The Final Countdown

Baby Quinn's official eviction date is June 16th, but womb mates have minds of their own. They emerge whenever they feel like emerging. Take Olive, for example:

                                                     

Kiddo lived rent-free in my belly for an extra week. You just never know. Considering the unexpected, I've been doing some quality online shopping in preparation for rug-rat number two. Having run the gauntlet once, I know good and well that there really isn't a point in fretting too much over what I pack into my hospital bag. The following are my bare necessities.

1) A good baby straight jacket.

The one pictured is a Woombie and was recommended by my doc. Will your baby look ridiculous in this zipper swaddle? Why, YES! But my obgyn swears by this invention. Seeing that Olive was a horrendous sleeper (we swaddled her with Aden + Anais blankets, but she'd routinely Houdini herself out of our attempts at bondage), le huz and I are determined to start this second baby off on the right foot - even if it means she will look like a mental patient.

2) Sexy mesh knickers

My entire stay at Good Samaritan upon Olive's delivery was spent wearing the hospital's breezy backless smocks paired with mesh granny knickers and disposable hotel slippers. I had hoped to break in some new Hanky Pankys, but the low-riding underwear I usually wear rubbed against my surgery wound, and weren't nearly as roomy as these sexy babies. For those who've been there, done that, you'd know that post-delivery, us mamas wear massive pads (sometimes two) in case of bleeding. Your hospital should provide you with these practical knickers, but it never hurts to have a few extras on hand.

3) Nipple cream

Babies aren't robots. They're all different. Fortunately and unfortunately. Olive the newborn was a total barracuda and insisted on feeding every 45 minutes. Needless to say, my nipples ended up dried, cracked and bleeding. LOVELY! I took huge comfort in applying nipple cream to my sad nips and resorted to using a breast pump to express milk while

I tried Motherlove as well as Lansinoh and preferred the latter. Order here.

4) Munchies.

Breastfeeding a newborn every 45 minutes left me with little time to sleep, let alone enjoy a movie off an iPad. It also left me feeling a tad hungry. Having snacks within arm's reach can't hurt. If I don't eat them, I'm pretty sure my littlest visitor, Olive, will. We both have been really into Skinny Pop popcorn lately. I like that it's not too salty.

5) Fashionable duds for the little one.

Upon our departure from the hospital, le huz and I didn't even bother changing Olive into one of the outfits I had so-thoughtfully selected for her out of fear that it'd lead to unnecessary waterworks. She was a mega-crybaby and resembled Garfield when she cried:

Olive left the hospital in a very practical hospital grade onesie and beanie. Should Quinn's disposition differ from her sister's, I hope to squeeze her into the above-pictured little polka-dotted J.Crew wonder. Order here.

6) Attractive departure outfit for mama.

So I'm no supermodel. My genes are completely unlike Miranda Kerr or Gisele Bundchen. I breastfed Olive with little, next to NO ease, and it took months of Crossfit training and a half-marathon before I could get into my old jeans. Needless to say, I still sported a sizeable soft gut after Olive's deliver, and if memory serves me well, I left wearing non-trendy tapered sweatpants to accommodate my jiggly gut and a baggy sweatshirt to accommodate my lactating, free-hanging breasts.

Depressing much? Well, this second time around, I am determined to reemerge into the world looking slightly more presentable.

I've been wearing a version of this awesome dress from HATCH through out my pregnancy. (I'm obsessed with Ariane Goldman's collection.) This baby-doll gem has the potential to hide a world of flaws without looking too maternity; more importantly, my postpartum belly will have no problem fitting in it. Paired with a wireless bra and nursing pads, I'll leave the hospital looking and feeling human.

7) Massive tote

Hospitals provide lots of freebies should you choose to take them. Diapers, bottles, formula, swaddles, sexy mesh knickers, and so forth. Le huz and I didn't know this the first time around, so we left the hospital with our free gear housed in a massive clear garbage bag. How very Jersey Shore. In an effort to appear classy and human this second time around, I plan to pack a foldable extra-large tote in my delivery bag. The one pictured above is by Herve Chapelier (I've owned it for over eight years and it makes for a fantastic travel companion). Order here.

Happy packing. Happy birthing.

Underneath it All

Baby Quinn, unlike Olive (who had no intention to exit my womb), seems eager to come out and play.

According to the ultrasound, her head is down (Olive was breech), and she jabs me with her limbs daily.

YAY.

I'm roughly a month away from delivering Baby Quinn and am looking foul. My National Geographic-worthy boobies are massive, pale and veiny. And topping off the suckers are large, darkened areolas circling pencil-eraser-esque nipples.

My pajama pants are no longer fitting and I and have begun sporting my husband's gym shorts. Four inches of hard belly meat jut out over them when I walk around the house. Imagine an obese man with a single ab.

My legs are swollen and I am no longer comfortably fitting into maternity "skinny jeans." I wonder if I can find "maternity skinny jeans for husky calves." My stems are also dry and scaly - for I have become too darn fat to to bend over to lotion them.

And then there's my face. Laura Mercier bronzer is no longer doing me any good. Try contouring a marshmallow. It's a feat next to impossible.

I crop dust as I walk. Deepest apologies to those who crowd me at Trader Joes and the Farmer's Market. My body's full of gas over which I have no control of. I excrete unidentifiable liquids when friends make me laugh too hard. I'm like a senior citizen. And yes, I choo-choo like a freight train when asleep. My nasal passage is filled with fat - my own diagnosis, not the the doctor's. 

This second pregnancy has left me feeling physically ruined, but that's okay. I'm eight-months pregnant, and in the home-stretch. I'm incubating a little human, and this is what I'm supposed to look like. I look to Olive and know that this journey is a worthwhile one.

Olive with her beloved aunt Cindy, whom she thinks is named "Honey."

The name has stuck, and we don't have the heart to correct her...

Olive baking blueberry muffins with Mama.

Master Chef Jr. in the making...

Sleepless in Silverlake

Olive before her arrival. 

I joked that she was suffering from performance anxiety when her due date arrived 

and she chose not to make an appearance. 

For the record, the fashionably late tot was ultimately evicted from my belly based on the doc's recommendation.

I'm having trouble sleeping. I suppose this isn't the least bit surprising seeing that I'm over 29 weeks pregnant, am harboring a nasty cold that prevents me from breathing, and my "wombmate," Quinn, is in full-on disco mode at 2 in the morning. "Why you little..."

Which leads me to Amazon. To all the knocked-up mamas out there, do you own a Snoogle? I survived my first pregnancy without having to purchase this much-talked-about body pillow. Visually, it hurts my eyes, and we've got enough junk in our home as is, but I'm desperate for a good night's sleep. I've got 30 extra pounds on my frame and the added weight is taking a toll. I could use some "cuddle me comfort".

What the heck.
*Add to Cart*

I think I'll name him Thor. If he delivers on his promises, I will haul him to Maui.

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.