The evillest thing in the world right now is a toddler who refuses to nap, argues everything due to overtiredness and then will not just GTF to sleep at (early) bedtime. I am wiped. I am so far past wiped, I’m living in bitchville, where my kiddo was rocked for a few minutes, until the protesting kicks pissed me off too much and she was deposited in her crib with a hug, kiss and curt, “I love you, go to sleep.”
The protesting is only growing louder and more dramatic and I’m thinking, “dammit, I need a vacation. Or a nap. Or a nap while on vacation,” knowing that I will have to go back into her room to soothe the devil out of her and repeat the whole lying down and bedtime speech. And I know it won’t do a damn thing cuz this is just one of those days where she is exhausted but will not give in and I am exhausted and only want to give in.
It’s moments like last night when I second guess myself. Well, moments like last night followed up by mornings like today. JDawg came down for a visit last night and stayed to watch a movie (Revolver, loved it.) and well, as he does, ended up drunk and sleeping over. And despite my lack of fornication with him, there he was at one am (keeping me awake, f@*&*&#er), spooning me and saying that he’s happy that I’m having his second baby – that he can’t think of anyone else he’d want it to be than me.
Cheesy. Normally a complete turn-off, like hugs from strangers who pretend to love me out of service to the family. Maybe it was the hormones that are already flooding my body (yes, I did cry three times while reading some chick lit today, thankyouverymuch), but it made me go “awwwwwwwwww” internally and say nothing out loud.
To compensate for this emotional effect, I made fun of him this morning for being sappy.
While he was taking Isobel and I out to look at baby stores so I could finish window shopping on a) carriers/slings, b) cloth diapers and c) belly bands.
When I started this window shopping, a salesperson at the first place that had the belly bands – elastic panels you can wear over regular, undone pants to avoid maternity wear – told me that women typically gain more weight with the second pregnancy than the first, so not to judge my ability to avoid mat wear based on my size with Isobel. What A Buzzkill.
Does that explain why yesterday, the beginning of my fifth week, I woke up no longer with six-packs and with a little buddha belly? Just a little fucking early for a belly, can’t we all agree? With Isobel, I wore size ones until about 20 weeks. I grew into them, FF’sS. But no, this time, I’m already unbuttoning my size 26 jeans by 2pm.
Which were in need of a belt a week ago.
