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.

Preparing for the onslaught

I'm sure le enfant will be cute as hell, fun, exciting, crazy, amazing, intriguing, and totally weird. Ten days to go and I'm ready because I'm pretty sure you're never really ready.

The "onslaught" I refer to in my headline actually is the odd arrangement of people who already have started creeping more deeply into my life because of the baby. Back in the day, before I had a vested interest in things fetal or knew what a "onesie" was--you know, about 8 months ago--I tended not to have conversations with people who could locate their own placenta.

I admit it, I probably avoided them if they could only speak "Baby." (Luckily, some of my good Baby friends had lots of other things to talk about.)

Now I'm one of the Baby People, trying not to make my non-baby friends yawn incessently or avoid me. Talk of breast pumps and cradles is just painful unless you own one or are shopping for one.

Of course, I now think childbirth is simply the most fascinating thing to ever happen to anyone ever--or in plainer terms: "it's all about me." Now I am far more social with people I have nothing otherwise in common with. Because on the face of it, producing offspring gives us something in common, right?

In a word: Nuh-uh.

Totally the opposite, it seems. All the baby-in-common thing does is further expose when two people have evidently incompatible natures, values, personalities, and approaches to life.

Those people who like to talk about how other people "should" do things--well, they now seem to hallucinate you've paid them a fat consulting fee to blather on about how *you* should be doing things...with your baby.

People who think they have earned some sort of privilege to interfere in other people's decisions and plans, become far more vocal....about your decisions and plans.

And people who need to feel better about their own weird decisions by spewing about how that's the *only* and *best* way to do it--and thus criticizing all other ways--well, they are at least the most transparent.

In summary: Name your kid what you want, live where you want, let your kid sleep where you want, and make them go to sleep however you want. But try not to sound like you run the World Organization for Names, Sleep and Housing Configurations. Exercise polite restraint and do what I do when other people explain their plans or decisions: say "really? great!" and move on. Courtesy, mommies.

I have opinions, too. I frequently have nothing but opinions. But in Babyland, I'm open to most anything, and we're playing it by ear. And my follow-up to that is "And I think Lyric will be better off for our flexibility."

No single decision we make--calling her Sarah or Moon Unit, living in a city flat or in the 'burbs, sleeping with her on my belly or in her own little princess mansion--is going to create Lyric The Adult.

Although being an example of a chronic Know It All...well that kind of personality shit rolls down like genetics.

Sure, we're interested in hearing different approaches, but soon as someone starts to intimate that their way is *the* way, chances are, I've stopped listening.

It's funny to me that anyone would go that route in a conversation, but I suppose it exemplifies the core difference between my friends and my acquaintances. Friends support what you do and recognize it as separate--not necessarily better or worse--from what they do. Acquantainces, well, they don't get to hear what I do, want, think or believe.

From what I hear, having a kid means bumping into these people left and right from now until...forever. Sigh. And I thought I wasn't a people-person before...

End rant. Lyric is swimming around like she's in training for a synchonized swimming meet, so I need to poke her a little.

Baby face

the hospital where i'm having Lyric publishes pictures of the babies they deliver if the parents dont mind.

i go on every so often to look at them and get all teary eyed. (now I'm actually looking to see what theyre wearing...how retarded is that?)

usually they are all red faced and wrinkly and blank staring (or at least looking like WTF IS GOING ON??) .

then today i saw this one, seanna: http://www.growingfamily.com/webnursery/babypage_view.asp?URLID=0A9Y1K4R8L

for being brand new, fresh out of the oven, she's the most beautiful newborn i think i ever saw. and she looks like she could start talking right now. (click the arrow to see the second photo).

9 days to go!

See the resemblance??

I feel a little better about Lyric's creepyish in-utero snapshots, now that I see these folks claiming how striking the resemblance is between their 4D ultrasounds and their actual newborns.

They are all "wow, it's so amazing, isn't it??" Um, no, actually, if your kidlet had come out looking like those ultrasounds, I'm thinking she would have been held for testing at the local X-Files Lab.

Don't worry Little Lyric...there's hope for a high cute factor after all! And if not, well, you're at least bound to have a wonderful sense of humor :)

Face: 30 lb., Baby: 6 lb., Flirty barista: priceless.

Looks like 30 of the 40 lb. I've gained are in my face, eh? Oy. (Pic is from shower....other folks are from CNET).
Another 6 lb. of the pounds are in Lyric the big-cheeked baby's face. :) (Pic to be inserted soon as I go turn on the scanner).

Got my last ultrasound today. Turns out I have a dual-sided placenta. Like a big pancake connected to a little pancake via a skinny piece o' bacon.

MMMhhhhh, placenta pancakes.

So the c-section is still on for May 31. Doc may not even have me do the amnio since El Fetus is so big, doc is not too worried about the lung development. (I'm a little bummed about that...I really dont want her to spend her first 24 hours in a plastic box :(

Thank god she's coming out early or I'd have a 10 lb. baby? Doctor says probably not, but that's what I'm thinking.

Apparently I also have a high level of amniotic fluid, which while not yet at a dangerous level, could cause pressure on the placenta, which is another reason to do this early. And she said that since I haven't had any Braxton Hicks going on (thank you, Braxton and Hicks, for leaving me alone. I have enough weirdness), that could rapidly change my non-bleeding status.

So, here we are...2 weeks and 1 day to go. Apartment is 85% painted, but poor Kevin's work has exploded in the last couple of weeks or so, so that last 15% is turning out to be a bitch and a half. I feel so bad I can't do much but sit around trying not to look concerned that there's so much to do. I'm not really that concerned...just bored and unable to help.

Should have posted about my shower, but I'm too lazy. Here's the short of it: Wow my friends are good at picking out cool, unique baby stuff! Someone even went to the tatoo parlor and bought a onesie. Never woulda thought of it :) And before the shower, a 20-year-old barista at the coffee shop flirted with 150-lb. me. Was a really great day all around---way, way better than I expected, given that I'm not really a "shower" or "baby" person. (So, now, i guess I am. :)

Pregnancy Stage 8: Balloon Animal Girl

You know about pregnant feet? No? Let me show you.

No, nevermind, I can't. It's just too ugly. Normal, but ugly.

Suffice to say that three days ago I woke up with feet that looked and felt like pink fleshy balloons. The next day, I had balloon ankles to match. The only shoes I can get on are stretchy sandal wedges that barely stretch far enough to accomodate my clown feet.

I got a pedicure yesterday because all I can wear is sandals, but didn't want the pedicurist looking at my feet, so it was no fun. Sigh.

I'm getting bored and tired. I'm bored with being tired. I'm getting tired of complaining about all my minor ailments (chronic vicious heartburn, puff-daddy feet, disabling backpain....). I'm tired of walking like an Oompa Loompa...and kind of looking like one. I'm bored with picking out baby accoutrements and worrying if I am getting the right things, worrying about where it's all going to fit, and worrying about all the money we're spending to create the happiest (read: quietest) baby on the planet. Tired of waiting for and depending on Kevin to do things when I want to just do them myself to get it over with. I can't stain the furniture. I can't even walk to the grocery store. Yawn. Sigh.

Did I mention a sexless existence? Kevin is in Vegas, where prostitution is legal (I don't know why that suddenly fascinates me except that maybe if I were him, I'd be partaking right about now....) and I'm sitting alonein my style-free new rocker-recliner watching my stomach jump around.

Yet, the tummy jumping is something I know I'll miss when it's gone, replaced by the wrinkly, red, peeling, leaking, unconsolable creature with the giant cheeeks. So even though I'm on week 33 and can't imagine having to wait 7 or 8 more weeks (instead of my abbreviated 4 weeks), I am at least used to the little jumpy bean inside me and all the discomforts she brings. Not so sure I'm looking forward to the real life upheaval...and not totally looking forward to it, of course makes me feel guilty. A feeling that I am...altogether now.. .bored and tired of.

By request, here is a picture of the very nice cradle that someone from work lent us:

And here is a picture of the recliner...for which I'm buying an ebony or wine-colored slipcover as soon as the color swatches arrive (nothing in Babyville is easy if you want it to be affordable and in any color but pastel.)
In better news, Paris Hilton has to go to jail for 45 days, and because I'm feeling particularly vindicative this week toward tall, thin, blond, rich women who like to act stupid for attention, this cheered me up. Thanks Paris!

A baby-free post about cell phones

I got this from our Cell Phone guru at CNET via Snopes, I believe. It's really kind of fascinating, I think. I haven't tried any yet, but I'm gonna. Let me know if you have/do and if it works.

FIRST: Emergency
The Emergency Number worldwide for Mobile is 112. If you find yourself out of the coverage area of your mobile network and there is an emergency, dial 112 and the mobile will search any existing network to establish the emergency number for you, and interestingly, this number 112 can be dialed even if the keypad is locked. Try it out.

SECOND: Have you locked your keys in the car?
Does your car have remote keyless entry? This may come in handy someday. Good reason to own a cell phone: If you lock your keys in the car and the spare keys are at home , call someone at home on their cell phone from your cell phone. Hold your cell phone about a foot from your car door and have the person at your home press the unlock button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end. Your car will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive your keys to you. Distance is no object.

You could be hundreds of miles away, and if you can reach someone who has the other "remote" for your car, you can unlock the doors (or the trunk). Editor's Note: It works fine! We tried it out and it unlocked our car over a cell phone!

THIRD: Hidden Battery Power
Imagine your cell battery is very low. To activate, press the keys *3370#. Your cell phone will restart with this reserve and the instrument will show a 50% increase in battery. This reserve will get charged when you charge your cell phone next time.

FOURTH: How to disable a STOLEN mobile phone?
To check your Mobile phone's serial number, key in the following digits on your phone: *#06#. A 15-digit code will appear on the screen. This number is unique to your handset. Write it down and keep it somewhere safe.

When your phone get stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them this code. They will then be able to block your handset so even if the thief changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless. You probably won't get your phone back, but at least you know that whoever stole it can't use/sell it either. If everybody does this, there would be no point in people stealing mobile phones.

And Finally....

FIFTH: Free Directory Service for Cells
Cell phone companies are charging us $1.00 to $1.75 or more for 411 information calls when they don't have to. Most of us do not carry a telephone directory in our vehicle, which makes this situation even more of a problem. When you need to use the 411 information option, simply dial: (800)FREE411, or (800) 373-3411 without incurring any charge at all. Program this into your cell phone now.

Nine pounds? Oh, I don't think so.

At my last doctor visit, the nurse said I'd gained 0 pounds. That's a zero. Zip, zilch. Weight gain=None.

Fast forward 2 weeks to this morning, and the nurse says: "Nine pounds."

Excuse me? How does a 5'2" person gain 9 pounds in two weeks? I doubt I could lose 9 pounds in two months.

Guess that explains why my wedding ring suddenly stopped fitting yesterday. Sigh. The baby herself won't weigh anywhere near 9 pounds. Bagels and brownies are tools of the Man.

Damn. That puts me at 37 pounds gained already. Doctor says it's "probably a lot of water."
I don't drink that much water. Camels don't drink that much water.

In other nonfat news: Last week we had Baby School (newborn care), which among other things included baby CPR (upsetting), diapering (moderately easy on a creepy inanimate doll that didn't actually do anything gross in int), breastfeeding (warning: excessive pain ahead), and swaddling (I don't do crafts).

Day Two of class culminated in two "graduates" bringing in their 2.5-week old Baby Lilly. Also known as "The Creature" (their nickname not ours. but fitting).

They looked fairly sane and not overly haggard...until the woman started recounting her experiences of the past 2.5 weeks.

She sounded....depressed, overwhelmed, mildly annoyed with her husband (who could not share in her physical ordeal) and just generally not very happy but trying to hide it. "Get help" was really her repeated piece of advice. Even though her husband did all the burping, diapering, and cleaning, Mom still felt they they were SOL without a helper.

Meanwhile, "Baby Lily" had this blank stare and sort of a Gollum-esque body.

Needless to say, my spirits spiraled. I was horrified that no one was going to be around to help me for weeks. Kevin's attitude changed dramaticall, too. He was ready to sell all his guitars and sadly acquiesce to a life that he'd never wanted. (He never said that second part, and he kept saying his funk was temporary, but it was there and it was my fault :( ).

Then I got MORE depressed, naturally, and it all went to Hell from there in the McCarthy household. I called my mom and begged for her to fly out the second we escape the hospital, even though until two weeks ago I was looking forward to starting this on our own together. Now, I felt we were being sent into battle and was really ready to go AWOL unless my mommy came.

Thank you Baby School. As my boss noted, they should make you take this class BEFORE you decide to have a baby. Sponsored by Trojan Brand.

Fear not, reader, we don't remain in Hell for more than 4 or 5 days.

This weekend we visited some friends in San Jose who have a 2.5-week old, Olivia. Olivia sleeps 8 hours through the night already. Olivia makes eye contact. Olivia sat on the table in her little bouncy things and hung out with the four of us while we had lunch.

Olivia's mommy and daddy looked and sounded just like their regular old happy normal selves. They didn't sound depressed, they didn't talk in in baby talk, they didn't dote over her but were clearly in love with her, and their house looked normal. They were still our friends.

Yay!

Admittedly, Olivia's daddy was doing all the diapering and burping, etc., but didn't seem to quite appreciate the depth of the physical toll that childbirth and early breast feeding takes on Olivia's mommy. I've decided to accept that most men's power of empathy is just lacking , no matter how helpful they are at that time. It's probably the ones who are trying to "positive" which is something we like. And maybe if they were too empathetic, they would do that weird "sympathetic pregnancy" thing and we would have to leave them. Hard to say.

In the end, Kevin and I left our friends' house rejuvenated and not looking at each other through that sad film of unfamiliarity we had...that gaze of "how the hell did i get here and who the hell are you?" that had filled every room the last few days.

I decided to adopt some of our friend's doctor's more convenient recommendations...so we went for sushi for dinner last night. Hurray!

I also learned that I don't have avoid alcohol entirely while breastfeeding. There is no "hurray" word in English that's strong enough to describe how good that glass of wine is going to taste after this little bit'o Lyric has exited the building of Mommy. I am allowed to have one now, but I think my brain won't allow me to enjoy it. In a six weeks though, I'm buying a damn good bottle of wine and sitting over candlelight with my husband and our new puppy. I mean baby.

Nine pounds!?

Plagiarizing Mia

My mom, in her infinite creativity, has decided that she will not be called Grandma at her young age (and she is young enough that I won't reveal her age...but I'll give you hint. If I'd had Lyric at the same age as my mom had me, Lyric would be driving already. Startling no?) .

I never really picture my mom as a "grandma," (grandmas should be...older? matronly? rounder? something). And her excitement for an alternative way of being called "grandma" concerned me a bit when she paused a long pause before revealing the name she'd be requiring my tiny girl offspring to call her. I figured she'd go with the ever popular Nana, in tribute to our Italian half. Almost! But not.

She came up with "Mia," which means "mine" in Italian. And I think it's perfect. :)

So speaking of my mom, I am going to reprint an excerpt from a couple of emails here, because I find that my own grandmother has not fulfilled my storytelling requirements of "gee, gram, tell me what it was like when you were a kid" as much as I'd like. But my mom, much more a storyteller (no, this is not always good, but in some cases, very much so), responded today to one of my emails mentioning a laundry delivery service. I really liked her reply, so I am archiving it here, for posterity.

I suppose it isn't actually plagiarism, but merely copyright violation, to reprint her cool story without permission, but I wanted to share it with you and someday with the fetus.

when i was little and we lived in the city, we had "the laundry man." it was quite handy, big bag went out, big bag came back and everything was magically clean and folded :)

of course, this was during the time of "the man" - as in the italian neighborhood fruit peddler, the vegetable man, the milk man, and most importantly, the lupini man. later, when we moved to the suburbs we lost everyone except the milk man, but we added the home juice man.

and so, everything comes full circle.the return of the laundryman!

(here I queried for more info on the lupini man, who particularly interested me)

yep - Lupini man brought ceci, lupini, red and plain pistachios, cashew, etc., on a little wooden cart. lupini man gave you whichever one you asked for in a little waxed paper bag. they were like a nickle or dime or quarter or somethin'. it was an incredibly big treat cuz he didnt come every day and even if he had, that didnt mean we could have it everytime.

oooh, and how could i 4get the snowcone man (metal cart w/shaved ice and lottsa colored bottles) - we hardly ever got to have that cuz it would "freeze our bellies," uknow. oh yeah, and the ice cream man ... which was, specifically, the good humor man. yummy, fancy ice cream bars with stuff inside them. :)

man, I really miss those mans.

now, for some odd reason, neither the ice cream bars from the good humor man, nor the italian ice we got at - yes, wait for it - the italian ice store, was expected to "freeze our bellies". yet, when the other ice cream truck came by with the highly suspicious soft-serve vanilla and chocolate cones, there was some belly-freezing concerns. the worst, tho, was the completely evil FROZEN BANANA that would likely kill us cuz the banana could be bad and we'd never know until it was 2late. whew!

And the winner is....

Looks like we're down to Stiles and Willow. Kaitlyn and Halley got no love, despite their "K" and "comet" appeal.

All five names (including Lyric) have been in the running since last September, but Stiles has always been the frontrunner for the middle name. And we're already set on Lyric for a first name.

So, I guess we'll see if she looks like a Lyric Stiles once they airlift her from my belly next month. Stay tuned!

Thanks to the vast majority of you who provided your votes on our daughter-to-be's potential name in the spirit in which it was requested. It's nice to know which names people hear a good ring in, and which names people perceive as original vs. too original vs. overdone.

We had Baby School for the last two nights and it's me most of today to recover. So I'll explore all THAT fun with you when I have more time to write this evening.

Thanks for playing!

Best spoof video

From Fark TV, sent to me by my boss: Click here

Requires sound.

You have to stick with it. The intro is damned funny (a little loud), but the core of the commercial is even funnier.

Awesome.

Oh, no! It's...The Mask!

My best friend and I have had many a laugh about The Mask.

No, not this one.











Nope....But this might be preferable.











No...but I may send away for this one.







Nuh uh. But you're getting warm.








It's The Mask...of Pregnancy.
(du du du dummmm)

We were sure The Mask of Pregnancy didn't really exist, that it was the Bogie Man of the What to Expect books. Never saw a woman with it, never saw any signs of it on our own pregnant selves, never heard of anyone suffering from it. Never even saw a picture of it.

Til now. I saw it this week..in my mirror. Weep.

Like most everything else tied to my vanity, no one else--my husband, coworkers, cats--can see it on me. But I assure you it's there. It looks and feels like a mild heat rash, a sort of reddish-brown-dotted rawness on my cheeks, a spreading inflammation of my intermittent rosacea. My husband says it's my freckles, and that might be partially true, but it's definitely way more than that. Plus, aren't I at least supposed to get a bit of a tan when I get freckles? No fair.

I'd stopped wearing much make-up (or dying my hair, waxing, or just about everything else) out of pure disinterest and laziness. A sort of "what's the point, I'm fat and living a sex-free existence anyway). It was a welcome weakening of my vanity, perhaps. And as it appears my Stila foundation is no match for it anyway.

And no, I'm not posting a photo so you can either say "Eee gads woman!" or "What mask?"

Instead, I'm going to the Mac store.

My dear friend recently Anita informed me of Mac's progressive, hippie-centric values (no animals, etc) and I'm stoked. Thanks Anita!

No thanks to you, Lyric, mask-making, brain-sucking baby that you are.

The Baby That Ate My Brain

I cannot remember anything. Nothing at all.

Saw a movie this weekend. Can't remember what it was. Husband told me the name. Barely rang a bell. Husband told me the plot. Was a faint ringing in the distance, but still not much. Was like it was 5 years ago we saw it. And it was about the end of the world. Whoops.

Can't remember anyone's name at work. Everyone looks the same suddenly. Like I'm seeing them through Lyric's eyes, and she's all "Oh look, another white guy with corporate hair. Whatever." I think she probably just calls everyone Bob. "Hey Bob! Great meeting!"

And another thing! (More name chatter...)

Neither of the names Halley or Kaitlyn rival, say, Emily, in the name popularity contest. Kaitlyn and Halley (note, that's Halley, like alley, like the Comet, not Hailey, like rocks falling on my head) may not be as obscure as, say, Lyric or Willow, but they definitely aren't the Jennifers of the upcoming generation.

And I really wasn't shooting entirely for "obscure" but rather, "meaningful to me." If I had an aunt Emily I adored, I might choose Emily, regardless of its convention.

Chatting virtually with friends about potential names before I make a final call on the big day is fun! So please don't think I'm asking because I'm totally second guessing everything. That's a big chauvinistic, really. (She's not sure about the middle name! She's pregnant and hormonal!)

Now, if you want to know about hormonal freak outs, how about my entire house being a shambles so that my fat, immobile pregnant ass can't get around without tripping because it's taking Kevin four times as long to paint (I told him so, repeatedly) the rooms, and he's going out of town for the next two weekends for work even though the painting won't be done, and the baby is coming in 37 days, and I don't really have anything for her to wear or be wiped or changed or fed with yet, and my back hurts so freaking much I can't walk some days, and when my back isn't hurting, my esophagus is having an acid hole burned through it so that I can't sleep more than four hours a night during this last month which I thought I was going to be my last month of sleep for the next four years.