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If you don’t follow me on my other various forms of social media, you probably don’t know I’m pregnant again. So, surprise! I’m…21 weeks pregnant. With another boy. I feel as though I have failed you as a blogger in withholding this knowledge so long. My apologies! Here, I’ll summarize for you:

– thought I wasn’t pregnant. Peed on a stick to rule it out because I was meeting friends for drinks. Forgot about the test for 20 minutes. Went to throw out what was obviously a negative test…only it was positive.

– begin to show immediately. By the third pregnancy my abs just gave up.

– start to vomit on a multi-times-a-day basis for nearly three months. That was fun!

– finally start to feel better around December.

– find out we are having another boy, which shocks most people except me. I knew it! Owen cried when we told him because he wanted a girl to create his own version of The Fresh Beat Band, which has two boys and two girls. He sobs we already HAVE two boys. Explain the idea of an all-boy band and he converts to Team Blue. Ryan couldn’t care less, but likes to pat my belly and say, “baby!”

That pretty much brings us to now. Baby boy is kicking and squirming, landing some good punches right to my bladder. He has no name yet, but this time I feel little urgency about it. Can’t leave the hospital without one, so he will be named eventually.

I am overjoyed and totally unprepared for the reality of three children, but come early June that will be our reality!

Sorry for holding out on you, friends. Still love you!

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(Last week at 20 weeks. Complete with raging sinus infection and Breathe Right strip. Keeping it real, folks.)

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– Michael and I celebrated our five year wedding anniversary last month. We celebrated by returning to our beloved New Hampshire for two whole nights SANS CHILDREN. Do you know what that means??

We NAPPED.

I also ate some open-faced BLT thing that was made from bacon, fried tomatoes, and guacamole on garlic bread. That was pretty amazing. But not as amazing as the napping.

– About a month ago, Ryan weaned. The other day Owen was looking at me with a perplexed look. I asked him what was up and he said, “if Ryan doesn’t drink mommy milk anymore, why do you still have those big things on you?”

I explained that all women have breasts, even if there’s no baby drinking milk. He started laughing and asked for some applesauce. Ooooook. Kids are weird.

– Ryan is finally starting to say more than “bah!” for everything. His recent favorite is “stinky” while waving his hand in front of his nose when I change his diaper. Boys and toilet humor. It starts young.

– Daylight Savings is kicking my butt. The first morning Owen woke up at the old 6, and Ryan woke up at the new 8:30. I don’t get it either. Since then, Owen has slowly been creeping to the new 6, emphasis on slowly. Today was 5:45. Child, no. He just comes in our room and announces he’s awake. Well, good for you. I am NOT. All should even out just in time to spring forward.

– I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around having a kid who can (kind of) write their name. Wasn’t Owen just born?

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This little birdie took his first small flight from the nest today.

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I cried.

Based on my experience, I have decided there are four emotional stages of unemployment.

Shock.

Depression.

Indifference.

Acceptance.

June 1st marked six months of being unemployed. In that time, I’ve applied to countless jobs. I’ve received a handful of rejection letters, had two interviews that went nowhere and heard nothing from the rest. In short, it’s frustrating.

If you go back through my winter achieves, you can probably tell I was depressed. Some days it was hard to get off the couch and when I did, it was usually to snap at Michael over something stupid, then cry. He was so good to me during that time period, remaining understanding and knowing that all I needed him to do was be there.

Then there was a shift. I began to think, “screw you” to the people not responding to me, got off the couch and started to get busy. Eventually that turned into full blown acceptance. I don’t  have a job. It is what it is.

It’s no secret that I want to start trying to have children soon. Of course, having or not having a job is a factor in this. Do I find a job now, then leave in x-amount of months to raise a baby? Do I continue to try and find freelance and online jobs that allow me to work from home? (Not as easy to find as I had hoped.) Do I start working part time somewhere in the hopes of having flexible hours?

In three weeks my unemployment insurance runs out. According to the paperwork I’ve received, I MAY qualify for an extension. May. And because this state is AWESOME, they won’t tell me if I qualify until after my first round of money runs out. I’m left in the dark with a hope, but that’s about it.

If it runs out and I don’t qualify for an extension, I’m going to have to find something, probably in retail. I’m not looking down my nose at retail jobs, absolutely not. I just decided not to take one these past few months and use that time and weekly unemployment money to search for another full time job.

But it might be time to start looking.

To be honest, I wouldn’t mind starting a family and working part time. These six months have given me a lot (a LOT) of time to think and although some people might not agree with it, that drive to be a career woman is quickly fading. When I see my professional future, instead of demanding clients and busy Outlook calendars, I see a job, maybe administrative, where I can go in, do my job, and come home. Without taking the stress of the day home to me. And I see another job, that of a mother.

But in order to achieve this vision, I need a J-O-B. I just hope it doesn’t take me another six months to find one.

The only time Crocs are cute…

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…are on little feet.

(Did I mention I’d like a baby now?)

Happy weekend!

I took a risk by going directly to the gym from work. It’s really hit or miss– sometimes it’s packed with the highly motivated after work crowd and other times it’s almost empty. Unfortunately, last night it was busy. But I was lucky to score an elliptical and since I had forgotten my earphones for my iPod, (I know, I can manage to bring all my work out clothes and sneakers and the actually iPod to work but forget the earphones…) I grabbed an easy to read while you’re running Star Magazine.

The good thing about my gym is that they have lots of new equipment and the price is right. The bad thing is that they also have a basketball court and after school activities that attract kids. Mostly kids between the ages of eight and 15. And I guess because they think it’s cool they come into the gym when they’re finished. Maybe it’s because I’m usually plugged into my iPod, but I never really noticed them until last night. This time I couldn’t miss them.

First there were the two girls on ellipticals. They must have been around 14 and after a few minutes one became bored. “Mia! Mia! Miiiiia! MIA!” I turned my head to see one of the girls yelling to the other, who couldn’t hear her because she was smart enough to remember her earphones. Probably because she was well aware that her gym partner was the type of girl that frantically waved her hand in the air, “ooh, ooh, oohing” whenever the teacher asked a question. So annoying.

“MIA!!! I’m BORED!” Seriously, I almost threw my water bottle at her. Finally Mia heard her and lifted one earphone long enough to tell her friend to find another machine if she was so bored. Go Mia!

With 10 minutes left to go on the machine I spotted Gold Digger on a bike. Oh no! I had to get to the weights before he did. The image of is finger lost inside his navel cavity began to haunt me. No, no, no! Look away!

I looked ahead and noticed a woman with a girl who could not have been more than eight. The little girl was on the treadmill and the woman was encouraging her to run. The girl was only a little heavy and I felt bad for her. Wouldn’t it be better for someone of her age to take dance classes or play soccer or even take walks with her mom? Must she already be told that she’s heavy and be put in a gym?

I headed over to the weight machines and was bombarded by a group of twelve-year old boys. I know they were twelve because one of them was talking about his last birthday. These scrawny little boys in their over sized basketball shorts with their hair spike just so, jumped from machine to machine, acting tough and grunting as they moved the weights. It took all I had not to crash into them as they rapidly switched places with each other.

I finished up and realized how tired I was. I know you’re supposed to be physically tired after working out, but mentally? No.

Damn kids.