I get it. I all announced my pregnancy, and then "Poof!" disappeared for a good six months or so. Part of that was because with part-time work, a full-time toddler and pregnancy symptoms like "general ickiness" "wanting to puke-itis" and "OMG I'm so tired" abounding, I just didn't have the gumption to write anything (semi) intelligent about our lives.
But there was more to my lack of blogging than just shear pregnancy-induced laziness. What I didn't realize with my first pregnancy was that while every experience was NEW! EXCITING! WORTH BLOGGING ABOUT! to me, there are a million (or a gazillion, I'm no fact checker) other women out there who have experienced exactly, or at least pretty damn close to EXACTLY THE SAME THING AS ME and my unborn wunderkind. Meaning... whatever I believed at the time, I ain't so special. And (shocking, I know) neither was my pregnancy.
Being knocked up a second time is all about the symptoms with none of the romance. My first pregnancy sweet talked me into thinking I was special, that it loved me, that if I'd just let it get to second base we could have a happy future together. My first pregnancy was a complete a-hole, stringing me along by introducing a neat new baby/fruit comparison each week to get me all hopped up on its love, then would hit me with 5-10 pounds of acne and some weird kind of tummy hair.
This time around, I know the game. I'm older. Wiser. Meaner (or crotchety, pick your adjective). Things seemed just a little less funny, a little less ironic and a little more "OH SWEET LORD LET THIS BABY HURRY UP AND FULLY GESTATE ALREADY."
Please don't get me wrong. I am beyond excited about baby E2 and how he will truly complete our little family. It is just different. I tend to focus less on the day-to-day details of creating a little life, but I still talk to him, still get shivers when I feel him moving and still get teary eyed when I think about HE will be the responsible one who takes care of me when I'm old, crabby and possibly balding from Kate-induced stress (she will either be president or a criminal mastermind I'm sure, both of which will cause me some hair pulling and gnashing of teeth I am sure). But a second pregnancy is... it is just different. And I've asked around. You know, the mommy-circuit. And it seems I'm not alone in feeling this way, which is kind of comforting because I was starting to think I really SHOULD be looking at my week to week fruit baby and getting all giddy because OMG a plum. A PLUM BABY!!!!
However, moving on to the point of this post, I feel like I owe you something to prove I really am "with child" despite my lack of fruit-related blog posts. So I've included some photographic proof to ensure you that I AM in fact pregnant, and not some nut job who just tells people I am and then steals some baby from the NICU or carries a doll around and calls him "Henry."
These photos were taken over Easter weekend, so I was, um, 28 minus a few weeks, carry the one and divide by 20... I was about 24 weeks here. Which means I am currently BIGGER than this, which doesn't seem possible but I assure you, is quite possible. Ask my husband who is currently clinging to his tiny sliver of the bed, trying to fight for space against my pillow nest I've created to sleep in. He will attest to my big-ness. And my love of pillows.