20 weeks. I'm 20 weeks pregnant today. That's the halfway point, people. And in my case, it's OVER halfway since Bumblebee is being evicted at 39 weeks (unless she pulls some funny business and tries to escape sooner 'the natural way', which she better not even think about trying to do or she's so grounded for life). HALF-FREAKING-WAY. How did this happen? When I was pregnant with Anderson, it felt like eons went by and I aged five years. Seriously, every day just crawwwwled. Every Saturday I marked another week off the calendar in my little pink datebook, counted how many weeks were left, both thankful for how far I'd come and despairing at how very many long days and weeks were left before I hit some reassuring new milestone that would maybe, just maybe bring me some peace and confidence: double digit weeks/the 2nd trimester/the viability point/the 3rd trimester/full term/due date. My anxiety never eased and I lived in constant, consuming, overwhelming fear of something going wrong. I suppose that's the difference here, and along with the toddler I'm pulling off console tables and reading "Brown Bear" to 85+ times a day ("he's looking at the RED BIRD! Who is looking at the YELLOW DUCK! GAH! WE KNOW!"), it's the reason time is flying and dates are forgotten: This time, my fears aren't the type I called my OB (over and over again, bless his patient heart) about last time. I'm not up at night running the list of "things that could be really terribly wrong and ruin my life" through my head until I exhaust myself and fall into fitful sleep with nightmares of those same scary things. I don't see lunch meat as the baby-poisoning enemy. I don't cry all that often, unless you count while watching that commercial about the little girl with the lost dog and the miracle of modern cellular phone networks. No, the scares that take my breath away every now and then are more the "OH. MY. GOD. Two kids under a year and a half? Are we NUTS? Are we ever going to sleep again? Who DOES this? We're NUTS!" and that's about how far I get before I start hyperventilating and run into the pantry for a peanut butter cup.
I know, I know. It will all be fine. We'll be fine. We'll someday soon say we couldn't imagine, not in a million years, what life would be like without Bumblebee and the added chaos a second baby will bring- it will just be the "new normal". And please don't mistake my feelings as a lack of excitement- the rapidly growing mountain of pinkness piled in our guest room/future Bumblebee room is certainly proof positive that I am VERY excited.
And now for some A. He's all about the phones lately. I thought it was just our phones, with their light-up, beeping buttons- but nope, it's any old phone. I have NO idea where he got this love of the telephone. And I'm not even being sarcastic for once in my life. My friends can vouch for me on my lack of phone skills. I'm notoriously impossible to reach by phone, because it's usually lost or has a dead battery or is out of my reach from where I'm lying on the couch. (Sorry, friends.) Anyway, A's got the phone thing figured out. Kind of. Gotta be tough to hear anything with the mouth part backwards up to your ear like that. Whatever, even a boy genius can't do everything right.