This one and that one.

I always thought my pregnancies would be at least related to each other, but instead, they're like perfect strangers sitting across from each other on the bus, avoiding all eye contact. They have been so, so different. Mostly, it's the dramatic difference in my life that have made these pregnancies so unique. The first time around, all I thought about was baby. I was completely consumed by it. This time around,  I pretty much forgot I was pregnant until I was too big to forget anymore.

It's so different being a second-time mom. You have the whole, "Been there, done that" attitude,  and your life is such a crazy wonderful insane whirlwind of motherhood that, quite honestly, you don't have time to notice the little things like you did the first time around. And that's ok. You kind of float through your pregnancy, and you know this baby will be born, and you already know how much you are going to love and adore it, and that it's totally going to change your life. Only, this time, you're not scouring the baby books or deciding on your parenting philosophies. (Should we co-sleep? Cloth diaper? Baby wear? ). No, this time around, your only real plan is to throw open your arms and say, "Welcome to our chaos!" and love that new little baby with all your heart. Cherish every night-waking, diaper-exploding second of newborn, because this time, you know how fleeting and precious that time really is.

I guess things are different the second time around in more ways than just my lifestyle, if I had to be honest. Physically, it's been challenging. But also, less challenging. I'm a whopping twenty pounds lighter this time (yes, it's amazing what not eating Philly cheese steaks and fries every day will do for the scale), and in many ways,  I am so much more tremendously comfortable this time around. However, I've also been thrown a few curve balls. I've been dealing with chronic pain this pregnancy that is only getting worse as the baby gets bigger. I have the added challenge of entertaining a most rambunctious two-year-old, one who is not at all content to sit on the couch with me  all day, like I want to do.  I remember wondering last pregnancy how on earth I would manage to be pregnant and care for a toddler at the same time. Now I know. You kind of get through your days winging it, with some seriously slacker parenting. You let things slide. You don't go anywhere, really. Everyone gets cabin fever and goes a little crazy, but at the end of the day, if your kid has all four limbs in tact and has eaten anything other than cheese, it's a good day.

Collin, blessedly, has been toning down the crazy acting out we've been seeing around here lately. He's better during his waking hours, but I think that's mainly because he's channeling all his anxiety into bedtime. Let me tell you, it's been a bedtime s***storm over here, every night. We start the bedtime routine at 7:30, and so far he hasn't actually fallen asleep any earlier than 10:30. There are monsters, and clowns, and raccoons, and skunks that are just waiting for him to be left alone in bed. I can understand the monster and clown fears,  I even get the skunk fear, but the fear of raccoons is beyond me. So basically, he has an absolute PANIC attack if you leave him in bed alone and sobs and pleads with you to come back. It's pretty much the most heartbreaking sound you'll ever hear. I feel for the poor little guy,  I really do. I'm not comfortable with leaving him to cry himself to sleep, so things have been a little tricky around here lately.  I keep wondering how this is going to work out when the baby comes, but I have to remind myself that this is just a phase. This, too, shall pass (hopefully before the baby comes home). Everyone in our family has needs, and everyone deserves to have their needs met. That's what I tell myself. 

Aside from all the differences in my pregnancies, there are a few similarities.  I stomp around a lot in a hormonal, pregnant rage, just like last time. I crave cereal every night, just like last time. I think homicidal road rage thoughts every time I'm in the car, just like last time. See? It's not all different.

Now, we wait.

Today is the 14th, which means there is only one month between me and my due date. Only four weeks left. This baby has gone from being a million miles away, just a speck on my calendar's distant future, to being so in-my-face I can't escape it.

We're now in the "End Days." Those last gasps of pregnancy, where you're crossing all your T's and dotting all your I's, and scavenging leftover baby clothes from all your friends, and rearranging the whole house. I must say, it is SO much easier getting ready for baby the second time around, especially when we're not bringing baby home to a studio apartment. Sure, we don't have a dishwasher or laundry facilities where we're living right now, but at least we have SPACE. At least we're not dumping everything we own to make room for the baby. This time, we've only had to dump a few things.

I'm in that space again, that in-between space, emotionally. Where I feel my baby's arrival so impending, it disrupts my functioning. I walk around in a daze. I'm here, but not here. I don't sleep at night anymore. My baby is coming,  I know it,  I can feel it, and there is nothing else I can focus on. She's everywhere. The most surprising thing, for me, is how little fear I have this time around. I just want her here so badly, in my arms, against my heart. I miss her, and I've never met her. But there's no one else in the world I want to see more.  I long for her, my daughter.

Collin has been feeling the baby's arrival, too, though obviously not in the same way. This baby means something very different for him, and he is excited and asks every day if she's here yet ("Trust me, you'll know when she's here." Husband reassures him). But we're seeing the other side of sibling adjustment, the darker side. The anxiety, that presents itself as acting out and acting out and acting out. I know what he's really wanting is to know where he stands, do we still love him completely, even when he's behaving badly? Do we still cherish him as much as we did before the new baby came into our lives?

Yes, of course we do. We cherish you more than ever. But please, please stop throwing EVERYTHING. Please stop screaming and hitting and kicking.  I know you're confused and a little bit scared right now, and that's why we haven't sold you to the circus yet, but would a single interaction without having to grit my teeth be too much to ask?

Oh, Collin. He bounces so fast between "I'm a baby!" and "I'm a big kid!" that I'm sure he's having some sort of identity crisis.

Husband has put in his time-off request at work, we've arranged childcare for Collin during the birth, we've gathered (almost) everything we need for the baby. We've even washed all the tiny onesies and swaddles, and organized them neatly in their drawers. Now, all that's left is to wait. Wait for three to become four.

2014! And sometimes toddlers are crazy.

Collin has reached the age where inappropriate things sprout loudly from his mouth in public. Examples:

I'm browsing the produce section of Trader Joe's, when from my cart comes the excited squeak of Collin's little voice as he spots a man in a yarmulke (traditional Jewish head covering).
Collin: Mama! Is he a Chanukah guy??
Me: Um... (Oh my god, did he hear that?? Is he looking over here? Quick, steer the cart away! Steer away!)
Collin: Is it Chanukah time??
Me: Um, no honey, it's not. Hey, look, bananas!  (Que mama speed pushing the cart away in shame as I try to redirect the toddler)

I really wanted to say to the guy, "We're Jewish! It's cool!" But I was hoping he just didn't hear anything.

And the other day, standing in line at the Mexican bakery that was filled to the rafters with pinatas, I am foolish enough to point out the Batman.
Me: Look Collin, it's Batman! See him? He's the one in black.
Collin: IS HE BLACK??  (I swear, his voice shot up ten decibels for this one. This is the part where the entire bakery turns and looks at us.)
Me: Um, well, he's wearing black, if that's what you mean...
Collin: MAMA! IS HE BLAAAAAACK??

(For the record, he was talking about Batman's clothing choices).

Is this similar to what my mother felt when I screamed the "S" word in front of a little old lady when I was two?

Mostly, though, I'm flushed by Collin's  sheer cuteness versus his power of embarrassment. He is so engaging with everyone he meets (Perhaps a little too engaging? Like the time he bit an old lady with a dragon puppet in the Salvation Army?). He makes this mama kvell.

In other news, I'm so pregnant,  I can't see my feet anymore. I'm so pregnant,  I take showers every morning not because it's delightful and makes me feel like a real human, but because I'm too big to bend over the sink and wash up the lazy way. I'm tired all the time. All. The. Time. I live in a paradoxical universe of anxiety over the future, and excitement about it. I'm so excited to meet my daughter.  I love her so much already. But change is still change, and change is not easy.

It will be 2014 in two hours. I'm tired. But ready.

The aftermath of Thanksgivukuh

Today, the day after The Big Thanksgivukuh, was such a giant parade of laziness,  I don't quite know how to describe it.  Husband was home all day.  I took a shower AND a bath. Collin watched Planes on the iPad AND the cell phone. Oh, and I also put bean dip and a spoon in front of him and called it lunch. Are you feeling better about your parenting at my expense, yet? If not, please go ahead.

In fact,  I am often humbled by my own, um, "alternative" parenting. Alternative in the sense that I seem to be living in this alternate reality where I do the complete opposite of everything I thought I'd do as a mother, before I became a mother. Examples:

*My kid eats processed sugar. Like, all the time.

*My kid watches shows on Netflix. A lot.  My Netflix suggestions are now completely unrelated to my personal likes and dislikes. (No, Netflix,  I do not want to watch Bob The Builder).

*Sometimes, my kid will go days without eating a vegetable. DAYS.

Right now, though, it's the day after a big holiday, and we're living in holiday vacation mode, where just about anything goes. Apparently, it's a cardinal sin to do anything productive whilst in holiday vacation mode, and that most definitely includes cleaning. Please, please don't let anyone randomly stop by my house for a visit until Monday, when I have a reason to get my sh** together. Because, right now? Right now, there are still turkey organs on my kitchen counter, our dinner table is still stretched five miles long across our living room, and my house looks like the contents have just EXPLODED all over the place. Like, a herd of crazy monkeys must have run through here and just thrown everything around. That's what it looks like.

Hope you had a happy Thanksgivukuh! We did. Long live holiday vacation mode! (Seriously, please don't come to my house).

I'm pregnant. I'm very, very pregnant. Also, I'm sometimes a doggie.

I've gained about twenty pounds already during this pregnancy. The odd thing is,  I don't even really think about it or notice it until I'm bumping into things with my (giant) ass. When you have really rapid weight gain, it's like your body spatial awareness doesn't really keep up, and you forget how much room of your surroundings you take up. That's why you keep getting slammed by your toddler when you push him on the swing, or why things seem to get knocked over every time you walk past them. Or maybe it's just me.

I'm also at that point in my pregnancy where my back is like, "See ya later! It's been fun!" It hung in there for a while, but now it's not messing around anymore. It hurts, all the time. The worst part is, being a productive person exacerbates it. Want to do a sink full of dishes? You will pay for that. And just TRY bending over to scrub the toilet. At this point in my last pregnancy,  I just about gave up on life.  I stopped doing everything. (This is the part where my husband earns the Nobel Prize for cleaning up after my sorry self with a smile on his face). I'm determined not to go there this pregnancy, and I might not really have a choice, considering this time around, I have a little miniature person following me, needing me to do stuff all the time. What's up with that?

So our Netflix broke the other week, and I'm really not that sad about it. It's actually been pretty nice. I will admit, I was using it as a bit of a crutch with Collin. A way for him to be occupied and let me get something done around the house. Well, the house has been a little messier lately, but I'm embracing that, because Collin has been watching next to no TV, and we're all doing better for it. Collin spends more time being imaginative and helping me around the house ("Helping" being a relative term, but he seems very pleased with himself when he has a job to do). There have been more moments for us to laugh together during the day. More time to play. This morning, he requested that I sing Christmas carols, only I have to bark the carols because I'm actually  a doggie and he is a "Dancing guy." (Think of the battery operated holiday novelty toys you see at drug stores this time of year that play music and dance around). So, I barked and Collin flailed about, and every now and then his batteries would die and need to be replaced with my doggie paws. We were a sight to behold, I'm sure. There have been lots of moments like that around here, lately, and that's why I am not worried about when Netflix will be fixed.

Babies and Thanksgivukuh and... I should really be sleeping.

It's hard to believe our second child will be here in three months. Three months feels like a really short amount of time, and also, a really long amount of time.  I guess it depends on how I'm feeling during the moment I think about it.

Lately, Collin and I have taken to cuddling, almost like we feel this time together closing in on us. Something really big is going to happen, and change all our lives, and it will be for the better and we will be happier for it, but change is still change. It's different. Collin and I cuddle up under the blankets together in this extreme version of cuddling, where we're cheek-to-cheek and practically melting together to form one person.  I lay next to him at nap time and he falls asleep with his lips on my cheek, and I think, this is love. And then I feel so happy and complete, it's like if I never accomplished anything else in my life,  I would still die feeling like I'd succeeded.

In other, less emotional news, I'm really gearing up for Thanksgivukuh. If you don't know, Thanksgivukuh is the result of Thanksgiving and Chanukah falling on the same day, which won't happen again for another 70,000 years. Now, by 'gearing up, ' I should specify that what I really mean is eyeing it warily from the corner as I wrap my head around all the cooking and cleaning I will have to do. I kind of take Thanksgiving really seriously, in that for one day a year, I morph into this Top Chef version of myself. Every year,  I embark on this unstoppable quest to make the perfect Thanksgiving feast. FEAST being the key word. Even if it's just dinner for two,  I will not stop until there is enough food for twelve.  I don't know why I do this. Since I've become a mom, and thus exhausted all the time no matter how much sleep I get or coffee I consume, Thanksgiving has changed a little for me. Like everything else in my life, my standards for Thanksgiving dinner have significantly lowered. Good enough is good enough, and it doesn't have to be perfect. It can even be a little over done and burnt around the edges. And now I just feel the slightest bit overwhelmed when I think about preparing a big dinner, though that won't stop the Thanksgiving mania once the big day approaches. Especially now that Chanukah is involved.

My biggest challenge this year will not be mustering the energy to cook a huge feast and make the house look like a livable place instead of an episode of Hoarders. My biggest challenge will be finding ways to include Collin in the kitchen without losing my sh*t the moment he sends a cloud of flour in the air. I love cooking with Collin, I really do, and he is such an enthusiastic little chef. However,  I can get a little weird and controlling about silly things like Thanksgiving dinner. I suppose, if he ruins a dish with his toddlerhood  over-enthusiasm, I can always just smile and say, "Collin helped make it! " and all will be understood. 

Late night musings.

It's one of those nights where it's so quiet,  I can hear the ocean from bed. Collin is asleep in his monkey suit, with his top half on my bed and his bottom half on his bed. This is not an unusual sleeping arrangement for him.  I told him to sleep in his own bed, but he inched over to mine, and with the cold he's fighting,  I decided to let it slide. There is always wiggle room, especially when a rotten stuffy nose is involved. Today, Collin woke from his nap, rubbed furiously at his eyes, and sighed, "I'm just so, so sick."

Halloween was the happiest night of our lives. Collin was absolutely ecstatic, we trick-or-treated as a skeleton family. We all held hands, a chain of bones.  I felt like a kid again. I wanted to talk to my brother, who used to live the thrill of trick-or-treating with me every year of my childhood. One day soon, Collin will have a sister to live the magic of Halloween with. It's so weird that I'm going to have two children. That notion has been particularly stuck on me today. We're going to have two children. I'm so happy about it, this is what I've always wanted. A family. A happy family. A family, with two parents who love each other. I feel like that is one of the greatest gifts I can give my children, coming from a family of divorce, myself. Don't get me wrong, divorce was probably the best thing that could have happened to my parents. But, when it's all said and done,  I feel so grateful for the love that I have. I feel so grateful that my husband is my soul mate, my children will never know the pain of watching us fight and hate each other. They will never feel like they need to pick their loyalties. I may be over-sharing, here.

My daughter is still safely tucked away in my womb, but I feel her presence all day long. I'm communicating with her.  She reminds me of her existence with her squirms and kicks. My belly is growing bigger and bigger, and I marvel at it all.  I think about what this felt like the first time around, with Collin. It's the same, but different. I'm different. My circumstances are different. Everything is different.