The Countdown has Begun

So, I’ve made it to week 33. And we have already established that I feel gigantic. And you can probably tell that I am over this whole being pregnant thing, that I have been doing for the last two freaking years. (Here is a little glimpse into 33 weeks during the LAST TIME…)

I am tired. Overwhelmed. Crampy. Irritated. Irrational. Impatient. You know, all of those things that will likely get worse in the next 7 weeks until this whole thing is over and I get to see our new meatloaf.

But I am hanging in there. I had a checkup yesterday and, it appears, I am stellar at being pregnant. My bloodwork is always perfect, my blood pressure, better than it ever was before pregnancy and I have gained a total of only 11 pounds. (Which some of my friends seem to think makes me some kind of freak. But let me assure you, this lady doesn’t go ONE DAY without a bowl of ice cream and a ferocious chocolate craving. And yesterday, to celebrate my 1 pound gain in the last 5 weeks, I had a McDouble. And some pizza. AND THEN ICE CREAM.) Baby O’s heartbeat sounds glorious and he moves around much like his sister did at this point. Only he isn’t quite as intent on actually hurting me. The doc says “boys are lazy” so exerting themselves that much is more of an annoyance. Which is a nice change of pace considering that Baby L, I’m convinced, might have been trying to somehow turn me inside out. But now she is on the outside. Kicking the shit out of me from a whole different direction. Good times.

I know that, at this point, it probably should have totally sunken in that I am about to have a baby. And some days, I can totally get all excited about nibbling on his tiny toes and smelling the top of his head (something that I still do to Baby L CONSTANTLY) but most days it just seems too surreal. I am SO excited about the prospect of not being pregnant anymore that sometimes I get happier about THAT part than the actual little munchkin that I am currently cooking. (Yesterday, I was sitting here thinking that after this seven weeks is over, I will never have to be pregnant again. And I literally started to cry like a total basketcase because I was so excited to feel normal again. My husband thought this was hysterically funny. But that is because he doesn’t have a uterus and has NO IDEA how much this body has gone through and how desperate I am to just feel like ONE person. Not a person growing another person, holding another person on her hip. Ugggghhhh.) But then, you know, reality sets in and I remember that yes, soon I will be UN-pregnant (empty) again and it will be so nice to have a glass of white wine. But then I will scarcely have time to drink said wine because I will be cleaning up spit up. And making bottles. And changing newborn diapers. And then I just don’t know how to feel anymore. Because I want this pregnancy to be over, but holy crap, I don’t think I am ready for this yet.

I guess these next weeks will be my prep time. I am really going to have to get READY for this. Like, mentally prepare myself for what is about to take place. I just really don’t even know where to begin. I mean, I don’t even know what things to buy! Like, since I have two kids, do I need two baby monitors? That might sound like an idiotic thing to panic about. But I am really, REALLY good at panic. So, I tend to do what I know.

I’m gonna try and get a handle on that. I swear.

On Not Getting Hit with Golf Clubs. And Some Other Shit.

Dancing bears

Dancing bears (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Baby L has been a pretty bad blogger lately. It might have something to do with the fact that she has been busy trying to stand on her own and furiously trying to crawl. (She can crawl, but usually does more backwards crawling and when trying to go forward, either flops over onto her side or just lets her arms give out and starts to fuss about it. What a baby, I know…sheesh.) She’s really letting the blogosphere down. I tried to tell her that people are going to stop reading and that everyone is getting really pissed that she is so selfishly ignoring this blog. She said she’s sorry, you guys. Don’t give up on her. After all, she is just a baby.

Oh, you guys were under the impression that I was going to blog…Right. About that…Well, a lot has happened in the past few weeks. For starters, (and I know I will forget something, because I TOTALLY have pregnancy brain and am having trouble remembering pretty much everything. Especially if I have to remember it for more than 30 seconds) MB, Baby L and I moved into a new place. Before you get all excited for us and our new status as homeowners, just don’t get excited. Because we aren’t. And I am okay with it. We are renting a three bedroom house with a giant yard for a fraction of what I would have expected to pay for a place this size. Is it on the side of town that I was hoping for? No. Is the rent going to be too much for our single-income family? Shockingly? NO! Go, Team Oopsie!

Is this my dream house? No. But there are a few things that I absolutely LOVE about it. Like, for instance, the yard is seriously gigantic. This makes me super happy because pretty soon it will be summertime. And Baby L will be frolicking about in cutesy little sundresses and I will be prancing with my giant preggo-beast belly to Grateful Dead songs. Okay, probably this won’t happen. I mean, who wants to prance with a preggo-beast belly? And I feel like Grateful Dead prancing should only happen after a lot of cocktails or hallucinogens. Neither of which I am really allowed to partake in currently. (I mean, not that I would take any hallucinogens anyway. At least, not anymore. Don’t judge me. I was a teenager once, OKAY? I digress…there probably won’t be prancing.)

The house is pretty old, so it has that awesome built-in shelving in it. I have always loved that, because I hate putting up shelves. So I just don’t. And then I wind up with a bunch of framed pictures and barnyard animal figurines all over everything. (Okay, not so much the figurines, but I wanted to make sure you got the visual of a ridiculous and tacky clutter. Mission accomplished? I think so.)

Also, and this might be a pro AND a con for us: NO CARPET. Only hard wood! OH. MY. SWEET. BABY. JESUS. I love hard wood floors. I mean, do I really have to say anything else about it? I don’t think so.

One of the best things, though, just kind of fell into my lap. When we were looking at this house, the landlord was having a broker show it. And the broker, well, lets just say he was sort of flighty and weird and I didn’t like him. And he stood us up a couple of times before we actually got to see the place. And then, once we finally saw it and MB had decided that, not only was the price right, but that he wanted to go ahead and get it ASAP, the dude couldn’t locate our former landlord and couldn’t get a reference. When I offered to speak with the potential landlord, she mentioned that her father (who has dementia) is living alone in a house right next door and that she is not only looking for a tenant, but also someone to spend a couple of hours per week with him to cook meals and give him medications. Naturally, I mentioned that I am not currently working and that I used to work with dementia patients at a nursing home. This won her over, apparently, and we got the house the next day. And then, a week later, I had a job. Not a substantial one, but one that will help out with our bills and one that will provide me with a little purpose. You know, of the outside of the house variety. SCORE!

So, now I am employed. And, call me crazy, but I really like working with dementia patients. He tends to cuss a lot at me when I put in his eyedrops but I was warned about this. And cussing, you guys, I can totally handle. I mean, fuck, I am a sailor-mouthed mommy blogger. As long as he doesn’t bite me or hit me with a golf club, I can handle him.

So, we are no longer living with a disobedient five-year-old. And we have hard wood floors. And a huge yard. And I cook eggs and bacon for a dementia patient and try to avoid getting hit with golfclubs for several hours per week. So, that’s the news.

I don’t think that I have to tell you that I want a GIANT FUCKING BEER. Or that I still hate being pregnant and can’t wait until this shit is over. And I probably don’t need to inform you of the copious amount of ice cream I have ingested over the last month. Or that my belly is officially giant and I want to hide from the world until this kid makes his grand entrance. Because, you guys can probably guess how that is all going over. I mean, I just did this. You guys might remember all the fun that was had.

I will be posting my open letter to Baby L (9 months, totally late. Shut up.) very shortly. I just haven’t had a lot of time to write about her being 9 months old because I have been busy dealing with a 9-month-old. But I have a little more free time now that we are out of our previous living situation and now that I am not currently cleaning up after 4 adults all the time. You know…because that shit sucked the blogging right out of me.

I shall return. And sooner than you may expect.

 

Peace OUT!

 

Obligatory Valentines Day Post

Cake on Valentine's Day

Cake on Valentine’s Day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve never really understood the big deal about Valentine’s Day. I mean, I get all the love stuff. And I think all that stuff is really great. I do. But I think it is more important to be loving every day. Not just buy candy and flowers once a year and go out to dinner. I mean, come on.

MB and I have never really had a chance to have a proper V Day. The first year we were together, I had gotten my “friend” an interview at the place where I worked and she was coming in from out of town, so, naturally, she showed up on Valentines Night and was supremely obnoxious for the entirety of the night/her visit. (That’s sort of the norm for her…which explains why we aren’t friends anymore. Oh, that and that she called me her “best friend” for 10 years and hasn’t spoken to me since I lost my job. At the place that she now works. BECAUSE OF ME.) Last year was our second V Day together. And I was pregnant. And bitter. And probably vomiting all over the apartment. And, to be honest, I am pretty sure we sat on the couch and watched some idiotic reality show on TV or something. He probably got me flowers. There may have been ice cream.

This year, I wanted to put on a pretty dress and, despite my growing bump, attempt to feel attractive. I wanted to take off the yoga pants, put on some mascara,  slip into some fancy undies and have an adult dinner with adult conversation with my husband. Because it feels sometimes like we don’t do enough of any of that. And what better day that Valentines Day? Right?

Then we started getting on this “renting a house” thing. Which was due, mostly in part, to the fact that I was, on a daily basis, begging him to take this seriously and allow this nesting urge to rage and find us a place to live that does not come fully stocked with a five-year-old. And he did it. And now, a week before we move in, I am spending money left and right for deposits and rent and odds and ends that we will need to accomodate us and Baby L and then finally Baby O. And I looked him straight in the eye three days ago, after having arranged for a sitter for Baby L and planning to take my husband out to dinner, and told him to just forget it. That we just didn’t have the time. Or the money. And I’m out of mascara anyway. And part of my heart broke. Because I DO miss the times when going to dinner wasn’t such an ordeal. And when I wasn’t shelling out SO MUCH MONEY just to live somewhere peaceful. I DO miss wearing dresses and mascara. And I DO want to celebrate this ridiculous holiday. I DO.

But I’m still wearing yoga pants. And I am totally making Sloppy Joes for dinner. Because I haven’t had them in years. And because I need to eat something that makes me feel happy.

I woke up this morning, though, to beautiful flowers, my favorite cashew turtles and a pretty hilarious card telling me that he loved me more and that I was a smokin’ hot wife. So, it isn’t all bad. And I love him so much, that I guess I don’t care about having to wear yoga pants. Maybe I will just wear the fancy new ones I just bought. Or maybe I’ll just jazz them up with some secret fancy panties underneath. Either way, I have a date with my wonderful man, my beautiful little lady, a box of turtles and some Sloppy Joes.

Happy Valentines Day, internet. I hope you stuff your faces with love and chocolate today.

I’m Not Homicidal, You Guys!

Image representing Woot as depicted in CrunchBase

Image via CrunchBase

I know I have been a little distant. It’s not you, it’s me, internet. There has been a return of the snot over here in the Oopsie household. And it afflicted my spawn and then myself. Making things very messy and unbearable. But things are looking up. Both in the snot department and otherwise.

Here’s an update! Hooray!

On Sleep Training:
Okay, so do you guys remember when I was going insane because my kid wouldn’t sleep? And remember when I said that I desperately wanted to get her sleep trained so that I could sleep alone in my bed with my husband? And remember when I was concerned because I am knocked up and expanding (although, not as rapidly as expected) and soon won’t have ROOM to share a bed with my 8 month old? You do? Oh.

Let me first say that I have gotten my kid MUCH better at going to sleep in her crib at night. And she even naps. Most of the time, IN THE CRIB also…But then let me tell you that, over the course of the last (almost) two months of snuggling with my little nugget every night, I have kind of come to enjoy it. In fact, I actually miss her little baby face-slaps when she isn’t lying beside me. Needless to say, sleep training has worked. But it hasn’t worked all the way. On me, at least. I am pretty sure that if I weren’t so sappy and missing her, she would be sleeping alone all night, every night. But I let her go in the crib until about 3-4 in the morning and then I can’t take it anymore and I need a cuddle. It might be the hormones. Or because, and I hate to admit this, with the new baby coming soon, I am sad that I will no longer to devote all of my attention to my baby girl. But, we all seem to be sleeping better now. And Baby L and I wake every morning, warm and toasty and smiling. And that makes my whole day. (You know, unless she is teething…which she is…again…)

On The Living Situation:
We found a house to rent! This is amazing news. And not just because I am steadily nearing the point of homicide, but because, even though we were looking for a two-bedroom for now, to save on expenses, this house is less expensive than I would have expected AND it has three bedrooms and a GIGANTIC back yard. Woot!

And yes, I know I was just talking about BUYING a house. And believe me, MB and I are ON IT. We just can’t do everything as quickly as we need to with such a short amount of time to prepare for Baby O. So, we signed a year-long lease yesterday and we will save and be as frugal as possible until next year…and then we will re-evaluate and try again. I am actually not as upset about this as I thought I would be. Mostly, I think, because I am just happy to be getting out of this house so that I can finally get a few minutes of peace.

On My Mood:
This pregnancy is pretty boring, you guys. I’m not complaining. But you might be if you got all excited that I was going to get all super bitch like I did when I started this blog. Believe me, super bitch is alive and well. But I am not sure she is even worth blogging about. Because she sort of just gets pissed about no one ever doing the dishes. It is less about puking this time. And I know everyone would rather read about puking than lazy people. I mean…AmIRight?

Anyway, I feel strangely calm. I am terrified of the single income situation and adding in the expense of rent. But I am certain things will work out. I am not sure what has happened to me. Or why my anxiety hasn’t kicked in and caused some sort of mental break, but I am serene. I’m not gonna lie and tell you I don’t want to drink an entire bottle of Pinot by myself. But I can wait. I mean, maybe only until 30 seconds after I give birth. But still…that totally counts. I recently called my husband “an accidental master of the Tao” and I sort of feel like he might be rubbing off on me. I feel confident in our situation. Fat, but confident. And I mean, I guess I can deal with the fat thing…because, let’s face it, this is the last time I will ever have an excuse to gain a bunch of weight and eat copious amounts of cupcakes. So there.

The One Where I Rant About Maternity Clothes

Oh my GOD, you guys. I am so pregnant all of a sudden and I am not sure how this happened!

I went, about two weeks ago, from wearing all of my pre-pregnancy clothes (from before Baby L), RIGHT back into maternity pants. It, like, happened overnight! As did my cravings for all things chocolate. I am not a fan.

Since I hastily sold all of my maternity tops as soon as that shit was over last time (like, before I was even discharged from the hospital, it was all on eBay, you guys), I had to go shopping for new stupid pregnant lady clothes. And I ventured back into that dreaded “Motherhood Maternity” store where I had spent a small fortune just a freaking year ago and reluctantly dragged my huge pregnant ass right back into the changing room of death and stood under flourescent lights to examine my ever-growing BUMP.

AGAIN.

And then I puked all over the sales lady.

Okay, that part isn’t true. But I seriously wanted to do something equally gross to get her to leave me the eff alone, you guys, because I HATE MATERNITY CLOTHES. (Except for maternity pants, because I still feel like women should wear them always…which is why I still have mine. You know, in case I want to eat a lot of food one day.) I hate that they insist that pregnant women should wear HORIZONTAL STRIPES. Why in hell would we want to make ourselves look WIDER?! I am a firm believer in stylish clothing for those with-child but I am also a firm believer in making those same women feel like HUMAN BEINGS. Not giant, striped TRUCKS. Because yes, I feel like I am the size of a truck. And I am 22 weeks pregnant and have only gained 4 pounds. So…you can imagine how I will feel when I get bigger. And bigger. And bigger. And my only clothing options are horizontal striped tunics (read: mumus).

I am not really sure what this post was supposed to be about. I think I might have had something to tell you guys. I guess it will have to wait. I have to find some chocolate.

RIGHT. NOW.

A Revelation

A pregnant woman

A pregnant woman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today, I am 21 weeks pregnant.

The whole thing is still kind of sitting in the pit of my stomach like a brick, some days. Like, I am not sure if I am going to wake up from some really stressful dream wherein I have accidentally gotten knocked up again. AGAIN. Some days, there is a heaviness and an uncertainty that I can’t shake. Some days, I cry a lot.

Today was not one of those days. Today, I had my second OB visit. Of course, I had the appointment on my calendar for 1pm and it was actually at 10:30 am so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get to see the doctor. But, they saw me. And they didn’t even make me wait for hours. MB was able to come with me. Which only happened once throughout my entire pregnancy with Baby L because of his work schedule. We got to hear Baby O’s heartbeat again and, to my surprise, it didn’t make me want to run out of there or drive my car into the ocean. I felt calm. Serene. Ready to DO this thing. And then MB and I went to lunch. Alone. To one of my least favorite restaurants. But I had a surprisingly good sandwich and then a delicious chocolate malt. Because I am pregnant, you guys!

And then we came home and Baby L was playing contently in her playpen with her grandma standing by. She must have heard me come in, because she peered outside of her little baby pen and saw me and she got the most excited I have ever seen her get for anything or anyone. And in that moment, everything wasn’t just OK, you guys. It was beautiful. And I’m having another baby! And he will be beautiful and wonderful and hilarious and his little eyes will light up when he sees me and he will clap and giggle and I will fall in love with him every day!

You will have to forgive my little revelation, but please know that if I had blogged yesterday, you would have been swept away by the flood of tears that were flowing and FOR NO REASON…so this is a vast improvement.

Also, Hooray for babies!

And We Meet Again…

So, generally, I have been feeling pretty good through this first 4 months of pregnancy. I mean, I must have been feeling pretty good because I was able to keep this pregnancy a secret until just a couple of weeks ago. So, I didn’t accidentally puke on anyone. Which, you know, would have TOTALLY happened in my last pregnancy. Because there was no warning of nausea. Just crazy, sneak-up-on-you vomit. Good times.

I will tell you that, because the symptoms and all the fun details of pregnancy were so fresh in my mind, it was super easy to pretend that this couldn’t really be happening. Because the threat of what was to come was just too much. Like right now.

It is almost 11 at night and I am sitting on the couch watching “Intervention”, thinking about how I could eat my sister-in-law’s entire birthday cake right now. And not because I’m hungry. But because it is chocolate. And because this baby doesn’t seem to discriminate about food like his sister did. He wants it all. He wants onion rings and carrot cake and Special K cereal and fried pickles. And regular pickles. But mostly, he wants pears. Yes. Pears. Which I guess is a really good thing because Baby L just wanted cupcakes. Specialty cupcakes with names like, “The Marilyn Monroe” or the “Bette Davis“.

As much as I have tried to avoid these symptoms, here we are again. I have heartburn (although on a much lesser scale than last time), my back aches (somehow MORE than I remember and probably because Baby L ripped me to shreds and took the liberty of realigning my spine), my head hurts a bit in the morning and I can no longer sleep comfortably in any position for more than an hour. And my belly doesn’t hesitate to remind me of all the fun to come! SO, I am feeling it, internet. I am right back there where I was last year at this time. I wish I could clone myself so I could punch myself in the face for being such an idiot for doing this again so soon.

I think I am over the hump as far as fatigue goes. I mean, I am awake. And it is now after 11 pm. And I have an 8 month old child who keeps me busy all day and hates sleeping. And I have had TWO NAPS since last May. (And, believe me, I wish this were an exaggeration…) And I haven’t passed out. And this makes me happy. Because I know it won’t last. And before too long, I will return to the land of the narcoleptic and I will be stressing about cribs and covers for my carseats and wondering how in the hell I am going to stay up all night taking care of a newborn and then chase a one-year-old around all day. (Help me, Cheesus…)

I really am hoping, internet, that this whole beginning pregnancy thing is some sort of indication that the last trimester will be a piece of cake. Because Baby L sure tried to kill me. (22 hours of labor? Really?) Uggghhh…

 

Un-resolutions and Zero Goats

Guam beach

Guam beach (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Space Needle at Seattle Center in Seattle,...

The Space Needle at Seattle Center in Seattle, Washington. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, I don’t make resolutions. Just, like, as a rule. Because I know myself and I won’t keep them. Because something always happens that gets in the way. Like, when I decided a few years ago to drink less vodka. Then I started drinking way more wine. So…that kind of defeated the purpose. Although, at the time I convinced myself that, you know, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! I was the best resolution keeper EVAH.

Fail.

So, anyway, I don’t do resolutions. But this year, you know, in the wake of all the (more) crazy and the changing situation and everything, (Hello, unexpected baby!) I decided not to make resolutions, but to make some goals. (I just typed goats. I don’t make goats OR resolutions, just to clarify. I am pretty damn good at making babies, though. It would appear.) So I started making this digital vision board. Because MB told me that he made one once and that it actually helped him to stay focused and to make things happen. And being that it is hard to focus on anything other than my ever-expanding waistline, I figured it couldn’t hurt. None of my goals for my new family are terribly unattainable. I mean, some things might be a little more involved than others. But, you know. I think I am up for the challenge. And these are all necessary goals people.

So, here is the list of things that I hope to accomplish this year. And I hope that by my posting them here, I will get my ass in gear and remember that people are watching. You guys will be watching, right? I mean, even if you aren’t, I will pretend that I will really disappoint all of you if I don’t stick to my shit. Anyway, here it is.

1. Finally graduate from college. Okay, okay, this will just be my Associates degree for this year because I honestly only have two classes left and really just need to get the shit done. I am not going to say that this will depend on how my life is after this second baby or if we can afford it financially. Because if I say those things, I will give myself an excuse to never graduate. And then I will hold you all personally responsible because you weren’t keeping me in check. And you don’t really want that, do you?

2. Buy a house. This is the most important one. I mentioned before that MB and I were planning a cross country move for this year but have obviously had a change of plans because of Baby O. But it is IMPERATIVE, at this point, that we find a home. Because I sure as hell cannot live in this house with TWO babies. And honestly, I just feel like I will be better able to concentrate on being a kick-ass parent if I have a kick-ass home to call my own. So, this is a big one for me. I NEED IT.

3. Save some cash. I have a savings account. It is not super cushy. And I have a husband who is notoriously bad with money. Not because he is going out and buying ridiculous gadgets (like the iPad he bought me for my Christmas/birthday present) or anything like that…but because he is just too generous. He “lends” money to friends and family members all the time. People who don’t necessarily seem to think they have to pay him back. And my husband is amazing, but this makes me want to punch him in the throat. (He has gotten better and he knows that this is no longer an option.) He has agreed to let me handle the finances now that we are married. Meaning that money will actually be SAVED. Like in an account. Like for to DO THINGS with. It will be glorious. AND it will help us achieve several of these goals.

4. Have an amazing first birthday party for Baby L. This is going to happen. I don’t think I need to explain. I could be broke as hell and I would beg, borrow and steal to make her first birthday amazing. (Not that she will likely remember. But I will.)

5. Welcome Baby O into the world. Looks like this is happening. It isn’t really a goal, I guess. I guess the goal would be not hurting anyone while impatiently waiting his arrival. Because we all know how much I LOVE BEING PREGNANT. (All lies. B-T-Dubs.)

6. Take a vacation. Just me and MB. Yes, I know. We just went to Vegas and got hitched. But a bunch of people went with us. And we partied. Well, MB partied. I mostly felt guilty about my mom staying in the condo with Baby L and came home early. I want to go somewhere with sun and palm trees. Or maybe cabins in the mountains. Or maybe the Space Needle (I heart Seattle). Or maybe visit my dad in Guam. I mean, who knows? I just want us to have a getaway. And maybe this won’t happen this year while the kids are so small. But it is a good goal. And I’m keeping it.

7. Take more “me time”.  I would like to read more. And, no offense to any of you, but I mean BOOKS. (Taking suggestions…PLEASE!?) I don’t have a lot of time now, but I will have less when Baby O gets here.

8. Be healthier. Before I had Baby L, I was not a health nut, by any means, but I definitely ate better. Healthier. Smarter. And then I got pregnant and gave up wine and cigarettes. HELLO, CUPCAKES! So, I need to get back to that place where I am not stuffing my face full of weird shit like McDoubles and cheese puffs. Seriously. But this will have to wait until after June also. Obviously. Right now, I will eat whatever the eff I want, internet.

That’s all I got for right now. I wanted to post the actual vision board that I am making. But it isn’t done because I can’t find suitable illustration. You know, because my shit has to be PERFECT.

Broken Condoms…Reloaded (Alternately Titled “Holy Shitballs” Which Seems to be the Common Response)

Seriously, I know the title sounds a little gross. And I also know that I might get some serious weirdos starting to hang around…but I will have to deal with it. Because I am too tired to think of a clever title that fits this post. Because, internet, I’m knocked up again.

And yes. You read that right. I, Broken Condoms lady, reluctant mommy blogger, is knocked up AGAIN. And before you all start dropping like flies with the sheer shock of it all, let me go ahead and clear everything up for you. Please feel free to let me know if I leave anything out…

1. Yes. I was taking birth control pills. And yes, we were also using condoms on the rare occasion that I actually let my husband touch me. Because pregnancy was enough to scare me into wearing a titanium suit around him if I had to. None of this worked, evidently. Hence this post. (Grrr…)

2. How do I feel about this whole mess, you ask? Well, internet, I feel a lot of things. I’ve been keeping this under wraps for awhile so a lot of that emotional shit, I have since come to terms with, but let me try and run you through what I have experienced thus far. First there was denial. I think that when your first child is 5.5 months old and you find out that you are, indeed, expecting again, the first thing that happens in your brain (especially if you have been taking any and every means of preventing this from happening) is that you decide that it can’t be true. It has to be some cruel joke that the Universe is playing on you. Wait, is it April Fools’ Day? You got me, Universe, you really, really got me. But then you start to vomit and you think, “Hey, I must have a stomach bug.” Seriously. I convinced myself for 4 days that the positive home pregnancy test was the Universe playing a joke and that the morning sickness was actually just a stomach bug. After I puked a few more times, though, I just started to have a little breakdown. I kept thinking about all the things I was about to have to do (AGAIN) that drove me so crazy the first time. You know, like the not sleeping (which I am, obviously, currently not doing anyway) and the back pain and the intense need for double cheeseburgers from McDonalds. And then I cried a lot. Daily. For a LONG TIME. I considered options. And I discussed everything with MB (who, by the way, was in support of whatever I decided even though he felt that we, as a couple, are strong enough to do this shit all over again. Curses.) I stared at my daughter for hours and contemplated the birth of our second child and what it would mean for us and our family. I reasoned with myself about eventually wanting to have another child in the next couple of years anyway and how having this baby would make me…well…DONE with childbearing. And that thought gave me solace. But then I cried some more. Because, holy crap, internet, the kids will only be a year apart! And how will I chase a child who will inevitably be starting to walk and carry a newborn around and not sleep all while MB is at work all day?! How will I manage?! But then I stared at my daughter some more. And I thought about how hopeless I felt when I found out I was pregnant with her. And how doubtful of my abilities I was before she was born. And I felt a little bit better. Because dammit, I am a fantastic mom. Am I necessarily ready to be the “mother of two”? No. But was I ready to be a “mother of one”? Hells no.

The acceptance part started after I had to go to the Health Center and get a proof of pregnancy again so I could start the medicaid process (because, though, MB and I are now married, my insurance did not start until January 1st) AGAIN. (Which, if you remember, was pretty much the worst thing EVER for me.) A week later, the crying had stopped, for the most part, and shockingly, the Health Department had my Medicaid set up before I showed up for my appointment. (I didn’t have to make a SINGLE PHONE CALL.) I saw that as a good omen. And then I was all set to hear the heartbeat of the baby (as it was estimated that I was about 14 weeks along at this point) and the PA couldn’t find it on the Doppler. And this might sound crazy. Or horrible. Or whatever…but I was actually relieved. I felt like this might be my “out”. She set me up with an Ultrasound (which was more than three weeks away) and sent me on my way. To panic some more. Needless to say, I started the processes all over again, thinking that it might just be a fluke. Hello, denial.

My ultrasound was yesterday afternoon. I told my sister-in-law in the morning what the situation was and she offered to come with me to the appointment in case MB couldn’t get home from work in time. MB made it home at the speed of light and the three of us trekked downtown and, just like that, I’m gonna have a little boy. Due June 6th, 2013.

3. So, yeah, I know I didn’t answer “how do you feel NOW?” in that monster paragraph up there. The truth is. I feel peaceful. Obviously, fat. And sleepy. And a little scared. But also a little relieved that this whole thing is already almost half-way over and no one could tell I was pregnant (SCORE!). I haven’t gained any weight. I haven’t been nearly as sick as last time. Things have been fairly uneventful. So, do I feel good about the whole thing? Ehhh…I don’t know if GOOD is the right adjective. But I feel okay. I am alive, I am healthy. My baby is healthy. And I still have a wonderful partner and a beautiful daughter to remind me that this is not the end of the world. (Because, in some intense moments, I feel like I could lose it.)

4. I haven’t told EVERYONE in the world yet. By that, I just mean that I haven’t announced the news on Facebook. And I probably won’t do a giant, “We’re pregnant!!!” post. Because the people who matter have either already been told or will be soon enough. I don’t need to tell 200 more of my closest friends. Also, I am still sorting out the fact that I feel sort of ashamed that I let this happen so soon after having Baby L. Yes, I know I did all I could to prevent it, internet. But it feels so…irresponsible. Seriously. I mean, come ON, internet. Who DOES this?

(As I type this, THIS is what is happening on my TV. How can I not be optimistic?!)

http://youtu.be/DkLRXMBFtYo

Anyway, so that’s what’s going on over here. And maybe why I have been sort of distant lately. Please don’t break up with me, internet. I can’t do this alone!

Using My Own Uterus

This image shows a white wine glass (WMF Easy)...

Oh, how I miss you, wine.

So, in the final few weeks of this pregnancy thing I’ve been doing, I’ve found myself bitter, cranky, easily excitable, anxious and disinterested in things such as being in public, talking to people, eating vegetables, and getting out of bed.

I think, just judging from what I have read, that all of this stuff is pretty normal. I have entered that miserable stage of pregnancy where I am too big/uncomfortable/exhausted to get much done and I am too over it to care. I just want to have a damn baby now. For fuck’s sake, when am I going to have a damn baby?!

The cravings for a giant glass of white wine that plagued me at the beginning of my pregnancy have been replaced with the craving for a giant caramel latte. Several times daily. (I would seriously mainline if I thought it would satisfy me, at this point.) Don’t get me wrong, internet, I need that giant white wine now more than I have ever needed a giant cocktail. Because I believe that my tolerance is now such that it might completely knock me out and shave a few hours off of this torturous game of “Waiting for Baby Without Murdering Anyone”.

I am pretty sure that Baby L outgrew my pelvis weeks ago. She seems still to be attempting to backstroke through her previously roomy environment, which causes a lot of doubling over on my part. And, you know, having the breath knocked out of me mid-sentence. And nausea.

I am growing increasingly terrified of delivery. I mean, I know the shit’s gonna hurt, y’all. Duh. But the longer the wait, the more I am dreading it. On the one hand, I say, “BRING IT, NATURE, I CAN TAKE THIS. AND I WILL TAKE YOU DOWN.” and on the other hand, I’m all like, “Would it be possible to borrow someone else’s vagina to do this with? I mean, come on, this is a joke, right?” As it turns out, y0u have to use your own vagina. Unless you used someone else’s uterus. And alas, I used my own. I am a moron.

As my due date not-so-rapidly approaches, I get a lot of messages from friends saying, “Baby?” or “When are you going to go into labor?”  And to them, I would like to say: I truly love you and appreciate all of your concern. But obviously, if you haven’t heard from me, I am still growing this little parasite and I don’t want to talk about it until she is officially OUT. And sleeping in a bassinet. And not in my rib cage. No offense. I just sort of want to grab an array of kitchen utensils and do some home surgery on myself at this point, and I just don’t have the patience to talk about how I am STILL FUCKING PREGNANT.  Did I mention that I love and appreciate you? I will call you when this thing gets going.