Baby Fat

"Cake?! What cake?!"

Ay-yai-yai... The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Olive and a mini Sprinkles cupcake.

Gone in 60 seconds.

I love my baby girls - the entertaining lunatic pictured above (Olive) as well as the one who's currently incubating in my rapidly growing belly (Quinn). I am so unbelievably grateful for their presence in my life and truly can't imagine an existence without them. Life is very good, and I really shouldn't complain.

With that said...

I am having a really hard time accepting, let alone embracing, what's become of my face and body this second time around the block. Only 27 weeks into my pregnancy, I am feeling as large as I felt when pregnant with Olive at 41 weeks. My belly, as expected, is massive. It's the presidential suite of wombs! But my cheeks? Both face and ass are already huge. My already small eyes are looking smaller by the day on my pudgy face, and to make matters worse, pregnancy hormones are causing hyperpigmentation of my skin, resulting in freckles and dark spots appearing on my fat face that weren't there before. I don't consider myself a vain person, but I am a visual person, and what I see in my reflection is saddening. I don't feel pretty.

I want to be as confident and effortlessly hot as the mothers profiled on The Glow and other tastemakers' blogs, but my protruding navel, belly fuzz, National Geographic nipples, neck rolls and ooh, custard thighs have me feeling like a high-speed bullet train headed for Ugly Town. And I can't stop the ride...

According to my physician, I'm physically fine. (A relief to hear.)
So I'm supposed to be this ugly?!

The light at the end of my tunnel is knowing that I'll soon be cradling TWO baby girls in my arms. Double the crazy. Double the fun. What's a little baby fat in the meantime, yeah?

My little weirdo and her cousin, Aiden cheesing it up at Disneyland earlier today.

She makes me smile.

I Swallowed a Beach Ball

As is typical of my FREQUENT blog posts* I shall open with an apology. An apology for being so darn absent. For those of you raising little human beings, you understand. We have to keep the munchkins alive and healthy (the baseline for motherhood), and it's not as easy as it looks. Look at what I'm dealing with:

Ahh... The beauty of potty training. In the kitchen. 

Anyhow, Olive aside (she's a time-suckage, so a photo was warranted), I have been juggling my day job. Refuge Design Build completed two home renovations in time to ring in 2014, and is now attempting to deliver three more happy homes before ankle-biter 2.0 makes her grand debut in June. Lots to look forward to. But in the meantime...

I am looking like I swallowed a beach ball. 

I'm a mere 5 months along, but am looking the way some women look at 8 or 9 months. I suppose it doesn't help that my torso is like that of a midget. Where else is baby Quinn supposed to go?** Even Olive has taken notice of her mother's rapidly expanding waistline. 

"Mama, BIG."

"BIG MAMA."

"Mama, mountain." (Pointing at my stomach.) 

In the work place, I'm a proprietor of good taste, or well, one of slightly-above-average taste. I try my best to look presentable, but baby Quinn's lil' condo is hindering my usual fashion choices. I'm She-Hulking out of my go-to shrunken leather jackets, my button-ups are pulling at the chest, and my pants... let's just stay I'll be looking into our crawlspace tonight in search of the maternity jeans I wore when incubating Olive. My jeans are getting uber-tight, and the last thing I want to be doing is running down Sunset Junction chasing a button that's sprung from my beloved Rag & Bones. My only connection to fashion as of late is how similar my belly button is to Michael Kors' nasty belly button.*** WARNING: You cannot unsee what you are about to see, so look away if you don't want to scar your eyeballs for life. 

Ay-yai-yai.

Will be posting more regularly in the coming weeks because I've been having more and more thoughts about my munchkins which I feel are worth sharing, exploring, and making fun of...

* Line should be typed out in font, SARCASTICA. 

** That's right, people. We're naming ankle-biter 2.0, "Quinn". Olive's favorite name, one which she refers to Thomas the Steam Engine by, is "Quimby." When le huz and I found out ankle-biter 2.0 would be a girl, we thought, "Why not let Olive name her future tormentor? It's only fair." So "Quinn B. Huang" it is. We've yet to figure out what that middle initial "B" is going to stand for, but are open to suggestions. 

*** I don't have an outy, but my inny (by the way, am I spelling these technical terms correctly?), but my inny is totally flipping itself inside out to become one. OMIGOSH. I'm grossing myself out.