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.

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

This is what I envision our baby girl is going to be like (all diva) seeing that she's making a fashionably late appearance into this world.*


But this is what I envision our baby girl is going to look like (geeky) seeing that she will possess genes from both me and Josh.**

Yeah, I'm going mad. I've been popping up in bed awfully early for the past few weeks in hopes of greeting a slimy coneheaded baby girl, but gosh, it's three days past her ETA, and still no contractions (false o real). Friends and family (and strangers, for that matter) keep asking, "Is the baby here yet?!?" But my answer (and Josh's answer) up until now has been a resounding, disappointing "NO." I'd be lying if I were to say I weren't disappointed that the kiddo didn't arrive early or on time on Christmas Day. It's not that I mind housing her. But with each day that passes, she's just getting more and more massive. Kiddo needs to check out of my "Four Seasons womb" (as my friend Rebecca likes to put it) asap because I'm going to feel like such a failure if I can't squeeze her out.***


I really do understand that good things come to those who wait, but must le cub and I start greying before our baby girl's appearance?****

Baby girl, everyone's excited to meet you. We promise you'll love life outside of the womb. There's so much to do and so much to see.


See? Yes, well... I truly hope we get to meet sooner than later, kiddo. You have no idea...*****

* Caption that would best enhance this pic: "Have your people call my people."
** Childhood prereq. Hair cut that consumes over half of their head.
*** I'm really proud when I make a big doo doo. For some odd reason, I've decided on my own that giving birth to a baby is going to be similar, and I'd love to experience the satisfaction of "dropping off" a package as large as an infant. I know. I'm demented.
**** A somewhat irrelevant side note: Old folks in love make me happy. And sad.
***** All photos plucked from Pinterest or FFFFOUND.

Performance Anxiety

With only 2 days to go til her eta, I think the womb raider is experiencing performance anxiety.

Growing Pains

Went in for a check-up with the doc yesterday afternoon, and it's starting to look like our baby girl may be arriving later than her ETA of Christmas Day. With each day that she chooses to delay her appearance, her cranium's just getting bigger and bigger! Dammit. She's probably gleefully polishing her massive head this very moment. You know. The head I have to squeeze out of my little bits? Am starting to feel anxious. Perhaps it's time to start reasoning with her. Extra presents if she arrives early or on-time. Lump of coal if she arrives late?

State of Affairs

Me, 19-weeks pregnant. Yes, I'm glowing.

Friends

In case you didn't get the hint I dropped a few days back, allow me to make a formal and uncryptic announcement.

I'm not fat, I'm pregnant! (With an alien baby whom Beans wishes to name "Little Dog." Well, it's either that or "Beans Too.")

And guess who's knocked up with me? My BFF, "Hammy"!
She's a whole month (and maybe another half) ahead of me.
Yep, we're going to look like moose (meese?) together.

Am nauseous and tired.
And have massive boobies.

This calls for another visual.