Here we go again.

(This post was originally written on 1/4/2011, at 6w2d pregnant.)

16 days.

That’s how long I’ve known that I’m pregnant. Number Two, y’all. As in, two babes under one roof. As in, one child per parent. As in, how will I ever carry a 10 lb infant and a 40 lb toddler at the same time?! (She’s 30 lbs now, so why wouldn’t she be 40 lbs in 8 more months?) That’s 50 lbs of kid.

Oh. Em. Gee.

Already, this pregnancy is different. Never in my whole entire life have I ever been this tired. Not even after laboring for 46 hours and pushing out a toddler was I this tired. I’m bloody exhausted all day long. Even as I sit and type this, at 11:30 in the morning, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Maybe it’s because with pregnancy number one I just sat at a desk all day and wasn’t chasing around a tiny terror who thinks it’s hilarious to pull the trash out of the can. Or maybe it’s because I only had to deal with insomnia with the last pregnancy versus insomnia & a sleepless baby this time around (much thanks to the holidays for totally ruining my sleeping-through-the-night sleeper.) I am beat. And you know what makes you more tired? Having to pretend you’re not tired so no one realizes that you’re a walking zombie and subsequently suspects that you’re pregnant. I powered through Christmas and her birthday as bright-eyed as one could be on 2 minutes of sleep (I think I fooled everyone, but I guarantee someone – probably my mom or sister or BFF – is reading this going “She didn’t fool me, I knew something was up!”) And I’ll continue to power through until we decide to spill the beans.

Which is another big difference this time around. I have no plans as to how/when/where/to whom our news will be shared. Last time? I knew within 24 hours of being pregnant how I wanted to tell our families and when we’d do it and where we’d be and what I’d wear (okay, maybe not that last part.) But this time? Eh. I made Brooke-o a shirt to reveal it to her Daddy, maybe we’ll use that...? No idea.

And morning sickness started uber-early, even if the husband thinks it’s all in my head. Trust me, it’s not. Every little thing is making me nauseated up until about noon each day. Haven’t gotten sick yet, but soon, I am sure (note to self: teach Brooke how to hold back Mommy’s hair while she throws up.) Add early morning diapers to the mix and you have a recipe for disaster. Luckily, Daddy’s been home for winter break up until yesterday to take care of said diapers, but the last 2 days I’ve been on my own. (Side note: it’s INCREDIBLE how much this child can fill an overnight diaper. And how badly it smells like pee before you even take it off – so much so that I’m getting nauseous just thinking about it. And also, these things are ridiculously heavy. Like, if I ever hear a burglar in our house in the middle of the night, I’ll run in to the nursery and take off her diaper and throw that at him. Should knock him out in seconds flat.)

Other differences? My body has become totally unable to regulate its temperature. I’m layered up like I’m going to play in the snow...but instead I’m just sitting on the couch. And I’m already forgetting things like an idiot, too, but this time it’s at the expense of my poor child. Like today, when I forgot to give her Tylenol before her shots. Or a week or so ago, when we forgot to give her breakfast. (And I say we because the husband was home, too. And he can’t blame an embryo in his uterus for that one. And we didn’t starve her, let me be clear; she had a morning bottle and then a big lunch. I mean, the girl could stand to miss a meal now and then anyway...)

Also, I’m not spending every waking hour of my day thinking about the fact that I’m knocked up (yep, still hate the term "knocked up".) When I was pregnant with Brooke, I spent the first month on baby overload. Thoughts of her impending arrival consumed me, like totally. Maybe it’s just that I’m so busy with her now. Or maybe it’s that I know what to expect this time around. But this poor little thing only gets passing thoughts throughout the day, usually when I feel like I’m going to throw up or I realize 2 bites too late that I’m not supposed to eat something. (Sorry, Number Two, but Mommy already ate 2 Skyline cheese coneys before remembering hot dogs were on the no-no list. I’ll reluctantly switch to chili cheese sandwiches for these next 8 months, but only because I love you to pieces.) And I keep telling myself that it’s okay, that it doesn’t mean I don’t care about him/her enough. I think it just doesn’t feel all that real yet and I don’t have the time to sit and dwell on it, you know?

So yeah. Pregnant again. Excited, thrilled, elated, a little scared, a bit overwhelmed, and totally ready. Let’s do this, Number Two.