It seems like just yesterday that I was writing my first blog post for the Yummy Mummy Club, introducing myself. I was about to have my first baby.

*cue nostalgic music, and blurry happy memories in slow motion*

Now here I am, 19 months later, and I'm pregnant with my second baby. Holy crap. That's exciting (and terrifying). 

I am growing a human inside of me, which requires a lot of work and energy. I still get up 1-3 times per night with my toddler. I work a full-time job. I sometimes make dinner (my husband or parents usually do.) I sometimes clean my house (again, it's a collaborative group effort: a perk of having your parents live in the same house). Regardless, the point I'm trying to make is that I'm tired.

Alright, let's drop the gloves and jump right into the ring:

Who do you trust to deliver your most precious piece of cargo? A Midwife or a Doctor?

I know a lot of people feel very strongly about this topic (second maybe to circumcision) so let's try to keep all shots above the belt here, shall we? (Not to mention, with childbirth, we take enough shots below the belt, literally. Lets give our lady bits a rest.)

WEDNESDAY, October 18th:

Tomorrow morning at 9am I'm having my 20 week anatomy ultrasound. The ultrasound tech will be counting all the fingers, all the toes, (and a bunch of other important stuff), and then will come the question that many parents agonize over...

WILL WE FIND OUT THE GENDER? 

*Insert dramatic duh-duh-duhhhhhhh music*

Recently, I met an awesome girl. I liked this girl right away for several reasons: she was friendly, had a genuine smile, and was very open and easy to talk to. After laughing and talking for five minutes, she said this to me:

"Do you want to know what I said to the doctor when she was stitching me up after child birth?"

You're pregnant, congratulations! 

You have so many new things to learn! Your head is spinning! Your hormones are raging! There are so many books to read, websites to visit, and everyone has an opinion on everything. 

You wish you could just crawl into a hole and then 9 months later (actually 10, surprise!) emerge with cute pink cooing baby. But no. No, no no no no. There is a lot of crap in between, and you'll need to learn it all (no you don't). 

I thought we had finally started to make progress with this whole sleep thing. At 18 months old, Cole was finally starting to sleep "mostly" through the night (waking once or twice) and would sleep in until 6:00am (shut up, that's good for us!) And then...a sinus infection happened. And and ear infection. And an eye infection. And then the cherry on the sundae: a touch of bronchitis.

Last weekend, my husband and I embarked on a four-day and three-night getaway to Boston. 

We used our flight credits from our botched vacation in July, and decided to take some time "just for us" before baby #2 arrives in March. I believe the trendy term for this trip is a "babymoon."

Hey, you know that thing where you're pregnant and terribly sleep deprived and then you become a raging pscyho bitch?

"No, not you Jen! You're so sweet. You're so nice."

That's probably what you're thinking...unless you're my husband.

Lately, I've been murdering my husband with my eyes. Death daggers. All the time. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

HIM: "Hey, good morning!"

ME: (death daggers)

HIM: "Do you want me to go grocery shopping, or do you want to go?"

ME: (death daggers)

Do you ever look down at your arm, and wonder, "How did that three-inch black hair grow so long before I noticed?"

Have you ever looked at a video of Miley Cyrus riding a wrecking ball and thought, "Wow, she has a great body?" Completely ignoring the fact that in the next frame she's licking a hammer?

When I was pregnant with Cole I was a pampered pregnant princess. (Okay, that is a lie. I only added the word "princess" because I really liked the triple alliteration there.) Nothing about me is princessy, but looking back, my first pregnancy memories are shiny and sparkly, that's for sure. 

For those of you who know me in real life, you know that I'm a name junkie. I always have been. Always will be. It's a sickness. 

I've already written a post about my name obsession, so I'll try not repeat myself.

This post, however, is to ask for your help. I need your advice! I want to hear your thoughts and I want your input...

Here is my dilemma:

Cole is now 18 months old and I'm 12 weeks pregnant with baby #2. And guess what?

I'm still breastfeeding.

If you've been following my blog, you might remember in early July, I wrote about planning a cross country trip with a toddler? Then you might remember that later in the month I wrote a post about those trip plans being kiboshed? And I said I'd elaborate later...

Well...it's later. And now, I will elaborate.

Yesterday was my champagne birthday! 

We thought we were smart.

We had strategically booked our kitchen renovation to take place when we were out of the province for 10 days on our glorious cross country summer vacation, while my parents (who live with us, remember?) stuck around and acted as Project Managers. Perfect. Done.

This time last year I was holding an infant who was just learning how to roll over, and who didn't sleep longer than 2 hours at a time. Now, at 15 months old, my son can run, climb and kick a ball...but still only sleeps for two hours at a time some nights (insert giant yawn). How has my little newborn turned into a giant toddler so quickly? Some days I catch a glimpse of myself holding my son and think, "Wow, I'm a Mom!"

It's a pretty incredible realization, and it's truly been an amazing journey.

No one likes to wake up at 5am.

No one.

If you say, "I like waking up at 5am! I really do!" I'm going to assume that you also like papercuts and food poisining. But if you're a reasonably sane person, I can pretty much guarantee that you don't like waking up at this ungodly hour.

In fact, you'd probably rather someone punch you in the face repeatedly than wake up at 5am. No? Just me?

I seriously think I might take the face punching...

Alas. I am a mother of a son who thinks that 5am is a perfectly wonderful time to rise. 

On Saturday, we are leaving for a family trip out west! And guess what? Despite all of the stresses of travelling with a baby across the country (gulp) I am prepared!!! (sort of...not really...just go with it)

I've anticipated every single problem (sure) and have come up with reasonable solutions. If you don't know me, I am a very reasonable person. See?

I have a theory about clean houses and people who have kids. It's basically this;

If you have a sparkly clean house then you don't love your child.

Okay. Maybe that's not quite it. Let me try again.

If you have a sparkly clean house and you have kids, I hate you.

Agh. This isn't coming out right. Third time is a charm.