One is the loneliest number...
that you'll ever do.
-Three Dog Night
Yes, you guessed it. Perhaps you noticed that I've given up my nightly glass of wine. (So sad.) Perhaps I've been so tired that I actually fell asleep while talking to you. (Even sadder.) More likely, you noticed that my butt has grown to the size of a small continent. (Really, really sad.) But since one is the loneliest number, we've decided to make it two. The latest addition to the Foster family will be arriving by March 5, 2010 - and not a day later, I might add!
Needless to say, we're super excited and more than a little scared. Why is it so much scarier the second time around? Is it because I know what to expect this time? (Those months of sleepless nights were definitely tougher than I planned for!) Or is it because I don't have a clue how I'm going to handle two little ankle-biters when one more than fills my time and my heart? We've just gotten to the point where I feel like we're getting the hang of this parenting thing. Now, I wonder if I will have to figure out how to do it all over again, but times two?
Contributing to my uneasiness is the fact that I feel HORRIBLE this time. With Jay, I was never sick. Not once. Sure, I was tired. But now, I have this constant feeling of "I'm gonna puke, and yet I'm hungry." No food really appeals to me, with the exception of cheese. I have wanted to eat nothing but cheese for the last six weeks. Seriously. I have always been a big fan of cheese. But now, it's all I want. Cheese toast. Cheesy scrambled eggs. Pimiento cheese. Bean & cheese burrito (extra cheese, please). Pizza with double cheese. Grilled cheese sandwich. Am I starting to sound like Bubba in Forrest Gump yet? Wait, now that I think about it, maybe the ginormous growth of my backside isn't entirely due to pregnancy...
So far baby #2 seems to be doing just fine. We've had a hard time coming up with a pet name for him/her. I mean, really, how are you gonna top "Torquil?" We tried "Annie" for a little while - Torquil & Annie were my great-great-great-grandparents who immigrated to NC from Scotland. But if "Annie" turns out to be a boy, that could have long-lasting repercussions on his mental health. Don't wanna start this kid out needing therapy before s/he's even born. So I'm leaving it to you, dear readers. What shall we call this little peanut?