into their eyes,” Dr. White said.

Poor little things. Lyric 's almost full-term, so she wont need as much womb-room type time, but I'll be sure to keep things nice and cozy--no more neon lights in the Vegas Room at home.

2.5 days and counting

With all the books , email newsletters, advice, videos, films, and classes that have come my ay, I haven't fretted too too much about being utterly clueless when Lyric finally arrives.

Of course, I will be consulting Dr. Google regularly for a refresher on the art of cloth diaper origami and swaddling.

But lest I had any doubts that even the most, um, challenged, individuals not only have children, but manage to not kill them via stupidity. If all these mothers' kids have survived, I think we'll be just fine.