In 18 weeks I’m going to have another baby.
In 18 weeks I’m going to be a “mother of 2.”
In 18 weeks my breasts are going to be spraying milk at innocent passersby as I walk around, topless, caring not who sees me in my very “National Geographic” state of being.
In 18 weeks I’m going to be waddling around with a heiney hoagie between my legs and cursing every time I cross them.
In 18 weeks I have to endure the mental and physical marathon and the gory after effects of (med-free) labor and delivery.
In 18 weeks I will look my husband in the eyes, mid-transition, drop every 4 letter word I can think of, call him an asshole and tell him we are NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN.
In 18 weeks I may just poop in a tub of water, a tub I still need to buy, a tub my midwife tells me makes a great “kiddie pool” later on if we’d like to get our $180 worth out of it.
In 18 weeks I hit the re-start button and give up sleep for an unforeseeable amount of time.
In 18 weeks my son’s world will be shifted, rocked, and turned upside down by this new baby who he’s supposed to share his parents with.
In 18 weeks we go to man-to-man defense.
In 18 weeks this house is going to get a lot smaller.
1n 18 weeks these mood swings are only going to get worse.
In 18 weeks I get to swaddle a tiny new baby!
In 18 weeks I get to meet my daughter.
In 18 weeks I better be ready…. will I be ready?? I don’t think 18 weeks is nearly enough time to get ready. How is it I only have 18 weeks left?
(By the way- you’ve got 18 weeks to get your Christmas Shopping done.)