I swore I’d never do it again, but here I am. Pregnant. Yup. Despite vehemently claiming I was one and done. I’m going to be mother of two. Numerous pee tests and a blood test confirmed it. Five weeks pregnant.
I know it’s traditional to only announce it after 12 weeks, but I can’t wait that long. That’s another 7 weeks of keeping secrets. I suck at keeping secrets. I’ve told my BFF, my family and the people I work with. And now I’m telling *you*. We haven’t told The Kid yet, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be thrilled. Just the other day he was telling me how I need to grow him a brother in my tummy.
But yes. It’s still unreal. Despite the morning sickness, which has been ghastly. Not quite as ghastly as my first pregnancy, but it’s still early days.
People keep asking me how I feel. I have no idea how I feel. Except for nauseous and big-breasted. We’re happy, but scared shitless at the prospect of another baby. Scared shitless at two sets of school fees etc. Stressed about finding a house big enough. Stressed about getting together all the necessary baby equipment all over again. Cot, car seat, pram, clothes, nappies. I gave all of The Kid’s stuff away because I was adamant I was not having any more babies.
In between all the stress and the puking and the house-hunting, I know we’re blessed. Incredibly blessed.
I’m with the man I love. We have one beautiful boy already. Another baby on the way. Boy or girl, it’s not the worst thing that could have happened to our family.
Not by a long shot. We’ll make it work. We always do.