I hit 19 weeks today! Half-way done! If only the last six weeks of pregnancy were as easy and comfortable as the first 6. At least I get a lot of sympathy for any pregnancy woes that come up. Paige told me yesterday that the babies in her tummy are boys, and one is purple and the other is blue. I should probably tell her it's generally a bad thing if a baby is blue or purple.
One of us is pregnant, can you guess who?
As Paige's adventures in potty training go on, we're trying to let her
be more independent in the process. Yes, her panties are on inside out
and backwards.
Four months left! Saying that makes me want to compulsively go buy diapers and frozen dinners.
When Paige was first born, Jeff and I tried to mostly buy unisex clothing, mostly because we could use it with the next kid no matter what, but also because we both disliked the idea of a solid pink closet. The more we went shopping though, the more we discovered that gender-neutral clothes tend to be really boring or ugly, and everyone thought Paige was a boy, even if she also had a bow on her head. So we ventured into gendered clothes, but shied away from lots of pink or purple.
Somewhere along the line though, we started having to sort laundry into lights, darks, and pinks. We'd developed the pink wash. We've tried various methods of treatment, but with only limited success. Our doctor recommended we seek counseling and learn to cope, since it looks like our case of pink wash only continue to grow, along with our tutus and tea parties--we're having twin girls.
On the other hand, this is really, really cute:
Three little Tucker girls, huh? We're super excited. Yay girls!
People covertly glance or stare at your belly as they try to figure out if you're pregnant without actually asking.
You sneak off to the bathroom in the middle of church to scarf a cold baked potato and cheese sticks.
A trip to the hospital is the highlight of your week.
One of the best compliments you receive all day is, "Oh, that placenta is just perfect, honey!"
You wake up at 3 am starving, and eat leftover beans and rice. Why are there no more baked potatoes?!
You routinely talk to your belly. Your family no longer asks who you're talking to.
Your husband points out that you've been crying for 15 minutes over a Jimmy Dean smoked sausage commercial.
You have to go potty about as often as your potty-training 2-year-old. She cheers for you and offers you an M&M.
When eating in public, you can't help but think, "Don't judge me, I'm pregnant!"
You'd kind of rather cuddle with your husband's pillow than your husband.
When you ask your daughter to help pick up toys she says, "I can't, the baby is making me feel sick."
You get mad at your food tracker when it says you're over on your dairy consumption. You can't tell me what to do! I'm pregnant! I'll drink as much milk as I want.
You catch yourself trying to parent a sonogram: "Hold still for a minute! Stop kicking each other! Stay on your side of the womb!"
However mundane being an incubator is, at least there's a lot to laugh at. I'm just so...pregnant. Don't judge me!