It's Time to Share...
Big News. The Tiny Fashionista will earn another title come January...BIG SISTER!
I'm not one to publicly declare news via Facebook and the world wide interwebs, but I feel like my cloak of denial has lasted long enough. We're eight months into this thing, and the belly is clearly getting harder to hide under loose fitting Piko Tops...its really happening. We're having another baby girl!
Although, to step into our casa you'd think to yourself. Yep, they're still in denial. Nothing has been done. By this time in my Liesee pregnancy I had purchased more tiny clothes and shoes than an infant could possibly wear. We painted, we sanitized bottles and pacis and we delicately washed sheets and clothes in special detergent that babies "have to have." I'm pretty sure I'd read nearly 25 baby books, and had a birth plan...show up at hospital, get drugs. Oh wait, that box I can still check. Birth plan, done.
But seriously, this whole second child thing seems a lot less stressful. At least the preparedness part. Cause here's the thing, raising a 2 year old is blowing the lid off my stress-o-meter. I don't have a freaking minute to worry about whether I've reached my 200 mg of caffeine per day that the baby books say I'm allotted. I drink the coffee because I need the coffee. Chasing Tiny, and worrying about getting her to school and dance and play group on time with clothes on is about all I can handle.
Tiny continues to be spirited. That's the nicest way I can say she's got an opinion about every teeny tiny damn thing, and my life has become a guessing game of Which Which? She wants to do everything "by myself!!!!" This includes dressing, diapering, climbing in and out of the car, the high chair, the bed. But everything takes 10x as long. Couple that with the fact that I'm pregnant (read: angry and slow) and its a real mess every morning.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays when I've dropped her at school by 8:30 (ok, ok 8:40 if we're being honest), I give myself a giant high five in the form of a Gingerbread Latte for a job done. (Not well done, but she's there and dressed.)
We spend a lot of time talking to Tiny about her baby sister. She participates in the conversation, but still I wonder if she gets it. She says there's a baby in mommy's belly, but then sometimes she says there is a baby in her belly. Like now when she tells me her tummy hurts, she says "my baby hurts."
We read her books about the baby coming. Her favorite is a book without words. The idea is we can make up the story for each illustration to match our own experience. Daddy reads this to her every night. So, I'm putting her down for a nap this week and she wants me to "read" it to her. A couple turns in, there is a page that shows a mommy stepping on a scale. And, I delicately say, "Mommy steps on the scale every week to make sure the baby is getting bigger inside her tummy." This upsets her and she starts screaming "Bs! Bs!" I try to play along but clearly Daddy has different words for this page....when I ask him later, he says, "Oops! I tell her, 'This is where Mommy steps on the scale to find out how many L-B's (as in pounds, ya know lbs.) she's gained.'" And, my gut reaction is to punch him in the face. Except its funny and the vain part of me knows its the truth.
So, now when we play the weigh game, Tiny stands next to me and asks "How many lbs. mommy?!" The flashing number less painful to process, when she high fives me and says, "Yay! Baby's getting bigger!"