too busy to think of a title

Books on my bedside table or scattered around the house in various stages of unread-y-ness:

Variations on the Song of Songs by Christos Yannaras
     I can't compare this to any book but Kierkegaard's Philosophical Fragments. Sometimes it's metaphysics, sometimes it's poetry. The translation is kind of awkward but I have a pedantic soft spot for Greeky literal translations so I find it beautiful.
The Marble Faun by Nathaniel Hawthorne
     Moral exploration of a murder, set in a very bohemian artist milieu in Rome. It's definitely not New England, and that's strange.
So That's What They're For by Janet Tamaro
     A funny and encouraging guide to breastfeeding. I'm laughing at like 80% of this lady's jokes, which is pretty good. Even Matt laughed when he looked over my shoulder and randomly read a few sentences. 
The Tightwad Gazette by Amy Dacyczn
      Dated but inspiring. 

But I haven't been able to read the first two much recently. One reason is that Matt is working a lot this week and we've had something going on every evening, so I have been focused on earthly cares like food, housework and sleep as soon as I get home from work. The other reason is that in general, I have not been able to turn off my anxious, calculating, planny brain in order to enjoy reflection or intellectual stuff. All I can muster up is the concentration for practical, entertaining books. I have been too busy worrying about the arrival of the baby and the subsequent move to D.C. (There you have it!) Even though I have been striving and struggling like a stupid beetle down here, God has not seen fit to frustrate my plans or confuse my tongues or anything like that. Things are working out very well, although this has nothing to do with my compulsive Google mapping and budget wrangling, and everything to do with grace from others. When arrangements are more concrete I will write about them. They are settled enough (and my efforts are futile enough) that I should relax and focus on our last child-free vacation next week and our last child-free Holy Week after that. I keep thinking:

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
    my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
    too great and too marvelous for me.

But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
    like a weaned child with its mother;
    like a weaned child is my soul within me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord
    from this time forth and forevermore.

But Craigslist beckons! And I don't get the weaning part. What am I supposed to be weaned from?

If anyone has opinions about babies and biking (specifically infant brain trauma from the bumps,) I am interested in hearing them.