In case this photo isn’t obvious enough … Isla is delighted to announce she is going to be a big sister! And Chris and I are pretty thrilled, too. No really, we’re unbelievably excited and thankful. Isla is an amazing kid and we’ve been ready to expand this little family since she was about six months old. However, c-sections are pesky and doctors are real sticklers for safety. Plus, there’s this huge part of me that thinks we’re being tricked. I mean, you can’t have two easy babies, right? RIGHT? P L E A S E!?
I’ve had a rough start, just like I did with Isla (and by rough I mean I swore every second of every day I was never having another child and cursed my husband for not reminding me how horrible first trimesters are). I’m just finally starting to feel like myself again, though I still need more naps than my 15-month-old. Isla has been wonderful and patient with her useless, sick mama, but only because I reward her with lots of Finding Nemo, Frozen and SUPER WHY. Let’s just say, I wasn’t winning any mom of the year awards, but we’re both alive and well nourished, which is the best I could muster.
To prepare Isla for this massive change in lifestyle (sharing is not really her thing), we’re teaching her to say “wah wah wah” in response to “What does a baby say?” and trying to break it to her gently that she’s going to be sharing a room with a little poop machine. Oh, and that she’s getting evicted from her crib. Now that should be fun.
In the meantime, I’ve graduated from eating nothing but saltines to consuming disgusting amounts of sour watermelon candies and dark chocolate covered pretzels. Meat is the devil, my heightened sense of smell is absolute torture (I might physically assault the next person to light a cigarette within one mile of my nose) and I’ve been wearing maternity jeans (or using the belly band) for a few weeks now. Everyone wants to know if I’ve “popped” and the answer is no. I just look like I drink too much beer and eat too many chicken fingers (yum). Oh, and my face, it’s back to hating me, not that it ever truly started liking me again after Isla was born. That damn pregnancy acne makes me want to wear a paper bag over my head, though I won’t, because that is maybe not the message I want to send to my beautiful daughter. After three months of the worst hangover known to man (minus the fun and the alcohol), I’m certain I’ll never drink again (ahem) and sometimes I actually dream about raw fish because sushi is the one thing I will always crave, no matter how sick I feel. It’s also the one thing Chris has to give up for nine months, too, mostly because my jealously could drive me to do horrible things, but also because I want him to miss it as much as I do and have it delivered to the hospital room.
On the bright side, I went through this with Isla. In fact, my first trimester with her was 10 times worse, if you can believe that. As soon as I reached 13 weeks though, I was in the clear and I absolutely loved every single thing about being pregnant from that moment on (give or take those last few days/weeks at the end and my teenage puberty skin).
So with all that no good, very bad first trimester stuff out of the way, I am beside myself just picturing my sweet Isla Bee meeting her best-buddy-for-life for the first time in OCTOBER!
(Thank you to my aunt Evie for taking these pictures!)