Letter to Baby D...No. 2

Disclaimer:  I wrote this post back during the summer, and never posted it.  Apparently, I was either too tired, too nauseous, or too caught up in whether Joey would choose Dawson or Pacey.  But, in the interest of not letting the two weeks it took me to write this go to waste, I'm gonna post it now.

I mean, why not, right?

Somewhere in the neighborhood of June-ish 2013

If you follow me on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter, then you already know that the reason for my rather extended absence from the blog:

I'm pregnant.

And I'd really love to tell you that I've been too busy to write because my life has been all pregnancy sunshine and roses.  But, NO.  It's been more like pregnancy "laying on the couch and bitterly envying all of your beach photos on Facebook, while I try desperately not to throw up."

So, yeah.

Even so, we are super excited to meet our second-born.  And I thought now might be a good time to write him or her a little letter.

Dear Baby D #2,

Well.  It's been interesting thus far, hasn't it?  Hopefully at least one of us is enjoying this pregnancy with comfort and ease.  And if it can't be me, then I'm glad it's you.

Can I tell you something?  I secretly think you're a girl.  (Which I realize probably means you're a boy.)  But, the day I found out I was pregnant, I got my first manicure that didn't consist of me hacking my fingernails off with John's toenail clippers.  And the color I just so happened to pick from the most enormous wall of nail polishes known to man was, (are you ready for this?),"It's a Girl."

And I was all, "God, was that you? Here in the nail salon?"

Seriously though, I keep having dreams that you're a girl.  And no one can even suggest that you might be a boy to Ally Grace.  She's convinced she's got a baby sister coming.

(She wants to name you "Lucifer" by the way.  Whether or not I let her depends on how nice you are to me during the rest of this pregnancy.)

Boy or girl, I can already tell that you're a feisty little thing.  Either that, or you're trying to kill me.  In fact, I actually have a few questions for you.

1.  Why are you so attached to Toaster Strudels?  I mean, they taste awesome when you're 12, but now? Not so much.  I'd really like to quit eating them all the time, please.

My thighs would like that as well.

2.  Speaking of my thighs.....You are in my uterus.  Which I am pretty sure is NOT IN MY THIGHS.  Why must I look as if I am pregnant in my thighs?  This is Not. Okay.

3.  What is up with the nausea?  I know you're in there.  I do not need a constant reminder, I promise.

4.  Also, why did I look pregnant the moment you were conceived?  Is that really necessary?

5.  Are you okay with the name "Legit?" That's AG's second choice, and I think it sounds pretty rockstar-ish.  No?  Maybe as a middle name?

In closing, if you could please make the middle part of my pregnancy at least moderately tolerable, I will agree to give you whatever you want.  Literally, whatever you want.  A pony?  Sure.  A private jet? I'll work on it. Just let mama eat again, and you can have all the Toaster Strudel smoothies you can drink.

And just so you know,  I plan to blame everything on you for at least the next year.

As in, Sherri, why are you being so grouchy?  Sorry, the baby's feeling cranky.

Or, Sherri, why haven't you done laundry in six months? The baby is much too tired.

Or how about, Sherri, why did you need those Frye boots?  Well, the baby liked them, so.....

No?

At any rate, I am super excited to meet you, little one.  Your big sister is awesome. And your daddy is pretty unbelievable too.


Love,

Your slightly crazy mother, who promises to do her best, even when all she wants to do is flop down on the couch with some chocolate and the Real Housewives.

You won't tell, right?