January 29, 2014

whole lotta hot mama

This morning, in particular, I feel sort of like a mix between Rosie O'Donnell and Homer Simpson.  Not so much the mix of living in the copacetic bliss of a lesbian marriage and the blissful unawareness of a beer drinking guy.  More like the mix of an off colored, rather heinous personality with a fat, somewhat intellectually disabled cartoon.  Kinda like the two are sitting one on top of the other on top of the non five and a half months pregnant me.  Hot mama is buried.  As is my waistline.  And my jawline.

They say that with your second pregnancy, your body has a memory and bounces quickly back into the mammoth prenatal proportions of your previous pregnancy.  They, for once, are spot on.  I was in maternity clothes in my first trimester, shocked at how good of a memory my body has.  It's like my body stole my brain's memory- cause that's worthless at this point.  I forgot which way to turn my steering wheel when I was parking my stick shift on a hill a while back- not a difficult concept when I've been driving a manual since I was 18.  I'm 30.

Let's see what else... Oh.  I thought I had an iron deficiency due to my constant and utter drugged-like state of exhaustion.  My doctor just looked at me and said, "Honey, you're pregnant and have a three year old.  You'll be tired for the rest of your life."  Which is lovely.  I'm terminally tired.  At first my husband loved it- I'd just couch it and chill from the moment I got home from work till we went to bed.  Finally, he had me contained much unlike my typical non-stop cleaning, creating, moving self.  I'm thinking it's getting a little old for him now that he needs to pick up take-out two or three times a week.  My pregnant, exhausted, grossed out by raw meat self can only handle so many culinary tasks.  I mean, come on.  My stomach moves the stove knobs by itself when I'm stirring the pasta.  

So, in short, I'm a smidge more than halfway through my second pregnancy.  Vienna, now three, has slashed feelings about the matter.  Mommy looks like a walking science experiment- which is cool, and I get this new and highly important new label as Big Sister- it's about time people started recognizing how legit I am as a toddler.  But, adversely, mommy looks like a walking science experiment, and she's sometimes too tired play chase or do puzzles on the floor- so this Baby Sister has got to go (it's a girl!).  Overall, V has been pretty excited about this baby on the way- due in June- and we think she'll be a boss big sister.  Boss as in awesome, and boss as in will drill sergeant the hell out of her future little minion.  She's been running the show since birth and we also collectively feel that she'll benefit from a sibling to keep her feet on the ground.

I also can't wait for the baby to get to the point where she's big enough to get a kick out of her big sister.  I've been told that seeing your children lovin' on each other is the most gut busting happy feeling a parent can feel.  I'm on board for that.  And nothing at all will make V feel more important than knowing how cool she can seem to her little sister.  Makes being slightly cognitively deficient/obese/exhausted more bearable when I have my eye on such an impending swag bag full of treasures.  

We tried for this pregnancy- timing is great- and by June I'll be in my post-natal mu-mu's, sippin margaritas and juggling two little divas.  Three girls to our one guy- daddy will be the only man in our lives, but will also be completely out numbered.  I love it.  I'm building an army.  

Baby G2, due early June 2014

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