Oh. Kay.

I am pregnant. Didn't go to that party because I was feeling too sick.

I'm happy about being pregnant...I think. I mean, we wanted our kids three years apart, and this new little one is going to arrive a few months before Sam turns 3.

No, I know I'm happy about being pregnant, but I really don't feel happy. I feel exhausted and queasy and fat and scared. Very scared. Terrified.

My son is a handful. He's active and demanding and he's very stubborn. He refuses to talk, even though he can, so trying to figure out what he wants is difficult. Seriously, it will take this kid fifteen minutes of him whining and tugging on the door of the fridge to finally yell "JUICE!". Even though we know that may be what he wants, we won't give it to him unless he says it (or if he says "please" or "yes" when we ask him). We're trying to get him to use the words he already knows, and he isn't going to do that if we respond only to his nasal whining.

So, I have a two year old who won't speak and takes up the majority of my energy and I'm careless enough to get pregnant again? What the hell is wrong with me? How the hell am I supposed to do this? How come I forgot how much being pregnant sucked the first time? Did I forget that I was in labor for TWENTY THREE HOURS?

There are so many good things, but I spent all day feeling sleepy and am now wide awake. I can't think of anything.