Well, the "kitty-cot," as Miss Molls used to refer to cats, has hopped right on out of the proverbial bag, if you will.
Big Daddy and I decided to expand the family by one member, and, as you can tell from the ticker that appears on the top of this blog, we have just about until July.
Since this will be our third and final child, I have decided that there will be a few changes that will occur during this third, and final, pregnancy. Here goes...
- This time around, I am going to eat WHATEVER I want, hang the calorical content. Ladies, I feel like this is my final "hoorah," and if my big fanny wants to eat cereal with milk for a snack, who really CARES that dinner just ended ten minutes ago? The BABY wants it. 'Nuff said.
- I will make sure to IGNORE those oh-so-caring individuals who want to tell me their horror stories of labor and childbirth. In case you hadn't noticed, lady, the two miniature people that you see next to me, they're mine. I understand people want to have their stories heard, but, ya'll, this is NOT a story that others want, or NEED to hear. Moving on.
- I'm going to remember just how wonderful this entire process, from beginning to end, really is. So what that my underwear would be able to cover the riding lawnmower for its long winter nap? Is that important in the big scheme of things? I think not. The fact that the good Lord felt that my husband and I DESERVED another precious baby is reason enough for me to proudly wear my Spanks. (The endearing term given to maternity underwear by my husband many moons ago. Actually, it was when the "man child," also known as Trey, was on his way to us).
One final bit of "haha" information for all... last week, when we told the chillen that we were going to have a baby, Miss Molls leaned over, put her hand on my tummy, and asked how come it was already BIG. Well, I told her, remember, Mama has a baby in her tummy, right? Yes, but, Mama, you said the baby was the size of rice right now. So that's not that big. Hmmm. I think the child is insinuating that my bump is a little larger than normal. It's gas, sweetheart. It's just purely gas.
Or it could be the cheese danish that was forced upon me earlier.
It's really difficult to tell.
1 comment:
Oh, congratulations! How wonderful for you! My oldest daughter who is nine, prays every night for me to have another baby. I'm not sure that it will happen, but we are open to the prospect.
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