8 months to bake, 8 months to cool off...

....And the brownies are ready.

Hellllllo, Brownie!

You'll note the baker's face is a little less doughy.

So I wasn't gonna babyblog for a plethora of reasons, the main one being "why?" The secondary one being "when?" and the tertiery ones being "for who? When I answer that, I'll be back!

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.

Baby heads

I admit it, I hardly read the famed "What to Expect" book, recommended by 3.5 billion mothers-to-be and handed down to me from a very sweet co-worker. By the time I got it, I felt like I mostly knew what to expect and that I'd look up anything unexpected as it arose. It was kind of boring and I am a loyal patient of Dr. Google.

I've also read the first half of the first Touchpoints book, which is very good, but after I hit Chapter 9: Month 9 of infanthood, I found I could't remember anything from Weeks 1 through 12, so what was the point?

Harder to admit is what I have read. That is, among other fairly inane things, "Belly Laughs" by Jenny McCarthy, of Playboy, boobjob, MTV, and Jim Carey fame. I read it right after I got pregnant, I think, assuming it would be at least mildly entertaining, which it was, and take 10 minutes to read, which it did.

About 6 of those 10 minutes, however, were horrifying. Had I read it pre-bun-in-oven, I'd likely be 40 pounds lighter and windsurfing right now, as I most assuredly would not be pregnant.

McCarthy (not me, the taller one) must have had every ailment in the What to Expect book, including the freakish ones, like having her ribs constantly pop out and have to be reinserted by her doctor.

WTF?

Well, that was a hell of a long wind-up for what ultimately I wanted to say today, which is:
GOD I WISH MY RIBS WOULD POP OUT.

This baby's giant head is wedged firmly inside my right rib cage. I can't lay down and breathe at the same time. I can't sit up without leaning to the left to give her head some space. Obviously, I can't sleep. And frankly, it hurts a little. Constantly. I think I should just name her Relentless.

Can I go 5.5 more days without laying down, sleeping, or breathing full breaths?

Speaking of baby heads, I just did a Baby Sock and Baby Hat inventory (because this is who I am now....Teensy Clothes Counting Lady) and I report that friends and relatives have given the fetus 18 hats. That's right, 18 fetus hats.
How's a newborn to survive with only 18 tiny hats? (Especially when shes' been wearing mommy's ribcage as a hat, day and night, for months.) Guess we'll have to go buy more this weekend.

File under: Careful what you wish for

When I first considered baby-makin', and for the first few months of baby-buildin', I worked pretty hard to figure a way to find a great doctor who would be pro "elective C-section" and also make me feel like s/he had my best interests at heart. (In my own heart, I figured c-sections were probably a bad idea if not medically necessary. But I also didn't care; i wanted one ,and I wanted someone smart to tell me that was a fine choice.)

Why did I want one so bad? Birth simply seems horribly unpleasant. Important, sensitive parts are left mangled. And I dont like surprises. Or pain. Pick one.

I tend to the first: Birth is icky.

Then at my first ultrasound, I was diagnosed with placenta previa, which equals C-section, but which could easily correct itself. No one made it sound scary, so there was hope for a little surgical out for me.

At the second ultrasound, I still had the previa. Then they said she was was transverse (laying sideways instead of head down). This explain why, for a while, i looked so very "wide."

At my third ultrasound, I was still previa'd. Then they said she'd also moved from sideways breech. Breech + Previa = Definite c-section, because you can't try to coax a fetus to flip around without risking ripping off the placenta. Whoops!

(I doubt she would have complied with any requests for repositioning. I know her, and she's stubborn). Her breech position also further explains my inability to breathe -- her baby head is wedged in my right lung. The fun continues.

At my fourth and final ultrasound, she was practically standing straight up, like she was gonna walk right out the front door. I then learned that I not only have placenta previa, but that it's a double-sided placenta (neat!? no.), which isn't totally weird but weird enough for me. I also learned that I have excessive amniotic fluid (which further explains my giant belly and my inability to breath), a condition that exacerbates the risks of the previa.

So, it seems little Lyric has had HER heart set on a csection since Day One, because we've got just about every medical reason available for no babies to be exiting this body via the established tunnel system. Sheesh, she kind of went overboard though. Just like mommy---she does nothing half way.

So now, I'm just plain worried. This is a lot for the doctor to have to pay attention to at one time. I keep reading about the frequency of c-section hemorraging. I read about how excessive amniotic fluid could mean she's not swallowing like she should. I read how even with a c-section, the breech position isn't a good way to come out.

I know, I shouldn't read. But as mentioned, I don't like surprises.

What I like even less are the the lectures, wagging of fingers, citing of statisics, and shaking of heads I get from so-called feminists, granola-crunchers, men, and other people who assume I am having that unnecessary csection I'd quietly wanted, that I am avoiding the "realness" that is natural birth, and that am somehow wimping out.

It is necessary. It's . And I wish I was just wimping out, as planned.