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(There’s a picture of Owen planking at the end of this post. Feel free to scroll down if pregnancy and toddler poop aren’t your cup of tea.)
– This pregnancy has been pretty run-of-the-mill. So far it’s pretty similar to how it was the first time, only my stomach is way bigger and I have less time to think about it. Also, I’m exhausted. I keep telling myself it’s because I don’t have the luxury of lying around all day, but I’m going to mention it to my doctor at my visit this week anyway. I figure it can’t hurt, and maybe she’ll write me a note to get out of work for the day. Oh, wait. Right.
I don’t want this baby to read here one day and think that I could care less about being pregnant with them. That’s not even the case at all. (You hear that, kid? I love you to the moon and back and will continue to smother you with love until you are begging me to stop hugging you in front of the school bus because GOD, MOM. YOU ARE SO EMBARRASSING.)
I think it’s just second time around syndrome. This feels natural, old hat, normal. And unlike with Owen, where early spotting was cause for a few extra and early ultrasounds, we’ve only seen this baby once around 8 weeks, when it was no bigger than a bean and resembled a manatee. I haven’t even heard the heartbeat on the doppler yet. (Friday!)
One notably cool thing though, is that I can already feel this one. Not kicking, not yet, but those early flutters that for awhile you confuse with gas. Only it’s not gas, and it makes me laugh and prompts me to stop for a minute and focus on the pregnancy and say, “Hi in there! We can’t wait to meet you!”
(And we really can’t, baby. I’m so excited!)
– Parents, when did you start potty training? (I’m going to talk about poop now. You’re welcome.) Owen turned 18 months old right after Christmas. I’m not in any rush to get him out of diapers (I wouldn’t mind, of course, but I figured he’s still on the younger end), but lately he’s been really good about letting us know when he has to poop. 99% of the time he tells us before he goes, so I was thinking maybe it would be a good idea to start guiding him towards a potty when he makes that announcement.
He doesn’t tell us if he has to pee, but I guess one step at a time? Anyway, I don’t want it to become a THING that he feels pressured about and blows up in our face, but has anyone started potting training this early with success? This is one of those parenting milestones I have no idea how to go about. Training Someone to Use the Toilet isn’t one of those fantasies I had while dreaming about children.
– My son has taken up planking:
I’m pretty sure the toilet was clean. At least, I hope so. He refused to NOT wear the hat in the house that day, insisting “Hat on! Hat on!” I think it just adds to it, no?
Thanks for the congratulations, everyone. We are super excited for this next little one to join our family. But before I talk about it, I need to get something out of the way.
I’ve gone back through my archives to compare my pregnancy with Owen (the baby stuff starts here, if you’re interested) to this one and omigod, you guys.
I was SO ANNOYING.
Like, seriously. I got all uppity at the time when some people suggested that maybe I couldn’t talk about anything but being pregnant, but now I will agree that all the preeeeeciousness and ammmmaaazingness and oh my goodness being pregnant is such happy little bubbleness of those posts is a little overwhelming. I mean, I’m glad I documented it all. I’m glad I can look back and remember all those tiny things that I probably would have forgotten and I really was completely and totally in awe of being pregnant for the first time. It’s really quite awesome. But still. I’d like to go back and tell first-time pregnant me to chill just a little bit and go eat another bowl of mac and cheese.
Please don’t misunderstand me, I am beyond thrilled to be pregnant again. I feel so very fortunate and blessed to be able to conceive easily and that everything seems to be healthy and going according to plan. But maybe this time, when I write about it, it won’t be so…I don’t know…Pink. And fluffy. And won’t be the topic of EVERY SINGLE BLOG POST OMMIIIGGGOOOD WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BRAIN?
Phew. Feels good to get that off of my chest. That being said, I’m still going to talk about it today! Hehe.
~
Thing is, even if I wanted to focus all of my energy on being pregnant again, I just can’t. Because unlike the first time when I was unemployed and had all the time in the world to daydream and la la la, having a toddler just takes most of my focus away from it. Owen woke up one morning and was suddenly this little boy who jumps on the couch and discovers a tote of clothes makes a great stool for climbing up onto our bed and is constantly running around, zooming trucks and knocking down block towers and is SO MUCH FUN, and also, very tiring. By the time his nap rolls around I find myself collapsing onto the couch and passing the heck out.
The nausea this time was way worse, but it’s basically gone now unless I let myself get too hungry. The thing that kills me is the fatigue, which I’m sure is equal parts growing a human and chasing an 18-month old at the same time. Sometimes on days Michael is home, I go back to sleep for an hour or so in the morning because otherwise I’m not going to be all the mom I can be to Owen. And if we’re being honest, sometimes even that nap doesn’t stop me from laying on the couch while he plays because oooh, I need a break.
All those books I read the first time remain packed away or gathering dust on a shelf in our family room, because this time it just kind of feels like old hat. Even as I stood in the bathroom one afternoon holding the positive test while Owen played at my feet, my reaction was more of a, “Oh! Sweet!” as opposed to the first time, where I jumped on Michael in bed at 7 a.m. and shoved the test in his face. And yet, I’m still excited to feel that first kick because that part never gets old.
The major difference has really been the belly, which made an appearance at five weeks along. I had heard second (and third, etc.) pregnancies show faster since the muscles have already been stretched, but I wasn’t expecting to show so early, especially when we had planned to keep it quiet the standard three months. But no, there it was on full display. I even got outed by a stranger at a toddler birthday party at just eight weeks, which makes me think maybe I should, I don’t know, do a sit up or two (or 1,000) after this one is born.
(9 weeks with Owen vs. 9 weeks with Baby #2)
This pregnancy has also reverted my palate to the tastes of a 10-year old, because while I try not to, I could sustain on chocolate milk, mac and cheese and pizza alone. If it helps, all three of those things that I’ve been buying are organic varieties so…uh…healthy! Yes.
So there you have it, first trimester round two in a nutshell.
Oh yeah, the official due date is July 15th and I would put money on having another boy.
Now, I’m off to eat some pizza.
I love how the stockings look hung by the fireplace.
And I love even more that next year, there will be one more.
This Little Baby #2. Coming in July.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Since it’s been just over year since Owen was born, I figured it was time to touch on the reality of what happens to the body after having a baby. One of the most common questions I get from new moms is “when will I get my body back?”, so I decided to share my personal story of the road back to pre-baby bodyville.
Immediately after giving birth, I still looked about six months pregnant, was puffy and gross from fluids and exhaustion, and my stomach felt like a big ball of bread dough. It was a really strange feeling.
I wore maternity clothes for a few weeks, and while it didn’t take long to start dropping weight (once the placenta is out, you’re losing all that extra fluid and oh yeah, you’ve had the baby, a significant amount of the weight is gone), but my body just wasn’t the same. My breasts were HUGE, my stomach was flabby, and my hips were wider. Even when I could put on pre-pregnancy pants, I couldn’t even come close to closing them because suddenly where I had never really had hips before, was this wide expanse of space that I couldn’t put a waist band around if you paid me to. They finally did receded, but it was really strange for a while.
Around eight weeks postpartum, I stopped feeling disgusting and was back in most of my clothes. But they fit differently. The larger breasts paired with the still wider hips gave me this weird situation where all my shirts were suddenly too short. Like, barely coming to the top of my pants. Do you know how annoying this is? Rather than buy a whole new wardrobe, I started layering a tank top under basically every top. Not always cute, but necessary.
Time went on, the weight continued to drop. I attribute this almost 100 percent to breastfeeding and power-walking a couple times a day. Now that my weight loss has tapered off, it’s time to start toning up again, but I was lucky I guess to not have to do much for the actual pounds to come off. It took probably about 5-6 months for me to reach my pre-pregnancy weight, give or take a month.
I know. Oh POOR YOU. It only took a few months for you to lose the weight. Yeah, boo hoo. Yes, while the weight came off, let me assure you, I did not escape pregnancy unscathed. Actually, I ended up losing too much weight, and while people will generally roll their eyes at you when you say that, it wasn’t something I was happy about. Lack of sleep and not replenishing enough of my calories lost to breastfeeding left me pounds below my weight in high school, permanently exhausted, irritable and gaunt. I didn’t look sexy-skinny. I looked gross. After the people I love tiptoed around it for a while, my mom finally convinced me that it was time to look into it. A physical, and a high-potency vitamin regiment got me back on track and I feel much better now.
On top of that, there’s the boobs.
I know this doesn’t happen to everyone, but here’s the truth: my breasts will never, ever be the same again. Ever.
The girls used to be one of my favorite body parts. I was proud of them! Full, perky, nicely sized. They certainly grew while I was pregnant, but nothing prepared me for what happened after Owen was born. On the third night my milk came in, and they doubled — no, tripled — in size almost immediately. The result of that was mean, ugly, red stretch marks that burst onto the scene on the underside of both breasts. And I thought I had escaped stretch marks my whole pregnancy. HA.
Oh man, were those ugly. And they hurt! I guess the skin was stretched very quickly and very thin. Ugh. I can’t remember how long it took for them to fade, but they are colorless now. In their place is what looks like permanently dry skin, in my opinion. It’s wrinkly. Ew. To look at me, you’d never know they were there since the top of my breasts didn’t get them. (Maybe next time? I HOPE NOT!) But I know they are there. And while sure, they’re a badge of honor, I’d still rather them NOT be there. I have the kid, after all, and he’s a pretty good daily reminder of the journey to motherhood.
As for size, since I’m still nursing they haven’t totally deflated, but I can tell when I stop breastfeeding they will be smaller. And sadder. I think the only way to perk them back up will be to get pregnant again, and when we’re done having babies? Invest in some really good push-up bras.
Here I am, the morning before Owen was born…
…and today, almost 13-months postpartum.
No, my stomach isn’t totally flat, but it’s ok. I even feel (mostly) confident in a two-piece bikini. I have no idea what my body will do after future pregnancies. This will probably be as good as it’s going to get! Ha!
The one bonus? My arms are ripped. Like, seriously. Perk of having a big kid, for sure. He’s the best free weight I’ve ever used.
Continued from A Birth Story, Part 1
And then I heard a pop.
I gasped, and then I felt it, at exactly 5:11 a.m. A huge gush of warm water. On my couch. Thank goodness for that blanket!
I had this irrational fear during my pregnancy that my water would break in the produce aisle of the grocery store. I don’t know why, I was just terrified of it. So having it break on the couch was preferable, yet…messier. Because had I been standing, TLB’s head would have acted as sort of a plug, making the gush more of a trickle.
Instead, I was reclined, so the gush was actually like dumping an industrial sized Gatorade cooler onto my yoga pants.
“My water broke!” I exclaimed.
My sister jumped into action.
“What do I do?!”
“Um…get a towel?”
She rushed off to the bathroom and returned with a towel. As I shuffled to the bathroom with it between my legs, she ran upstairs to wake up Michael, who had been sleeping the whole time and didn’t even know my family had arrived. I wish I could have seen his face when she woke him announcing the news.
(Note: I promised you an honest birth story. So from here on out there will be talks of fluids and pain and…aftermath. I really appreciated mothers who were honest with me regarding the ins and outs of birth, which is why I want to be honest here. Just giving you a heads up if you’re not interesting in these kinds of things!)
I actually never really expected my water to break at home, since many women don’t have theirs break until they’re much further into their labors…many even having them membranes manually ruptured later on. So I wasn’t really sure what to expect when it happened. Well…there’s a LOT of fluid. And for a while, it just keeps coming and coming and coming. I sat on the toilet and waited for it to slow down enough so I could get things ready, and noticed that I had also lost my mucus plug. And it looked gross.
Really gross. Yet, that didn’t stop me from announcing it to anyone who was listening outside the door that in fact, I had LOST MY MUCUS PLUG!
My sister returned with a fresh pair of yoga pants and a pair of the big old throw away underwear I had bought for the occasion. I put on a pad (for the first time since middle school, I think) and started packing up my toiletries.
My original plan had been to labor at home as long as possible, going to the hospital when I felt I was close enough to warrant being there. Generally, doctors prefer for you to deliver within 24 hours of your water breaking to prevent infection, so I knew I had a lot of time. But on the advice of my mom, I decided to call the maternity ward and let them know I would be in at some point. I talked to the nurse and she suggested I take a little time to get things together, but head in within the hour.
I was skeptical. I had hours and hours! But OK, I’ll get things together and see how it goes.
And then, like a freight train, the contractions started coming.
Hard.
And close together.
I found my best coping method was leaning against a wall or the counter and swaying from side to side until the contraction passed. In between, I packed up the final stuff for the bag, straightened some last minute things around the house…and made Michael put the air conditioner in the guest room for my family.
Yes, really. It’s weird the way your brain works during labor. Suddenly, that seemed really important to me.
So, he did! And afterwards he said he wanted to move the cars around in the driveway, which seemed perfectly reasonable to me until about five minutes later.
“Michael,” I said quietly.
“Yes?”
“I think we need to go. Now.”
~
We live very close to the hospital, so I luckily did not have to labor long in the car. We pulled up in front of the hospital just after 6 a.m. I climbed out of the car to wait while Michael parked it, and noticed that my pants were soaked through completely. As I gripped the railing outside the door and swayed through a contraction, I complained to my sister about my pants. I’m pretty sure she told me not to worry about it.
You would have to ask my family if this is really true or not, but I don’t think I ever became too mean or bitchy during my labor. However, I do remember thinking my sister was walking way. too. slow. into the hospital, and shoved her into the elevator.
Shoved her.
Oops.
We arrived at the Women’s Wing and were greeted by a nurse who would escort us to our room and be with us all day. Now, before we could get to that room, Michael remembered to ask a very important question.
See, when we took our childbirth class it was taught by one of the Labor and Delivery nurses, who told us that we should absolutely ask if one of the corner rooms was available when we arrived. The corner rooms were the big rooms and well, why not ask?
So he did. He asked the nurse if a corner room was available and she looked at us like we were nuts. What did we think this was, the Ritz? The corner room? Really?
Well, there was a corner room, she said, but it wasn’t set up. They’d have to do that first. You know, make the bed, bring in equipment and monitors.
“I’ll wait!” I cried out, and proceeded to have a contraction hanging onto the hallway wall.
I don’t know what she thought of us in that moment, but she left us to set up the room. And you know what? I’m so glad he asked! The big room was awesome.
~
When the room was ready, I was handed a gown and told to take off everything I was wearing and put it on. Know how fun it is to get undressed while having a contraction and leaking amniotic fluid everywhere? Not so fun. Not so fun at all. And those gowns? Do NOT cover your butt. Not even a little. Here’s a fact about birth: EVERYONE will see your butt.
Everyone.
There is no such thing as modesty anymore and there will come a point when you just don’t care.
In that moment, I still cared. So I shuffled to the bed the best I could while holding the back of the gown closed.
Ha.
It’s hospital procedure that you get in bed and are hooked up to a fetal heart monitor, blood pressure cuff and an IV for 20 minutes when you first arrive to see how things are going. I hated this part and could not wait to get out of the bed. I was also terrified of the IV. Not labor, but the IV! I had never had one before and the thought made me nauseous.
Having the IV was my least favorite part about having a baby. I’m serious.
The nurse checked to see how far along I was, and I was disappointed to find I was still only three centimeters dilated, the same I had been earlier in the week. At this point, the contractions were less than three minutes apart and they HURT. And I still had to get to 10?
I did my best to turn inward and use my prenatal yoga skills to focus and breathe.
They still hurt. Oh man, did they hurt.
On Thursday, June 24th I went in for my 39-week OB appointment. My doctor did the usual exam and told me that she was actually surprised I hadn’t gone into labor yet. I had been 3 centimeters dilated for a week, and little boy had been head down and pressing on my sciatic nerve for twice that long. I really, really wanted my OB to be the one to deliver my baby, and she told me she was working that night, and on Saturday. She also mentioned that Saturday was a full moon, and the maternity ward often gets hopping on those nights.
I laughed, put my pants back on and headed home knowing This Little Baby was staying put for another week.
The next day was just like the day before. I was feeling a lot of pressure in my pelvis, but nothing really different from any other day that week. I emailed with a friend periodically and told her nothing was happening, baby wasn’t coming today. I posted my 39-week Belly Friday post, 100% convinced I’d be posting week 40 the following Friday.
That evening, probably around 7 p.m., I felt the overwhelming desire to clean my house. My house — which I had cleaned top to bottom earlier in the week — suddenly seemed filthy to me. As Michael watched me quietly from the couch, I scrubbed the bathroom, cleaned counters, vacuumed and folded laundry. Occasionally, he’d mention as nicely as possible that all those things had just been done and I was essentially just redoing the chores, but I couldn’t stop. Nest. Nest, nest, nest, nest, nest.
By 9 p.m. I was finished and tried, so I took a relaxing shower and climbed into the recliner to watch some TV. A little while later I felt a pain. Sort of like a menstrual cramp, sort of like a diarrhea cramp. Not too bad, and brief enough to make me think it was probably gas. There had been a lot of gas up to this point, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to have more.
And then, I felt it again.
So…I tired to fart. Well, wouldn’t you? I mean, I thought it was gas.
The fart was unsuccessful.
I rotated a bit in the chair, got comfortable…and felt another one.
I started thinking to myself, “Could this be it? Is this what it feels like?”
Michael had worked very early that day and was almost asleep on the couch next to me. I didn’t want to set anything in motion until I was sure something was happening, so I quietly got a piece of paper and started writing down whenever I felt a cramp.
I didn’t feel them at regular intervals, but they were usually between 12 and 8 minutes apart. They lasted anywhere from 25 seconds to a minute long, and after about an hour I figured something was up.
“Michael, I think I’m having contractions.”
“Really?!” he answered, perking up instantly. “What do we do?”
I laughed. “Nothing,” I replied. “He’s not coming tonight. But, you might want to get some sleep.”
By midnight I knew that this was early labor. The contractions were strong, but manageable. They made me a little nauseous, but nothing that I couldn’t handle. I called my family and after the inital excitement, they jumped into action. Being three and a half hours away, my mom and sister decided to jump in the car and hit the road immediately. My dad planned on coming up a few hours later, which meant he was the only one who got to sleep!
Michael decided to take a shower just in case there wasn’t time in the morning, and we headed to bed to get some sleep. I know I was vaguely aware of the contractions during the night, but I was able to sleep through them pretty well. Until 4 a.m. when I woke up starving. I decided to get up and eat something, because I knew that if I went to the hospital soon, I wouldn’t be allowed to eat. I got up to make an English muffin with peanut butter and when I stood up, the contractions were gone.
Frustrated, I walked around the house trying to get them moving again. Nothing! I had read that you can be pretty sure you’re experiencing “false labor” when changing positions or walking around stops the contractions. As I chewed my breakfast, I wondered if I had cried wolf and set into motion a lot of fuss for nothing.
I called my mom to tell her what I thought. They were about a half hour away at this point, so there was no turning back for them. She assured me that this is what happens in early labor, and that I wasn’t wrong. It was just going to be awhile, that’s all.
To pass the time until their arrival, I flipped through various infomercials on TV, drank some water and walked around some more. Eventually I felt another contractions, but it was fairly mild. By 4:40 a.m. my family arrived, and after hugs and excitement all around, my mom decided to take a nap while she still had the time. My sister and I stayed up, talking in the living room and timing the mild contractions that were finally coming back.
I put a blanket on our leather couch because it was chilly from the AC, and lay down to get comfortable. After a particularly strong contraction, I mentioned to my sister that OW! That one kind of hurt!
And then I heard a pop.
Today’s guest post is from Laura over at Navigating the Mothership. She is fab.
Hello, These Little Moments readers! First of all, HUGE congrats to Molly and family on their new addition. I am happy and honored to provide a guest post so that Molly can spend all of her free time with Owen. While I have never met Molly in real life, I feel connected to her in that funny bloggy way. I have been loving her posts about the bizarre world that is pregnancy and can’t wait to hear more about life with Owen. She really is a blogging superstar, but you already know that.
A bit about myself. My name is Laura and I grew up in Fargo, North Dakota. Yes! That’s right. People actually live there amid the tundra. Or at least grow up there. We all leave, though. Can’t imagine why. These days I’m living in Minneapolis, Minnesota with my husband, named, uh…Husband (this is possibly a pseudonym) and our one-year-old daughter, Bella.
I’m currently a stay-at-home mom (and loving it), and prior to that I worked as a dietitian. Before you start asking me for nutrition advice, I should tell you that I have a little dessert problem and eat a decadent dessert every.single.day. Sometimes twice a day. Or maybe three times. Well…we’ll just say once a day. Moderation-slash-there-are-some-things-you-shouldn’t-admit-to and all that. I guess I would describe myself as one of those yuppie-hippy types when it comes to being a mama. You know, the classic unmedicated-birth, cloth-diapering, and make-my-own-organic-baby-food trifecta that’s all the rage these days. Of course, I’m just doing it to be trendy.
But I’m not hear to bore you about my adventures of being a yuppie-hippy. Today I want to tell you about the time Husband thought I pooped my pants when I was 40 weeks pregnant. A story like this is best told with dramatic flair. I shall now exit stage left.
Scene from a Movie Theater
An Enormously-Pregnant Woman (EPW) and her husband head to the local cheapie theater to take in a flick on her due date. The husband is taking her out in an attempt to distract her from the fact that she is probably going to be pregnant forever and TLC will be forced to make a frightening documentary about it. The couple arrive at the theater and EPW tries not to see how scared all the other patrons are of her ginormous belly. Once the couple is settled into their seats, EPW is still not able to take her mind off her pregnancy as she simply cannot find a comfortable position in her seat. She keeps shifting in an attempt to get comfy, but her trickster baby then shifts herself in utero, causing further chair shifting in the woman. It’s a real shift-a-palooza. EPW gives up on getting comfortable and settles for not-in-total-pain, but this requires endless fidgeting in her chair. A half hour of the movie passes and we now find EPW slouched very low in her seat and feeling sorry for herself…
Enormously Pregnant Woman (leans over to Husband and whispers): I need a bigger uterus.
Husband (distracted as he is watching the movie and can only focus on one thing at a time): Yes.
[The woman gets a sudden baby foot sticking out of her side and she slides up quickly to try to dislodge it. In the process of sliding up, however, her yoga pants and underwear stick to the seat and she is now in a preggy pickle of having major plumber’s butt. It is not easy to swiftly and inconspicuously remedy such a situation at 10 months pregnant.]
EPW (leaning over to Husband and whispering a tad frantically): I pulled down my pants!
Husband (EXTREMELY alarmed, but aware that his pregnant wife is in a rather delicate state of mind, not to mention not exactly in full control of bodily processes these days, says in a hushed and panicked whisper): YOU POOPED YOUR PANTS?!
Woman explodes in laughter and then suffers from emotional incontinence in the form of giggling for the rest of the movie, which only serves to draw more attention to her enormously-pregnant state. On the plus side, she is finally distracted from her pregnancy. Husband’s heart slowly returns to a normal pace, but he cannot get the horrifying image of trying to help EPW and her poopy pants out of the movie theater. All other movie-goers glance nervously at the slightly hysterical EPW for the remainder of the movie, certain that a baby is about to fall out onto the floor at any moment.
[END SCENE]
Pregnancy is such a time of beauty, isn’t it? If you are in the market for more stories like this in addition to regular posts about boobs, awkward moments, and figuring out this parenting gig, then you can find me at Navigating the Mothership. If you are interested in reading the generally embarrassing play-by-play of my first pregnancy, it’s all documented at Preggy Blonde. Thank you to Molly for letting me guest blog!
Could this be the last one????
39 weeks, 1 day. (Please ignore goofy, makeup-free face. Thanks.)
Come on, baby!
We’re seven days from TLB’s due date and you know what? I’m pretty sure he’s going to stay in there for the long haul. I guess I made things nice and cozy for him! The best news is that on Tuesday, exactly 14 days from when he took residence on my sciatic nerve…he MOVED. Probably about 90% off of it so I can walk again. WALK. I swear, it was like watching a child take their first steps the minute I realized I could move from the kitchen to the living room without grabbing onto the wall for support.
Wait. I mean, “walk” is still a relative term, because it’s really a waddle due to how low he is in my pelvis right now, but it’s a 90% pain-free waddle.
Can I get a HIGH FIVE?!
So, I’ve been walking waddling around, eating spicy foods, bouncing on the exercise ball and basically doing everything those old wives tell you to do to get labor going. I know, I know, he’ll come out when he’s ready. They always come out. And now that he’s not causing me to scream in pain and curse my left leg, it’s really OK if he stays in there a little while longer. Don’t get me wrong, we’re ready for him. SO ready to meet him. But if he’s not ready, he’s not ready.
His room is done. The car seat is installed (and has been checked at the police station). There are eight billion newborn to 3-month outfits in his dresser. I’ve gone ahead and gained 33 pounds. The bag is packed. There is a waterproof crib pad under the sheets on my side of the bed just in case.
We. Are. Ready.
Some people have asked me if I’ll be live-blogging my labor and the answer is no. As a matter of fact, I won’t be social media-ing labor at all. No Facebook or Twitter until after he’s born and we’ve told all the people in our lives about his arrival that we’d want to find out from us directly. While I think it’s cool to reader OTHER people’s tweets about what’s going on, it’s just something I’d rather not share minute-by-minute. Instead, I promise you a very thorough, very honest, birth story. I’ll also be supplementing some of my posting with guest posts by some of my favorite mommies in the week or so after he’s born.
I wanted to thank you all for your hospital bag recommendations. They were super helpful and I definitely used a lot of your ideas. I’d also like to thank you all for following me on the journey to baby. Your comments, love and support have been wonderful and I can’t wait to share the stories of This Little Baby with you all in the very near future.
Now, if you will, please think lots of Baby Coming Out thoughts over the next few days for us. That would be great.
All photos by Anna Sawin Photography
My little family:
Cute boy, good sport.
PLANET Belly:
The pensive look:
Pregnancy is sexy!
Weeee little shoes:
The sweetest part was he wasn’t even making the heart of purpose. This one is being framed for the nursery. We love you, TLB!
There’s a lot of girth to get your hands around:
Oh, this poor kid:
Yup, I totally am!
These Little Moments 