Pregnancy: The Toddler, The Bump, And Me

You name it I’m secreting it: sweat from my pits, discharge from my vagina and gas from my anus! Today we drove into London for a very refined Christmas gathering with Tom’s friends. I bent over to pick up Henny and actually farted in Tom’s friend Joe’s face! He was too polite to say anything, but he definitely smelt it: mortifying! I then farted again during a team round of “guess the celebrity”, and by that point, I thought it best if we leave. Henny of course needed to say “bye” to everybody about fifteen times (when your only words are “mum, dad, bye, ball, bowl, hot, yes and no” you use every one as much as is humanly possible, you even say “bye” to your cereal!). I aimed to hold in my wind and tried to make sure that my enlarged pregnancy boobs did not fall out of my top.

When we were home I got Henny in his PJs and watching him draw some scribbles whilst I wrote in my book, I then giggled at him dancing to the tune of his new helicopter…he’s a cute little monkey when he wants to be! I stuffed my face with chocolate again, but luckily our scales are broken, so there’s no record of weight gain. I have been sleeping soooo much too: ten hours a night, but I think this rest might be staving off my nausea as I’m sure that this time last pregnancy I was keeping biscuits by my bed for the sugar in case I woke up in the night and wanted to vom. I think that not commuting into work standing underneath someone’s armpit has also helped in the tiredness stakes!

The only thing officially really stressing me out is Henny’s eating. He screams every time I try to put him in his high chair. I have the same arguments with Tom about why I’ve cooked Henny something he doesn’t want to eat again, which really upsets me, as this is clearly not something I set out trying to do. He usually loves potato and beans. Then I say that if Tom can do better perhaps he should cook him tea, to which he responds he would rather do anything than be present with Henny at meal-times, and so the argument continues. The main problem with Henny is that he just doesn’t like to sit still, and he would rather run around than eat. But then I worry that if he doesn’t sit at the table now, he might get used to it and never want to. Plus, if he doesn’t eat, my worrying mummy brain says to me, “then surely he might die?!” Parenthood sure is really tricky, and this recurring argument with Tom is really getting me down. When he accidently bumped into me whilst I was making a cup of tea this evening, I was so mad I could have hit him….such is the pressure that children put on your relationship. Who would ever have thought that somebody so small could cause so much chaos?! Now we’re facing chaos times two…eeek! No worries though, baby part deux will be TOTALLY under control…!

The internet says that by six weeks my chances of miscarriage reduce from 25% to 10%, which is good news. Having said this, I’m pleased to report that, in general, I have been making myself a lot less scared by looking up things that might be wrong with my baby on-line this time round…I’m on course to be a vision of calm and serenity this pregnancy…if Henny’s eating habits improve that is!

My boring stay-at-home-alone New Year turned out to be just glorious! I tidied my house, made a delicious crème fraiche pasta, watched “Shipwrecked” and Amy Childs in reality TV catch-up, waxed my moustache and eyebrows, read a teenaged romance about yet another idiot lethario breaking a girls heart, congratulated myself that I choose wisely in the end, went and checked on my perfect sleeping baby, and took myself to bed on the stroke of midnight. I can truly say I did not resent staying in at all. I am officially deliciously dull. Unfortunately, I tossed in and out of sleep until Tom got off shift at 4am (I’m always slightly worried that he’s been stabbed to death by a London gang). I have been waking a lot in the night with dead feet which didn’t happen to me last pregnancy?! It’s really uncomfortable. I am also having to wee loads, and our toilet is downstairs and at the back of the house so this involves a lot of sucking in of pelvic floor and hobbling downstairs. Perhaps I should invest in a bed pan? Hmmm, that feels a bit grim!

New Years day and I pushed Henny to the park with one hand, and tried to fish out his drink with the other, whilst I held my mobile phone under my chin and spoke to my sister to wish her a happy new year. Henny eventually fell asleep and was not at all impressed when I got him up for a swing. In fact, he just ran around the park screaming and falling in the mud most of the time, and threw a big tantrum over somebody else’s ball, at which time I decided it was time to leave. At this point he did that regular thing where he goes all stiff like a plank of wood when I try to put him back in the buggy…Happy New Year Mummy!

Eventually I got him home and we spent the afternoon with him on my knee watching “Land before Time” whilst he waved at all the little dinosaurs and toddled around all cutesy pulling up his too-big-for-him trousers…much more successful! My son is clearly a typical Gemini…split personality!

Now for resolutions: this year I have resolved not to eat chocolate for a week in order to make up for Christmas, then try to keep my intake of chocolate to a very reasonable level for the rest of eternity, whilst doing daily stomach crunches and weights so that I can look like the fittest pregnant woman ever…everyone will be jealous. Also, I have resolved that this baby is just going to fall out, and it won’t even hurt…nope, no pain at all coming my way this time, no siry-bob!...none at all!...I hope.

Today I have been a dragon. There has practically been steam coming out of my ears. It has been one of those days where the tiniest little thing just riles you and sets you right off. I felt like a little man had crawled into my belly with a big load of fireworks, lit them with his little match-stick, and then sat back, chuckling his impish chuckle, as they exploded at whim. My shoulders have been rock hard with tension and if I didn't know better I'd have described my symptoms a serious case of PMT..: “don't step on my toes today Sonny Jim, you might get your had blown off!

First it was the blimin' Next online clothes site. All I wanted was a couple of pairs of pyjamas and some jeans for Tom. How hard can that be I ask you? Very as it turns out: I was on there for HOURS! And then when I got to the check out not only did I get charged twice for delivery, a mocking little message flashed up saying that I was going to need to wait in for THREE separate deliveries, on which days they did not know. I was ready to pick up my ceramic gnome and throw it at the computer!!

On top of that, could I find Henny a new belt for his falling-down-because-he's-too-skinny-trousers for love nor money?! I don't think so! Could I find myself a decent new coat anywhere?! NO!!! Is life an A**?! By god yes!

I even managed to burn the lunch whilst trying to navigate the continually crashing Next site, and whilst retrieving it from its hot pan, dropped it all over the floor. By then, even though I hadn't managed to find any new bedside draws, I could not bare the thought of another second on the internet, and turned it off in a huff!

Also, I've been really bloomin' flatulent and farting everywhere...I have farted in the supermarket and had to run, head down, from aisles where I've left the most terrible stench - it's awful. I am making myself riled even with my own bodily smells!

So here I am now, annoyed and stinky, facing New Year's Eve in alone sitting for Henny whilst my fun friends get pissed in bars, and Tom is at work. I will spend the evening thinking about the fact that Christmas is over, and I face a long and bleak January with NO coat, no doubt filled with puking, farts, inept websites and the beginnings of wearing some hideous maternity clothes. Happy new year!!

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It’s official, pregnancy hormones are most definitely kicking in! It’s tear-mania! Last night we watched “Great Expectations” and it completely threw me over the edge when Pip rejected old Joe: I could barely see through my tears! I also got a bit emotional that I had to cancel my colposcopy because I’m pregnant, so I won’t know until after I’m pregnant whether my abnormal smear has developed into anything dangerous. I got all unnecessarily stressed out catastrophising everything and worrying what would happen to Henny if I died (this sounds extreme I know!). I also got teary thinking about my first smear after Henny’s birth and remembering how raw and agonising it was and how I went and sat and cried in the car afterwards and thought about how I could never have another baby because it’s so painful…and now I have to have another baby because I’m pregnant!!...Yup, I’m definitely an emotional wreck…all must be well with the bump then!

When I’m not crying I’m thinking about that fact that I’m almost five weeks gone! Bump has now gravitated in size from a poppy seed to a little sesame! Why then, I ask, has my tummy already inflated to the size of a balloon? It already feels all solid like it did last time too…at about six months pregnant from memory! I guess my body now considers itself an expert at this pregnancy lark and has already bounced back into shape (either that or I’ve just eaten too many mince pies!). Other than the fact that I’m feeling a bit more round that usual, I feel remarkably fine, I’m not even that tired today. I am feeling guilty about the two sips of mulled wine I had on Christmas day though, as according to Bounty.com weeks 4 to 10 are fundamental developing weeks, so I’ve been gulping down my Pregnacare and promising bump that this is well and truly it on the alcohol front. I am hoping this lack of nausea is set to continue as perpetually vomming with a toddler around is not a fun thought…fingers crossed!

As far as me and Henny are concerned we have been having much fun together with his Christmas toys, all of which we play with whilst insistently wearing his new blue crocodile wellington boots! We send his little people in their cars down the car ramp and when they’ve finished we give them a cup of tea. After we’ve finished this game we celebrate by dancing around in circles to Duffy on the ipod. I then follow him around the house whilst he points at everything and says it’s “hot”, even the fridge is “hot” apparently. I don’t think he’s actually even sure what hot means, I think maybe he thinks hot is dangerous, so I’ve started to say hot when he touches something he shouldn’t like the television, or he starts pulling a lamp off a table. This is probably bad mummy skills but it has the desired affect.

In fact, Henny and I are getting on great, apart from at meal times. I spend my whole day dreading meal-times. Things he used to like he now hates and he pushes the spoon back at me and screams at the top of his lungs which I would say is a pretty violent reaction to a bit of sweet potato! It raises my stress levels to about a million billion. It’s soooo stressful I can hardly bear it, and I’m thinking about packing it in and only feeding him pasta with tomato sauce and chicken with couscous as I know he’ll eat it and I have enough wrinkles and grey hair thank you

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Yesterday was boxing day, and the entire extended family squeezed into our cottage like a tin of sardines for more present-opening. Henny flew from one grandparent to another like the duracell bunny. He was missing a sock, and dressed by my parents this morning in a melange of bright green and baby blue which was almost painful on the eye. There was a lot of saying "wow" from him at first, there was even a "wow" for mummy's millionth set of toiletries which no doubt took the focus off my own dropping face! After a while though, it became apparent that the Christmas festivities and constant attention have left Henny pretty hyper, and he woke up from his nap in a fowl mood and didn't endear himself to the crowd with his constant screaming. He was in good company though with his six-month-old cousin overtired from not enough sleep in the car, and in the middle of a tense argument between his parents about why it was that he wouldn't eat his stewed apple and whether giving him a drink of water was/was not going to help. We all go through that then! Just think, next Christmas I'll be dealing with both a baby and a toddler...cripes!

On the plus side, Tom took it open himself to organise everything for our guests to give me a break...he cooked an excellent toad in the hole (if a bit small for eight people) and even managed the drinks so brownie points to him! It was great to have the extra help though today I'm feeling much less exhausted. I'm not even sick and my tummy isn't even sore any more...hmmm, should I be worried about feeling well I wonder?!

As it turned out I needn't have been worried about ebbing exhaustion as it soon came back! This morning the toddler, the bump, my husband and me took ourselves sales shopping. This, for anyone who hasn't tried it, is not that fun with a toddler in tow! There was a lot of screaming to get out of the buggy followed by getting out of the buggy and running out of shops or down the road. In a joint battle of wills Tom and I finally managed to get Henny into a pair of shoes in Clarks and made a sale saving of £20, though whether it was worth the battle, I'm not sure. Thankfully this tired him out, and back in his buggy he went in his new ridiculously large three-years-and-up Christmas-present coat. He wasn't the only one not looking brilliant. In the rush to get Henny out early I hadn't had time to apply make-up. Given that this was the case obviously I bumped into one of the "it" girls from my old school. I was not at all prepared and there I was: pregnant, spotty, haggard and ugly...typical! We feigned polite conversation whilst she and her gloriously thin and beautiful self made me feel about the size of an overweight pea. I compensated afterwards by buying a ridiculously large-sized bar of chocolate. I also made the bad decision to buy a pair of sexy skinny jeans, even though in a few weeks I won't be able to wear them...maternity wear you ask? Not a sausage!

Just call me pizza face!! The pregnancy PGC hormones are clearly well and truly kicking in. I’m exhausted spotty and hormonal, and I cry about EVERYTHING, like not being able to find one of Henny’s one billion toy cars!

Yesterday was Christmas Eve. I took Henny to a carol service and he sat all sweetly in his little seat and looked very intently at the little figures in the crib after I majestically carried him up the aisle in my black shiny designer boots with the heel which I haven’t had the opportunity to wear for oooo, seventeen months now. Then we sat at the front and he listened to the other children singing “Twinkle Twinkle” whilst holding his own cardboard star…awwww.

Tom was still at home with man flu, so I left Henny with him in the evening and met my friends at a little old man’s pub for Christmas drinks. There was a lot of talk about drunken antics, opening taxi doors in New York whilst drunk and drunken holidays they’ve shared where people have been getting their willies out by the pool. I’ve got to admit, lovely to see my friends but my new life with Henny felt about a million miles from the conversation, and I didn’t have much to contribute. I don’t even drink these days. This is the sad thing about being the first to start a family…you feel like you’re slipping away into adulthood and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. Still, it was lovely to see them and eat mince pies.

Also, I got totally checked out by some eighteen year olds as I was leaving the pub (woop woop!) I wanted to shake them vigorously by the hand as being a Mummy, with sick in your hair and food on your clothes, you rarely find yourself feeling particularly “hot”. I bet they wouldn’t have been so keen if they knew I was knocked up!

I don’t see most of my friends so much since I had Henny, I think because they want to be doing exciting things that aren’t really conducive to children, which is fair enough. There are a few exceptions though and one is Louise. She’s Henny’s godmother and today she came to visit him and brought him the cutest little toy dishwasher that squirts real water inside the door so that it looks like the dishes are really being washed! I loved just sitting there watching him putting his little dishes in and out, and remembered that there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here, being his Mummy.

Chistmas eve I hit the sack around eleven and Christmas day I was up at 6.45am with Henny. Seven and a half hours sleep is not enough for a preggo! I was tired before I even started. I tried to ham up the fact that Santa had been to see Henny, but he totally didn’t get it at all, and just wanted to get downstairs for “molk” (milk). Then Tom gave me my Christmas present…a Spa day!! Oh, hang on, I’m pregnant, I can’t use a Spa. Such a sweet thought of his though, as was the Rihanna album, which I’ve already got!

As usual, we rushed about on Christmas day trying to fit everyone in…first we went to Paul’s dad’s house…muchos present unwrapping. We got home at two and I was so tired I fell asleep for an hour…then up to Mum and Dad’s where I had a terrible attack of the runs which lasted about six toilet trips. In between visits we ran our own stupid family talent contest “Walsh has got talent” which I hate every year, but at least our remake of the John Lewis advert staring Henny only involved inserting a DVD and it did make everybody cry!! Other entries included my sisters acting out their own version of the Yeo Valley advert and my parents dancing an argentine tango. I conclude that my family are super strange!

By ten I literally felt like I was going to collapse and die and we headed home. My super sense of pregnancy smell is back as when we opened the door to our house I was overwhelmed by a powerful smell of urine (what this says about my house, I’m not sure, but Tom couldn’t smell it!). Apparently I also have pregnancy insomnia now as, even though I was shattered, sleep didn’t arrive until 1.30am – great! Then when I got up this morning I chugged down my bowl of cereal way too quickly and got indigestion again. Thank goodness Henny is partial to a bit of TV and I can relax on the sofa today, though I do feel guilty and like I’m a super-bad Mummy. I’m guessing this guilt will continue throughout my pregnancy, as it’s dawning on me that I’m going to be too tired to do all of the things we usually do. Sucks to be me and sucks to be Henny right now. I’ll just keep on moaning shall I?!

So in the end I did collapse on the sofa, and I did not collect the dry-cleaning. In fact Henny and I shared some quality time together watching a really cute film called “Eloise’s Christmas”…well actually I tried to watch it, whilst Henny threw his bran flakes snack all over the floor and threw his new toy helicopter at the television…so maybe he wasn’t a massive fan of “Eloise’s Christmas” after all!

After I’d cleared everything up and made several failed attempts at the naughty step, I pushed him up to Mum’s house in his “on my last legs” Mamas and Papas sport 3 which has started to squeak so much it sounds like a fog horn…I’m looking forward to replacing that with a new double number!!

My baby thrilled the crowd by putting on his best grin and declaring “choo choo” when Great Gran presented him with a wooden train for a Christmas present. This was a relief to me, as I usually have to sit through at least twenty minutes of her complaining about his terrible behaviour, and how children weren’t like this in her day, or how disgusting it is that I give him a dummy to help him sleep, or how he doesn’t talk to her because he doesn’t know her at all (implying that I never visit which isn’t true.

As we sat down for a Christmas meal with our entire family (Mum, Dad, Aunties, Gran) I watched Tom tense up as he engaged in our usual battle to drag Henny anyway from the train track in order to get him to eat his tea, which consists in a lot of kicking and screaming and pushing away the fork.

Our meal consisted of gammon and what Tom called “a strange assortment of vegetables” (is it any wonder that Henny’s a fussy eater?!) and my twenty nine year old sister entertained us with tales of late-night visitors to her London flat, and her crazy flat-mate dressing up in a little black dress and heels for her ex-boyfriend to collect his things. She’s definitely going through a crazy party party phase resultant of the fact that she’s worried about turning thirty. When I told her I’m already thirty and it’s fine, Gran helpfully added “but you’ve already achieved so much haven’t you dear?” poor Kate’s face dropped like a wet Sunday…I changed the subject…I think it best to keep the news of my second baby until after Christmas.

It’s actually incredible how tired I am, I could have fallen asleep right in my soup, I also still have the stabbing pains in my uterus which has Tom a bit worried. I’ve checked them against my last pregnancy diary through, and I had exactly the same thing then, only that time it was when I was delivering training to a group of fashion house executives in Tuscany!! How life has changed! I’ll admit that I do miss having an occasion on which to wear a designer dress and shoes but then my life seems to have so much more purpose how, and I’m so so so glad I became a mummy, even if Henny wasn’t exactly planned, and we weren’t exactly married…it is the 21st century after all!!

By ten I could barely lift my hands to do the washing up I was so tired. I was also suffering from heart-burn and kept having the excuse myself to go to the toilet and breath it out…worst of all my Mum made chocolate mousse and I had to refuse it due to the raw egg content! Surely there is nothing more obvious than me refusing a chocolate mousse! I love chocolate mousse and saying no to that is akin to a smoker saying no to a cigarette or an alcoholic saying no to a drink for me!! Pregnancy sucks.

Luckily I managed to negotiate leaving Henny in his travel cot at Mum’s and I slept all the way until 9am this morning and didn’t even feel sick when I woke up! I had thought that this pregnancy would be less tiring than my last now I’m not commuting: clearly I was wrong!

The late morning gave Tom the time to brag about his “super sperm” again, and to inform me that by no means whatsoever is this baby a girl because he doesn’t produce girls (Tom is worried about having girls, teenaged girls specifically, I suspect because he remembers what teenaged boys were like!). We spent our afternoon trying to recreate the John Lewis Christmas add with Henny as the star so that we can share it with our family at Christmas. It’s hilarious trying to direct him by getting his to crawl after his toys…he looked ever so cute pushing open the door to our room with a big present for us! Ahhh monka tonks, at once the cutest and most difficult baby on the planet…typical Gemini!

Today has consisted of a great deal of "shoving Nutella down throat" action whilst fielding toddler running around our tiny lounge/kitchen like a caged fruit loop. He has been opening and closing the dishwasher, trying to access bleach from the cupboard and brum-bruming over my feet with his cars like he’s on fast-forward.

Moan, moan, moan pretty much sums up how I'm feeling right now...the joy of pregnancy has officially passed and I'm fully ready to just moan my way through the rest of my servitude. The familiar old pregnancy nausea has started to kick in again, already! I feel like I'm navigating a particularly bumpy ferry crossing and holding onto one of the cafeteria tables for dear life in order to prevent a huge projectile vom.

I can't believe I'm sick this early on?!? Perhaps it's because I'm so tired. It's almost Christmas and there is muchos present wrapping to do. I was depending on Tom to help me with this as scissors and sellotape are not capable of doing anything pleasant together whilst Henny is up. However, Tom arrived home late last night with an awful cold and wasn't capable of anything apart from wrapping himself up with a hot water bottle on the sofa. So there I was on my own, wrapping presents until gone midnight, bending over parcels whilst still trying to ignore the stabbing implantation pains in my tummy (nothing that a good dose of ibuprofen couldn't have sorted out, had I been allowed it!) Thankfully a good dose of "Made in Chelsea", with all the drama of the Hugo, Millie and Rosie love triangle, and the on-again off-again "Spaggie" romance, kept me entertained.

Henny woke me at 7am jumping up and down "ma ma ma" style. I dragged myself up with drool down my cheek and hair in my face, eyes half shut.

I'm pondering leaving the house in order to pick up the dry cleaning, but the thought of even beginning the battle to get Henny "run-around" Walsh into his buggy to take him to the shops is just far too much for me. For now he’s asleep and I'm going to put my feet up and turn on VIVA on which we have...oooo bonus! East Seventeen..."Stay Now", flash back to bad 90s hair, Adidas jumper and Reebok trainers and...no children! Honestly, I don't think we know the meaning of the word tired until we have them! However wonderful they might be, they sure do drain you of every last morsel of energy!

Talking of energy I'm going to need it for tonight: a family Christmas meal at which I have to pretend not to be pregnant whilst constantly running for a wee!! Should be interesting...time for a nap I think.

Bump was conceived pretty prescriptively and unromantically. For some reason (be it wet nappies/heat/hunger)Bump’s older brother Henny (aka monka tonks, 17 months) had been waking up at 3am every night for the past two weeks. On top of that we had thrown a Christmas party for a ridiculous amount of friends in our tiny cottage, and trekked to London for my husband Tom's birthday, where we fell asleep mouths open and drooling saliva during La Traviata at the London Opera House: we were knackered.

Since I had not been having any regular visits from "my cousins" since round one (the marks on the calendar were showing 25 days, 32 days, 40 days) I had no idea at all when I might be ovulating, so we decided that the best course of action was to have sex every three days to keep the swimmer numbers up. With the tiredness kicking in this was the kind of sex where you're struggling to keep your eyes open. The suspected conception was the result of a lot of reluctance on both sides and about two minutes of action, so perhaps we won't pass that story on! At least though, unlike Henny (conceived chez mum and dad's house - blugrh!) Bump was conceived in our bed.

This was our first month of trying for Bump. We had been holding off for several reasons...we had a holiday booked to Majorca in June and I wanted to be able to fly, and Tom was going to police the Olympics in August and they were threatening to cancel police paternity (eeek! No thank you!) It also has to be said that the prospect of pushing out another baby had proved pretty hard for me to get my head around. After pushing Henny out I felt like I'd been hit by a bus...the epidural never arrived and the post-birth stitching was excruciating. This was followed by two weeks of trying to breast-feed inbetween gushing tears and bleeding nipples...it had taken a good year to summon up the strength to go back there again.

I knew I was ready to be pregnant because last month we'd had an accidental slip up on day 23, and when by day 40 my period hadn't arrived, I tried to convince myself I was knocked up (“oooo I've got sore boobs!”, that kind of thing). Ridiculously, I wasted about five pregnancy tests and then my period showed up. I even did one in the disabled toilet in Sainsbury whilst Henny ran around sticking his hands in the bins, that's how bad the addiction got! I was both disappointed and angry with myself for wasting so many tests when we have no money.

Because of this experience, this month I tried to talk myself out of believing I was pregnant, even though about ten days ago I had scratchy pains in my uterus, a bit like a stabby knife or sandpaper. I was sure they were implantation pains like I'd had with Henny...apparently, I have quite a sensitive uterus though this is not a benefit when it comes to labour (flash back to screaming "SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!" at the top of my voice on the labour ward). Besides, I was ravenous and just wanted to eat all the time. Then, a few days ago, I started feeling like someone was pushing down on my uterus with a fist and sort of like I had done way too many sit ups (seeing as I don’t do any sit-ups this did seem strange!). By then I was sure I was pregnant so I took another test: Negative. I did another the next day: Negative. I told myself I was simply a deranged idiot.

But then I woke up feeling so crampy this morning that I weed on another stick and...it was a very faint but DEFINITE positive! I know that faint means positive as when I was pregnant the first time I did a wee on a stick and found out I was pregnant in the office toilets of a very large London fashion house (not very fashionista darling!) but the line was only dim so I called the pregnancy test company, just to make sure! That time I carefully wrapped the stick and put it in a designer hand-bag. This time Henny grabbed my test and tippy-toed around with it, and I told him he was going to be a big brother, and he stared at me blankly.

When I got a positive result with Henny I was all kinds of scared, how would we cope? How much would our lives change? How could we possibly look after a baby? This time I was just pure excited. Maybe it's easier when you know what's coming. I called Tom at work, he said a lot of "hmmm" and "uh hu", obviously his work colleagues were around him, no doubt discussing the latest maggot-infested body they'd been called to attend.

It kind of feels like suddenly my life is sorted. Me, Tom, Henny and Bump, a complete family (fingers crossed anyway, early days!). I feel so lucky as I've barely even had to try. Woohooo! Bring it on! That said I'm now feeling nauseous and hungry for Nutella!!

What follows is a diary of my entire pregnancy from start to finish...it's all about the toddler the bump and me as we take on our second pregnancy together!