The best part of having a baby—aside from, you know, having the baby—are the gifts. Especially gifts that are delivered to your doorstep. It's so exciting to receive something other than bills in the mail, isn't it? That's why I was so excited when Playtex sent me some of my favourite baby products again! *fist pump* 

It's week two at home with baby #2, and things are going surprisingly well. Probably because I have such an involved husband, an amazing Mom who lives with us, and a pretty chilled out newborn. Cole has also been adjusting incredibly well, though he needs more Mom snuggles these days. Our greatest fear right now is that he'll accidentally headbutt Maeve's soft spot or poke her eyeball out while trying to give her some toddler "love." 

I am now a mother of two. It's amazing! After only being in our lives for one week, it's already hard to imagine what life was like before Maeve. Now here is the story of how she came into the world on Monday, March 17th, 2014. 

I had been dreading the date of March 17th. Not because I'm afraid of leprechauns or have a weird St. Patty's day phobia, but that was the date I was scheduled to be induced. I would be 41 weeks on that day. 

Despite the fact that I consider myself a feminist, I can't bring myself to grow a full-on '70s bush. I just can't do it.

I'm sorry. I guess I'm part of "that" generation. The generation that just can't stand pubic hair. Maybe I've been brainwashed by the media? Maybe I'm not a very good feminist? (Question: is body hair a pre-requisite for feminism? Probably not, but it seems like all the good ones have pit hair, at least . . . ) 

For those of you who really know me, you know that I love to talk about poo and vaginas (as separate topics). So this blog post should come as no surprise.

But for some, it can be a surprise. 

The poop, that is.

I'm about to give birth a second time.

Funny, I remember after going through this the first time I said, "I don't think I can ever do that again." And like a teenager who has stolen her parent's vodka, here I am, at it again. At least after the pain of labour, you have something sweet and amazing to nurse other than a hangover.

Ah, yes. 

I'm going there. Again. I'm going "down there." 

It's time for "Vagina Talk With Jen: The Labour Edition."

When Public Grooming Goes Awry

I'm 35 days away from my due date, and I couldn't be more excited. I cannot wait to meet this little girl or boy!!! I keep looking back at newborn pictures of Cole and my heart leaps with excitement—"We're going to have another one of these! Eeek!" 

But I'll admit, a thought has crossed my mind.

"What if we have an ugly baby?"

As I sit down to write this list, I'm laughing to myself because in real life I'm a pretty optimistic and happy person. Truly. I mean it! I like people! Most days...

So please read this list and know that I'm not actually an angry old troll who lives under a bridge. I just like to dress up as one sometimes, and vent. Plus, my husband has a thing for my angry old troll costume. *rawr*

6 SIGNS THAT YOU'RE ANNOYINGLY PERFECT

If you've been following my blog, you might remember earlier in my pregnancy I wrote a post about the pros of Midwives vs the pros of Doctors. At the time, I had decided to go with a midwife (with my son, we had an OB) and I was very excited about my decision, because I had heard so many great things about midwives.

With a second baby coming in six short weeks, I got thinking about sleeping arrangements. Already, this baby isn't getting their own room (sorry, baby), because I know we will be co-sleeping for the first several months. And then after that?

Who freaking knows!

It will be an interesting combination of, "Whatever the hell works!"

The last several years have been relatively drama-free in my life. As much as I enjoy excitement, I prefer to get my entertainment from television, movies, books, and websites. 

Well, within the last 48 hours, it sort of feels like a part of my life has been sucked into the television and now I'm living the soap opera. I feel shaken, sad, and withdrawn. I can't stop crying. 

Over the holidays, I had fifteen glorious days off of work to relax with my family, eat too much food, chill out in my PJs, and, of course, spend some amazing quality time with my little boy.

So, I don't want to say that I'm cheap, but when it comes to spending money—I don't really like to. Well, that's not entirely true. I do like spending money, I'd just prefer if it wasn't mine. Y'know what I'm saying?

Therefore, when it comes to finding clothes that will fit me during pregnancy, I don't want to want to fork over a lot of Sir Robert Bordens. Gah. Why are we SO UNCOOL as Canadians? "Fork over a lot of Benjamins" sounds wwwaaaayyyy better.

*sigh*

Hey, food bloggers: STOP POSTING DELICIOUS RECIPES! 

Hey, co-workers: STOP BAKING AWESOME SHIT AND BRINGING IT INTO WORK!

Often in pregnancy we tend to complain. A lot. And usually, for good reason — there is a lot to complain about!

Nausea, back pain, hip-pain, high blood pressure, low blood pressure, gingivitis, swollen ankles, swollen feet, swollen everything, weight gain, constipation, random hairs, pubic-bone pain, vagina pain, breast pain, everything-on-your-body-pain, sleeplessness, nightmares, night sweats...

Shall I go on?

But all of that aside...there are some UP-SIDES of being pregnant? Get ready for a dose of optimism.

When you become a parent, you end up doing and saying things you never thought you'd do or say. I'm sure this will be a growing list of things as the years go on, but I've discovered in the past twenty-one months are 

FIVE THINGS I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SAY OR DO BEFORE I HAD KIDS:

My mom is a self-proclaimed Kijiji addict. She loves to find a deal for anyone in need of a deal. If you even casually mention that you might be looking for a new chest of drawers, she'll send you an email with a link to her finds the very next day. 

It's part of her morning routine: Wake up. Coffee. Kijiji. 

"Stop calling it a penis!" 

My dad doesn't like that we call my son's penis a penis. "What else should we call it then?"

"A pecker!" He said, without hesitation. I laughed. Oh yes, clearly that's better.

Every now and then, my dad's red neck shows a little bit, and we get into little debates. Usually he just rolls his eyes at me and smiles. I think to him I look like a politically-correct-quinoa-eating-breastfeeding-hippie—but I'm okay with that. And I'm going to call my son's penis, a penis. 

Last night, Pregnant Me wanted some M&M's. It's wasn't really a pregnancy craving—I don't seem to get those—but I'm going to label it as such because it justifies me sending my mom to the store to get me some.

When she returned home with the chocolaty purchase, I quickly opened the bag and shoved some in my mouth. But I wasn't quick enough. Cole saw me, and he wanted some, too.