Jennifer’s

Cardigan: Gap; Black Shirt: Old Navy Maternity; White Skinny Jeans: Gap Maternity; Black Sandals: Target)

 

I have EXACTLY two weeks left…not that I am counting down the days, hours, or seconds.  The days of misery have returned:  acid reflux plagues me daily and nightly, my ankles are starting to swell at the end of the day (thank you stupid AZ 96 degree weather in May), and I literally feel like I am going to explode if this baby gets any bigger.

Speaking of large, at my doctor appointment this week she took one look at my gut and said, “Wow; he’s really grown this past week!”, which is exactly what my husband said, albeit not so nicely, when he announced, “There has been a MASSIVE amount of expansion this week!”  And before you think I am all nuts about weight gain and growth during pregnancy, as my husband does, I get that I am supposed to gain weight and I get that most importantly the baby is too.  Trust me, I gain weight as evidenced by my large tummy and the fact that I have already had a big, strong, healthy baby.  (Isabella weighed in at just shy of 8 lbs at birth and totally shocked the nurse who gave her her first bath by holding up her own head and looking all around the room.)  But, it’s still a little disconcerting to have another 14 days of growth for both me and the baby to endure.

It’s even more disconcerting when the doctor measured my tummy and said, “Hmm..” and gave me a half smile.  Turns out that I went from measuring right on track to a full week and a half ahead in the course of seven days.  Thankfully, that didn’t equate to an enormous weight gain for me, but it did for Baby Brother.  The doctor estimates he weighs about 7 lbs 5 oz right now, so do the math of a weight gain of 1/2-1 lb per week and you will understand her “hmm…”. 

We discussed options and settled upon letting things go for the next two weeks.  If he comes on his own that’s great, but if he is stubborn like Isabella, and all signs indicate he is (I’m still only 1-2 centimeters and 50% effaced and he has not dropped), then she will induce on the 21st.  I was really hoping to avoid another induction, but I am also so extremely miserable (I spent a car ride last night silently crying because of how uncomfortable I was just sitting there) that I cannot imagine going a day longer than necessary.  If not for financial reasons I would have allowed the induction to occur this week!

All I can pray for at this point is that this big bruiser is as well proportioned as his sister.

This morning, while dropping Isabella off at school, she looked at me and said, “I’m going to have a baby brother tonight.”

I laughed and said, “Oh, really?”

Isabella looked straight into my eyes and said, “Don’t laugh.”

Nothing so far indicates that she is right. I did show some signs a few weeks ago, but after some forced relaxation things have held steady.  I am now at the point (36 weeks) that if I were to go into labor nothing would be done to impede the progress…

I have mixed feelings about going into labor early.  It’s no secret I’ve not enjoyed this pregnancy as much as my first (many, many factors playing into those feelings), so to have it end unexpectedly early wouldn’t be too terrible.  My own personal wants aside, I know the baby will be fine if born  now, so his health isn’t a factor anymore either. 

I suppose my biggest reason for not wanting to go early is that I have about two sick days built up, so the rest of my maternity leave would be unpaid time off.  (If you’ve not heard AZ is in a CRISIS with regards to budget and education funding, so our income for next year is looking rather dismal…I can’t afford to lose money now when I am going to lose so much next year.)  We tried our best to time the baby’s birth for the end of the school year so as to minimize the time I might have to take off.  If all goes according to plan, I will wrap up my classes Thursday (5/20) and go into labor any day thereafter!

Isabella’s already weighed in.  What are your thoughts?  Will I go into labor early, on time, or late (like I did with my very stubborn first born)?

   

(Cardigan: Loft; Embellished Tee: Loft; Capri Jeans: Gap Maternity; Necklace: Modern Charm in Terre Haute, IN; Shoes: Gap Kids)

So there are about five weeks left in this, what will most likely be my last, pregnancy.  Up until about last week I had this pregnancy thing down.  Sure, I have been a little less excited (still trying to get a grasp on God’s sense of humor in giving me a boy) and life has been unbelievably MORE STRESSFUL than at any other point to date, but I’ve been fortunate in that my biggest pregnancy issues have been about baby gender and body image.

Then, one day last week I got up out of a chair and realized that unless someone produced a walker I wasn’t going anywhere too quickly.  After a few minutes of hobbling the stiffness and achiness in my nether regions dissipated and I was able to carry on as normal.  However, that pain has only gotten worse over the past few days.  Some days are worse than others and it seems to have nothing to do with the amount of time I am standing or sitting.  I know that pelvis pain is normal at this point in pregnancy, but HOLY MOSES I do not remember this much at.any.point with Isabella.  Yesterday, while going “number one” (I have to be specific because when I told this to my husband he asked if I was pooping, which he equated with giving birth.  After punching him in the nards I reminded them that there was nothing his body could do to him that would equate to giving birth sans pain meds.) I seriously thought I would end up having one of those birth stories that ends with, “I had to pee and next thing you know I’m pulling a newborn out of the toilet and then I walked out the front door of our trailer and yelled for Billybob to get off his lazy butt as I had just done gave birth in the bafroom…”  I don’t think I can handle 35 more days of risking a “toilet birth”!

This time around I have also been plagued by a never-ending sinus infection, which may sound somewhat exaggerated and I suppose if you count those few days in March when I wasn’t congested or blowing my nose constantly or hacking up my lungs and the baby’s or breathing out my mouth like some slack-jawed idiot then I am indeed blowing it out of proportion.  I am naturally prone to a few nasty colds per year, but this constant mucus fest is tortuous.  I have also read some horror stories of women who have suffered the same condition during pregnancy but that it did not go away even after giving birth.  SERIOUSLY? Isn’t pushing that kid out enough penance?  Must I be cursed to care for a newborn, recover from labor, AND still be full of snot?

With Isabella I had some horrific periods of acid reflux, so we assumed she would be a hairy monster and as it turns out that even though she did have some hair, she wasn’t the Yetty we had imagined.  This time around the acid reflux is nearly every night- no matter how early I eat dinner and no matter how bland the food- so it’s inevitable that he will be born with a full pelt.  Last night was by far the worst: around 11:30 I woke up to a horrid taste in my mouth and a clear sense that unless I got up right then I would end up covered in barf.  I made it on time, but squatting by a toilet late at night while 34 1/2 weeks pregnant is not ideal. 

And on a superficial level I am more than OVER being pregnant.  I am tired of having to hitch up my pants every time I stand up.  I am tired of having people comment on how great I look and then others saying I’ve really started to get big: which is it people?  I am tired of having a very, very limited wardrobe.  I am tired of seeing all the pretty dresses in my closet and passing them up for yet another pair of elastic wasted pants.  I am tired of choosing sensible flats over fashionable heels.  I am tired of counting down the days until I can exercise properly again (77 days in case you wondered).  I am tired of not being able to eat sushi or drink caffeine.  I am tired…

How about you?  If you have had multiple pregnancies or are currently pregnant how did, or how does, one pregnancy differ from the other?

(Cardigan Marc by Marc Jacobs; Shirt Gap; Jeans Gap Maternity)

I am now at the point of the pregnancy where the doctor appointments are every two weeks.  Seriously, where has the time gone?  I remember thinking it took FOREVER to reach this point with Isabella and now it seems like I blinked and a giant gut grew in mere seconds!

I’m still feeling really good.  Isabella and I go on daily walks/runs.  I wish I could say I was still running a full three miles, but a few weeks ago my right shin started bothering me (Could the extra weight protruding from my front have thrown my gate off?).  I took a week off from running to rest it and ever since I’ve been sort of nursing it back.  Now I am down to “intervals” of running and walking, so I think I am probably getting two miles of a decent run in each time. 

I’m right on track with weight gain, but for some reason I just feel all around LARGER with this baby.  It doesn’t help when my two-year-old says, “Mommy won’t fit in the tub.”  (It’s a GARDEN TUB; I’m not that LARGE…yet) or when a co-worker says, “You know, you don’t look half bad for a pregnant lady.”

Part of my overall feelings of “fatness”stem from experience.  With Isabella I didn’t know what to expect during pregnancy or after, but now I know that despite my best efforts and wishes my body won’t immediately snap back into shape.  I am hoping eating well and exercising daily now will help me then, but with two little ones to care for I know that taking the time for myself will be even harder.  Nonetheless, I have big plans for “Operation Get Hot…Again”.  (As if I were ever really that HOT!)  Part of those plans involve having my husband buy me a killer outfit once I am back in ”fighting” shape.  Of course, he doesn’t know that yet…

Alas, I have reached a state of pregnancy that heretofore I have only read or heard horror stories about but have never personally experienced.  As many of you know I have endured near constant sinus, allergy, cold funkage this time around.  My current bout has me blowing my nose every ten seconds and sounding more and more like an emphysema patient with each passing day.

The other day, while at a very public park with Isabella and Brian, I started hacking up a lung.  As Isabella and I were close to the bathroom I tried, amid the coughing jag, to get her to follow me into the facilities so I could hack in private, blow my nose, and avoid peeing myself!  Being the toddler she is, Isabella chose that exact moment to be non-cooperative, so I had to try to suppress my cough (so as not to pee), pick her up (against her will), and make it to the bathroom in time.  Guess which of the three did not happen in a timely manner?

So there I am race walking, carrying an upset kid, coughing away, and peeing myself.  Fortunately, I was wearing black pants, so it wasn’t too obvious… from afar anyway.  I finally got us both into a stall, plopped on the seat, and proceeded to bark my way through another five minutes or so of coughing, dry heaving, and eventual barfing on the floor.  All the while I am trying to wrangle a little girl who has just discovered that timeless toddler fascination with peering under the stall at other people.  When she saw the barf on the floor, Isabella said, “Oh, Mommy.  What is that?  Did you spit your food out?”

After getting the cough under control, cleaning up the barf, washing both our hands several times I then had the joy of getting Isabella past the park to where Brian was sitting without having her cause a scene so as to draw attention to the lady with the big, fat tummy who also happened to have peed herself.

I eventually hid behind a tree and yelled out to Brian.  Thankfully he assumed I was ready to go, grabbed the stroller, and came our way.  When I explained what happened, Brian’s very sympathetic, loving response was, “Well, do we need to go buy some Poise pads?”

Dear Isabella,

You attended your first marketing ploy Disney Princess party a while back.  You nearly lost your mind when I mentioned the Princess party as that week’s reward for getting all your magnets on your responsibility chart.  Each night as you dutifully reviewed your responsibilities for the day and placed the correct magnet in its spot you proudly proclaimed, “At the end of the week I’ll get all my magnets and then I am going to a PRINCESS PARTY!  I am so excited; I cannot wait!”

The party was a tad overwhelming as hoards of little girls, in various princess garb, descended upon the store and the two brave employees who ran the party.  True to your nature, you sort of stood back, took it all in, and decided it just wasn’t worth the fuss and pushing to vie for stickers that were going to come to you if you just waited patiently.  Most of the little girls were actually really nice and patient just like you, but the parents were an entirely different story.  You would have thought the little jewel stickers were real rubies and emeralds or that if they just pushed their kid far enough forward she might, in fact, become a true princess.

One of the most exciting parts of the last two months has been your growing interest in and success with POTTY TRAINING.  You’ve consistently gone at school for quite a while now, spending your day in pull-ups and your naps dry.  At home it has been hit or miss until recently…now we find you sans pants and diaper or pull-up sitting on the potty patiently waiting to go potty while other times you’ll stop whatever we are doing, announce your need to go potty, and then take off running to the potty seat.  You are so proud of this new skill and always tell us, “Oh, you are SO proud of me, Mommy/Daddy!”  You love nothing more than putting on a new pull-up and then helping us dump the potty in the toilet, flushing it, and yelling, “That’s a lot of potty!  Bye, potty!”  We are still working on the poop phase of potty training, but you’ve had several successes in that area of late, so our fingers remain crossed that you will have this all down by the time baby brother shows up in May!  (I shudder at the thought of two in diapers.)

Speaking of baby brother, you are extremely excited about the idea of being a big sister. One day you announced, “Mommy, don’t you think it will be so much fun to have a baby brother?  Maybe we can take him to the park sometime!  That will be a great idea!”  You are also very keen on the idea of taking him swimming.  When I asked you what color swimsuit you wanted you said pink and that baby brother wanted pink, too.  A few minutes, and about twenty conversations later, you said, “Mommy, I actually think baby brother would want a blue bathing suit.”

You love talking to my tummy to see if baby brother will move and you love giving my belly button kisses because you have determined this is where the baby resides.  If only that were true; I wouldn’t have had to endure your big, fat tummy comment nor would I suffer the roundhouses to the ribs every night!

Ever since learning about baby brother you have taken a keen interest in ALL things baby.  You acknowledge every.single.baby we see in public with a squealing, “Look at that baby, Mommy.  (S)he is so cute!”  You’ve started asking a lot of questions about babies too.  You want to know what they like to drink, eat, play with, and read.  When asked those same questions your responses were, “Milk, cereal, soccer balls, and Charlie and Lola.”  You are quite confident that babies cry a lot and when asked why you said, “I don’t know.  They shouldn’t cry because they are always with their mommies.”

You continue to learn new and amazing things every day.  You now know how to spell yellow and box, know part of your address, and when to and not to call 911.  As you love to tell us, “911 isn’t for fun; it’s only for emergencies! If someone has a gun, run away and call 911!”  You can recite nearly any book we put in front of you whether you’ve heard it once or a thousand times.  You are amazingly good at looking at context clues to fill in the blanks for the parts you don’t have committed to memory yet.  We recently bought a set of Princess and the Frog books and I had read through the four books once to you prior to you “reading” them nearly word for word to your dolls.  You can recognize lots of letters and their sounds and are very, very interested in what everything says.  It really doesn’t matter what the object is, if there is printed text you point to it and ask, “What does that say?” You wait for us to tell you, study the words, repeat them, and then move onto the next line of text.  I can remember doing the same as a kid (okay, even now I do it); if there are words on something I want to read them and try them out…you never know when something cleverly written will turn up.  I hope and pray your love of books now translates into a continued love of reading and words throughout your life.  There are so many good books I cannot wait to share with you and many more that we have to discover together!

You are beginning to understand the concept of time and days of the week.  You started out by saying “lasterday” for yesterday but within a couple of days you had the correct version down.  Not only do you know the names for the days of the week, but you are shockingly good at nailing down what day of the week it actually is or on what day of the week something in the past happened! This skill alone puts you light years ahead of most of the high school kids I teach!

There is no easy transition into these next paragraphs as they are simply a list of things you’ve said that I want to remember:

One night while snuggling I yelled out, “Brian” a few times to try to get Daddy to come into your room to say goodnight.  After a couple good yells with no response from Daddy, you looked at me and said, “Huh.  I don’t think he heard you!”  I yelled one more time, to which you told me, “He’s in the office, remember?  Be quiet, Mommy!”

Another night, after a day that held a rather unlike Izzy fit, you told me, “I was a bad girl, Mommy.  Maybe I will do better next year.  I will be happy again, Mommy.”

In our continuing task of teaching you manners (thank you is second nature to you, but asking please of Mom and Dad seems to evade you 50% of the time…could this be part of that self-centered toddler world view?) we don’t acknowledge your requests until they are accompanied by a please.    Most of the time you catch on and say please but every so often you like to remind us of our true position in the household.  You’re a HUGE fan of cereal and so asked Daddy for more after eating a bowl.  Daddy asked, “More what?”  You said, “More cereal.”  Daddy responded, “More cereal what?”  You then retorted, “More cereal in my mouth!” and stared him down until he had to look away for fear of letting you know he was laughing!

After a long day of school, playing, and maintaining the busy life of a toddler you told me, “Goodnight, dear.  Turn off the light.”  Once the light was out, you sighed deeply and said, “Oh, what a day!”

Like most toddlers, and men, you tend to have selective hearing, so I often ask you, “What happens when you don’t listen?”  One time, upon being asked that, you said, “I get spanked.”  I asked if you liked to be spanked.  You said, “Not a lot of times.”  Another time that I asked if you remembered what happens when you don’t listen you said, “Not exactly…”

Lest you or your future therapist think we only beat you, remember that we use time outs as well, which for all your wailing and carrying on during your 2 1/2 minute respite you would think we were beating you like a red-headed step-child.  After a time out for not helping to clean up I asked what was going to happen when you got out.  You looked at me and the pile of toys and said, “I’m going to have to go back to time out.  I cannot pick up ALL of those toys.”

You are growing up so quickly, Isabella.  Every time I turn around you seem taller, less babyish, smarter, funnier, kinder, and independent.  You are turning into a little girl and frankly, I think it inhumane that you don’t slow down a bit.  I love watching you grasp and master more and more complex mental and physical tasks, but I do wish that was coupled with the days of snuggling you for hours on end.  Then your world consisted of only me and now your world consists of, “Mom, did you see that?” as you run between me and whatever cool thing you are doing or have just discovered.

Love,

Mommy and Daddy

The other morning Isabella took one glance at me and loudly proclaimed, “Oh, Mommy.  You have a big, fat tummy!”  Of course, when pressed she was able to identify the source of the big, fat tummy:  “It’s because you have a baby brother in your tummy.  He’s so cute!” 

At 7 1/2 months pregnant I suppose I do, indeed, have a rather large, protruding gut.  I am still very comfortable, can exercise, and am still able to wear non-maternity shirts (sizing up is key), so I am always caught a tad off -guard when someone remarks about the fact that I am finally really showing or I catch a glimpse in the mirror at the burgeoning baby growth.  Sadly, I must admit I am larger than I think I am or feel I am.  

This has never been made more clear to me than on a recent lunch trip to Quiznos.  I ordered a small sandwich, but the guy behind the counter took one look at my gut and tried the fine art of the up-sell .  “Well…we actually have three sizes of sandwiches: small, regular, and large.”  To which I replied, “True, but I want the small, please.”  His retort: “The small is only about this big” as he held out his fingers to give me a visual just in case I was totally clueless about the minuscule sandwich with which I was going to try to satisfy my big, fat tummy.  I, obviously, stuck to my guns about the sandwich size, but when I sat down to eat I realized so had the sandwich boy: he gave me the regular size version of what I ordered, which was, just as I knew it would be, way too much food for me, pregnant or otherwise.

And so finally, here are some pictures of the aforementioned big, fat tummy.  Sadly, these pics taken with my iPhone (in my classroom) are the first official belly shots of this pregnancy.  The Woolseys are dealing with A LOT of stuff right now, which is really a poor excuse for not taking photos but alas it is what it is.

(Cardigan: Loft; Shirt: Loft; Skinny jeans: Gap maternity; Shoes: Gap kids)

Back in June Isabella came down with a nasty something or other that left her eyes goopy and her nose runny.  Within a day Brian contracted the funk and a few days later I, too, was suffering.  A couple weeks later all seemed well in the Woolsey domicile…until the grossness once more made its rounds through all three of us.  And so it has gone off and on for the better part of seven months now. 

People, we are tired of congestion, sore throats, runny noses, headaches, fevers, body aches, and general malaise.  Just about the time we think we’ve all good and recovered someone’s eyes start watering or a throat starts to feel scratchy or ears start to tingle and there is a collective groan because we know that all too soon every last one of us will be sick AGAIN!

Isabella has been presenting with a 102 degree temp off and on for about two weeks now.  Sometimes it hits in the morning and other times she makes it through the day only to collapse into a fevery, sleepy pile on my lap. 

 We’ve spent a great deal of time lounging about the last few weeks in hopes of making a recovery.  She’s been diagnosed with croup and took a steroid for a few days, which only resulted in creating a major disdain for all things medicinal in a child who, up until this point, has always taken medicine like we were offering her candy.  The fever has been gone for just under a week now but the barking cough still persists.

It was rather sad to watch her battle through this latest round of ickiness.  She wanted so desperately to do normal toddler things, but she just couldn’t muster up the energy to follow through.  One morning she got up, took a sip of milk, and asked to be held.  She proceeded to sleep another two hours on me with the occasional brave attempt to sit up and stay awake. 

 

One of the days she seemed to be doing better she requested a park trip.  Knowing that we could use some fresh air and a break from the house I quickly threw her in the BOB and headed out.  Once we got to the park all she wanted was to be held…for about an hour before she would agree to head home.  This is totally out of character for Isabella; the park is her domain.  The girl lives for the swing and the freedom to run up and down hills and pick flowers.  For her to see all of that and still choose my lap means she was really hurting.

She has started to feel better this week, which I think is in large part due to the fact that her Grams took one look at her on iChat and booked the next flight out of IN!  Isabella has started eating and drinking better, which was becoming a real concern over the last two weeks, and has had the energy to actually play and be a toddler for the past two days.  

Do I dare say it?  She might be on the mend!

It seems a tad redundant to say it now, given that we contacted everyone who left a comment on the baby gender post, but we are having a boy!  I write that with trepidation and, even thought it is not PC to say, some disappointment, but the good news is that fear and disappointment lessens every day…except when I see cute adorable baby girl clothes, bedding, or two little sisters holding hands and then my heart aches anew.

I know that sounds cruel and heartless, but I have always envisioned myself with two little girls who would be the best of friends, two allies against the storm of teenage melo-drama and cattiness.  I know that a sister and brother can be close, but I don’t know that they can share the same type of bond that sisters can.

I know nothing of little boys other than what I see from friends’ boys.  They seem adorable, loving, and generally well behaved, but they also seem full of energy in a way a girl just isn’t; they seem messy and “destructive”, and well, very, very attached to their mothers.  I keep hearing the latter is the best part of having a son, but to my mind that seems the worst bit.  I don’t want a “Momma’s boy”; the whole things sort of creeps me out, to be frank.

It isn’t that I don’t want my son to love me or rely upon me, but I also don’t want to cultivate the sort of relationship where I begin calling him “my little man”…my skin crawls at that thought.  I don’t want to turn into the nightmare mother-in-law who begins caressing her son the minute she sees him.  And lest you think I am completely nuts, I’ve expressed these concerns to friends who have boys and they’ve all said they already do things in their relationship with their son that they never believed they would…heaven help me…or that he is like having another little boyfriend.  (Seriously just vomited in my mouth.)

I know my feelings are silly; I am fully confident that when I look into his little eyes on the day of his birth all of these anxieties will disappear and I will suddenly know how to be the mother of a son.  I am super excited for Brian to have a son because I know he will be an amazing dad to a boy and he will make up for all my deficiencies as a mother of a boy.

I also feel silly because for 21 weeks all I could think about was having another girl and the pink, princess, tea party existance we would all live that I never even gave two thoughts about the baby’s health.  One healthy, normal pregnancy and baby down, one more to go, right?

Well, that’s what we are praying for and I am sure that is what we are going to get, but the tiniest of tiny seed of doubt was planted at our Level I ultrasound and I cannot help but tell myself that this is what I get for being so overly concerned about something so inconsequential as gender.

The little guy has an EIF, which is essentially a calcium deposit on his heart.  It generally amounts to nothing: there will be no further tests, no Level II ultrasounds, no restraints upon him later in life.  What an EIF is classified as is a normal variant that is considered a “soft marker” for Downs Syndrome.  That essentially means that an EIF can occur in babies with or without Downs.  Our baby lacks all the other markers for Downs, so it only increases the chances by about 1%…pretty good odds, but of course, that is not what your mind focuses on when they pull you out of the exam room and take you to a special, secluded office for a talk with the doctor.

Hearing that I was having a boy AND that he had a spot on his heart all within a ten minute span was a bit much to process all at once.  I’ve since done some research on EIF, no scary websites, and in all the cases where the baby only had the EIF and no other indicators the baby was perfectly healthy, which is essentially what the doctor told us back in January, but like I said my ability to process any good news at that point was a tad skewed.  I am confident that the little guy will be healthy and if not, well, we will cross that bridge and figure out that life.

It has taken a lot longer to get used to the idea of a boy.  Today, I can say I am in a much better place about the gender issue, but I couldn’t tell you that I am completely over mourning the second daughter we will never have.  I am sure readers with boys of their own think I am silly or are maybe even slightly offended that I could be so grievous about the issue.   Trust me, I know I am crazy, but that’s just how I feel.

I am gaining some peace, though, thanks to a conversation with a coworker and a shopping trip to Gymboree- seriously, the ridiculousness doesn’t end does it? 

The coworker mentioned that she’d been thinking about me and the struggle I was having coming to terms with having a son.  She said that Brian and I are excellent parents and have done such a good job with Isabella so far that we are exactly the kind of parents this world needs raising a boy.  Her point was that there is a real lack of good men and parents like us will help to raise a boy who will become a good man.

I don’t know that I really know all that much that is useful in raising a boy.  I do know, however, what qualities I value in the male figures in my life and those qualities are things I hope to instill in our son.  And while I still feel very under qualified to mother a boy, I know that Brian is more than capable of stepping in, filling the tub with water, and dumping the Waterdogs in so our son can know the thrill of a bathroom aquarium. 

I do know that between the two of us we are going to do our best to raise the type of son that someday some parents will be confident that when they give their blessing they are entrusting their daughter to a man deserving of their own princess.

 

Twenty-six weeks in, here are the ten things I cannot live without:

1.  Gap maternity skinny jeans:

2.  Gap maternity easy straight jeans:

3.  Gap leggings:

4.  Steve Madden booties: (these are not quite the pair I own, but close enough)

5.  Too Faced Natural Eye Shadow Collection:

6.  Asics Gel-3010:

7.  Palmer’s Lotion: no stretch marks yet, fingers crossed!

8.  Origins Make a Difference moisturizer: my face was coming off in layers before I started using this cream day and night!

9.  Origins Clean Energy: again, used to combat the dry, dry skin I have this time around!

10.  John Frieda Root Awakening Health Infusing Shampoo and Conditioner: