What really happens the second time around

Fast forward to two years later, we have a beautiful, now demanding toddler (whom I am completely in love with) who wants all of my time, every waking moment. Who decided long ago that co-sleeping was the thing for her, and is still in our bed, with no end in sight? Not that I mind, it’s comforting to see your child’s cherubesque face in the middle of the night when you awaken to pee for the 7th time because you’re 9 months pregnant. But it makes it hard to bask in the glory of the pregnancy of baby number 2, when baby number 1, is still a baby. Still I only gained 18, ok 20, lbs. But for some reason I seemed a lot bigger. Last time, I didn’t even show until I was 8 months pregnant. Seriously, I was thicker in the waist but at my baby shower (2 months before my daughter was born) people were teasing me that I didn’t look pregnant. And I really didn’t, well, only in my ass So here I am, bigger than before, chasing a toddler who has the energy of a boxer puppy on crack cocaine, and I am absolutely drained. I had all day sickness from hell, for 4 months. I had to wear sea sick bands! I looked pretty ridiculous. No one was quite as impressed the second time around. Don’t get me wrong, we were all ecstatic. We planned for baby #2, and got pregnant right away, it was just different because the time that I used to bask in my procreating glory last time, was now being used to shuttle a 2 year old to classes, play dates, and constantly try and explain/prepare her for her new baby sister. I was obsessed with making baby # 1 not feel left out or abandoned by the pending arrival of baby #2. It was exhausting.