WellCommons

I've written a lot in this space about my parenting foibles. There was the disastrous time I took him to swimming lessons. I wrote about missing his first steps. We can't forget the "joy" of sleep training. And there were more. Lots more. I'm just keepin' it real, folks.

Parents and experts disagree on many things. We have all experienced that "Mommy war" phenomenon wherein the moms try to "out-mom" one another and pick each other apart about all things parenting, big and small. To work or not to work, to breastfeed and if so, how long. What to do about childcare, whether to use a sling, whether or not to let your kids sleep in your bed, the list is long and tiresome. But the one thing I think we all agree on is this: PARENTING IS HARD. It is hard, hard work. Whether you have one kid or seven, it's hard. No one has a corner on the market of parenting challenges. We all have them. We all stress about money, illness, mental health, time constraints, messes, meals, and marriages. It's part of the deal, no matter what your situation is.

And rather than playing the one-up game, or picking each other apart, we should be picking each other up. Studies show that parents who have a good network and some strong social connections are happier and healthier parents. Incidences of child abuse go down, children grow up stronger and better adjusted. It's a good thing to have people to talk to, to reach out to, to find common ground with.

To that end, The Strengthening Families Network of Douglas County is offering this Coffee Talk on Saturday. It's gonna be a super-swell time. I'm making homemade cinnamon rolls for everyone and we'll have really good coffee. We'll have some cool door prizes - we're even giving away an iPOD! We encourage anyone with children ages 0-6 to come by and visit and connect some other parents who might share your fears and frustrations, and who knows, maybe you can meet someone who can share a carpool with you or take turns with some babysitting! BONUS!

I'll be there and I'd love to say hi. If you ask nice, I'll tell you how to make the cinnamon rolls.

by Megan Stuke

There is no better excuse for falling off the diet wagon than pregnancy. And boy, did I fall. I enjoyed my extra ahem 300 calories a day. I am positive I never exceeded that guideline. Because root beer floats from Sonic are not more than 300 calories, right? RIGHT?

But the pregnancy ended on January 18 with the introduction of this black haired beauty to the world.

Lily Kate, 2 days old by Megan Stuke

And after a couple of ravenous months of breastfeeding, I decided it was time again to begin again. Without my beloved Weight Watchers group from my old job at Lawrence Memorial Hospital, I wasn't sure where to begin. I knew I could count points online, but I also know myself, and I know I do better with a support system, much like my Weight Watchers meeting. I need FRIENDS to help me lose weight. So I started talking to my friends in the social services community about having our own sort of meeting, and how that might look, and together we formed a plan.

We are Bouncing Back Into Health with Ballard Community Services! We've formed a small morning group of staff from Ballard Center, Mt. Hope Learning Center, Centro Hispano, Healthy Families, Parents as Teachers, and Family Centered Therapy & Provider Supports that is committed to living more healthily, possibly reducing our body weight, and generally being supportive of one another through this process.

As a small incentive, each member of the group has paid in $5 to a community pot to be taken home by the person who loses the highest percentage of his or her body weight during our 10 week challenge.

So far, I've lost four pounds! But my colleagues are far ahead of me. I need to get back in the saddle, AGAIN. My family had a difficult week last week and my answer to grieving is eating. So I made pizza and tacos and all manner of treats to help them through a troubled time. But, like I told Julie, our Ballard Center cook, this week, "If your car gets a flat, do you shoot out the other three tires?" Heck no. So because I had a bad week, it doesn't mean I will sabotage my past and future efforts at weight loss. I'm back at it, friends, renewed with healthy smoothie in hand.

We've organized a few community walks, and I'll be donning my brand new hot pink tennis shoes this afternoon to trundle downtown with a few of our group members. Genesis Gym has offered our group free 2 month memberships to both of its locations! We are happy to receive such generous community support and we promise that we're using it wisely.

After this ten week pilot program is complete, Ballard will be opening the program to the community. We encourage anyone with a few pounds to lose or something to learn about health living and eating to join us. More information will be posted in this space, so keep an eye out for your opportunity to join in the challenge.

Recently, a friend of mine posted this article to Facebook for all of us to consider.

Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.

What do you think? My girlfriend and I laughed out loud at the title alone. 'HA! No," we cried. "It just doesn't work that way."

My friend is a stay at home mom, which automatically skews the parenting to her. That is how she earns her room and board, so to speak. She does the school schlepping, cooking, enrolling in extra curriculars, doctor appointments, and most of the housework.

Who does that stuff if both parents are working? Ideally, both parents do it, in equal measure. But I think most of my friends who are in a two-working-parent family would agree it doesn't seem to fall out that way, regardless of everyone's best intentions.

While my sister has long told me the mantra in her marriage when it comes to division of labor is "It's not a competition," it seems hard to remember that some days. One parent is mentally ticking off all the chores and tasks he or she accomplished in a day and wondering what the heck the other person did to contribute. Both parents might often be feeling that way at the very same time.

For example, my husband works longer hours than I do. Most days he puts in no fewer then 10 and usually closer to 12 hours. And that's non-negotiable. He's not doing it because he is so in love with his work he can't tear himself away, or because he is a crazy over-achiever. It's because he drives a truck and he isn't done until the route is done. He works fast, busts his hump, and tries to get home as quickly as possible but that beer isn't going to move itself. He leaves before the rest of us get up in the morning. He's exhausted at night so he goes to bed well before everyone else. Simply put, he doesn't have time to do as much parenting as I do.

I happen to work at my son's early education center, so I am obviously going to be more in touch with his daily routine and needs than my husband. I know what he has eaten, if he has had his medicine, if he took a nap, and how many times he went potty. I am privy to a lot of information that, in the evening, means I still do a lot more parenting. My husband might not know my son hasn't gone #2 in three days, but I do. So I put in the effort to get him to eat a fiber bar or drink some extra Mirilax and spend some extra time in the bathroom. My husband is not aware that Johnny didn't like the school lunch that day so he ate a big snack after school and therefore won't want to eat his dinner. So when I contradict him for insisting that clean his dinner, it causes parenting tension.

We do our best to share the duties. We take turns doing the bath and bedtime routine. We both sit and fold laundry after the kiddo is in bed. I am an earlier riser than my husband, so I get up with Johnny on the weekends while he sleeps in, but I might disappear for a long brunch with friends on Saturday and ask him to handle lunch and nap on his own.

And this is just our situation. I know families in many different combinations of work and home and every single one of them struggles with this balance. "Why didn't you pick up the blocks?" "Are you going to give him a bath?" "Whose responsibility is to make sure we don't run out of diapers?" When both parents are working, it could be either the mom or the dad asking these questions. And even if one parent stays home, doesn't the other parent still have to split duties after the 5:00 bell rings?

The fact is, most families are in a situation where both parents have to work out of necessity. Most of us simply cannot make ends meet on one salary. And yes, it's stressful. But it's also highly doable, if you are honest with your partner and you clearly discuss expectations BEFORE it gets to critical mass. The conversations about who does what can be painful and seem trite, but they're vital. If I look at a pile of dirty dishes every night and just think to myself, "I shopped for the groceries, invented the meal, and cooked it. He should do the dishes," but I never articulate that expectation, I'm in for a world of hurt. If I have given six of the last seven baths AND called around to find a sitter for our last five dates, I might be getting resentful. But it's not fair unless I say "Hey, can you do bath?" Because he probably was folding laundry and thinking "Why doesn't she ever do her laundry" at the same time I was drying the kiddo off from the tub.

As always, communication is key. There is no way to get more hours in the day. We work, we have dinner, we collapse.

My only other hint is this: DO LESS. Your kids do not need to do EVERY activity the city or school offers. You do not have to have four play dates a week. It is OKAY if your child watches a little tv while you get your dinner on. Just as important as soccer practice is quality family time. If you are all so busy you never sit down to a meal together, if you can't find time to talk about your day or be in the same room for more than thirty minute bursts here and there, you are doing too much. Disenroll. Cut an activity. Stop being on that board or drop the basketweaving class. It's okay.

Will parenting duties ever be equal? I highly doubt it. The trick is to avoid resentment over the inequality, however large or small it may be. Walk a mile in his work boots. Invite him to take your stilettos for a test run. Talk about what your priorities are for home, self, and children. And then do a WHOLE LOT LESS of all of it.

For the first time since I was maybe 11 years old, I didn't make it to midnight on New Years Eve. It might have to do with the fact that I'm 9 months pregnant, or it might just be that I'm old. Either way, I didn't care; I just wanted to go the heck to sleep.

For the first time in many years I awoke bright eyed and busy tailed on New Years Day. Also a sign of my condition and age, I suppose.

Yesterday, I traded in my cute Jeep for a mini van. It's true.

"Embrace change" is my mantra for 2013. 2012 held big changes for our family and it was all happening so fast I didn't really have time to process it all. We found out we'd be having another baby the same week we found out I'd be changing jobs. We had friends move away and new ones materialize. My head was swimming for many months. So for this new year, when the baby will arrive and I'll take a small break from my job, I'm going to work on embracing all this chance. So I'm not the free-wheeling social butterfly I once was. So I don't have the energy to stay up past midnight and so what if I drive a mini van. It's all evolutionary. It would be sad if everything stayed the same, right? It would be boring if I did the same things year after year. I am aging and my circumstances are changing, but I'm choosing to think this is a good thing.

When we are young, our lives are easily demarcated by milestones. Grade school, junior high, high school. Graduation. College. Graduation again. Once we pass through the schooling years, though, it all starts to run together. Maybe there is a marriage or a break up and then maybe some kids or different jobs and then retirement, but there are no summer breaks and there aren't ceremonies for every achievement. We have to build in those ways of dividing chunks of time for ourselves.

I choose to call this my "minivan period" and embrace it. Two small children, a husband, and a busy job. 2013 is the year of the mini van. Embrace it. That mini van is pretty cool, really.

Don't look back, friends. What are you embracing for 2013?

We all know that Christmas depresses people. The holiday season, despite its outwardly festive trappings, represents a difficult time for many people. For some, it's financially stressful, overly busy, fraught with family drama, and designed to make us feel like parenting failures. For some, it's even worse: it's lonely.

I will admit to having been a pretty staunch Christmas curmudgeon in the past. When I was single I was broke, and though I had a lovely family to spend time with, I was always a little behind the curve in Christmas spirit. Since I got married and had a child, it's admittedly more fun. Christmas is awesome for 3 year olds, and I am living vicariously through him. Still, there is a lot about the holidays that makes me itch. The pressure to be at the right place at the right time, to make sure all the parts of the family get their equal due, the work involved with shopping, wrapping, making presents, cooking meals, and making the house look "just so" is enough to send a person over the edge. But, I am nothing if not a traditionalist, so I go about all the business of holiday-making - even this year, 9 months pregnant - we did the whole shebang.

Recently I spoke to a group of Lawrence professional women about tips for surviving the holidays. My two bits of advice, for what they are worth, were these: 1) Step away from Pinterest. Pinterest is designed to make women feel bad about themselves. STOP THAT.

2) Pick your battles. I am not crafty. I do like to cook. So, my efforts at Christmas time lean toward the culinary. I do not pretend to want to knit hand-made gifts or make homemade candles for everyone on my list. I do, however, can jellies and sauces for friends and co-workers. Not so much because I am crazy, but because I enjoy it. I hate to shop, so I buy everything that has to be bought online. But if you love shopping, get out there on Black Friday and do your thing. If you can sew, and find it theraputic, by all means, embroider a tea towel for every person you know.

In short, do the parts of the holiday crazy that you LIKE, and let the rest go hang.

That said, the one part of the holiday season I do recommend for everyone, regardless of time or talent, is a little giving back. This is not a new concept or a complicated one. The absolute best part of this holiday season, for me, was shopping for Angel tree kids, helping get all of our families adopted at Ballard Center, and watching the looks on the faces of those who otherwise would have had a dismal holiday light up, knowing their community cared for them. If you don't have money to give to holiday efforts, that's okay. Invite the lonely neighbor man over for Christmas dinner. Send a letter to a soldier. Serve a meal at a soup kitchen. I know that I am a very lucky woman, this holiday, with a stack of presents under the tree, a baby on the way, and a family to enjoy it all with. I cannot take it all for granted, not even for a second.

Enjoy your holiday. Don't forget to relax a little, and send a box of cookies (even if they are store-bought) to someone who might need reminding that someone cares on Christmas.

Getting pregnant after you've just accomplished a 35 lb weightloss is the definition of bittersweet.

Bitter, of course, because it took me five months to take those pounds off, and nearly the same to put them right. back. on.

Sweet, of course, because you get to start eating again. Sweet because you're getting a whole bundle of sweet at the end of the deal. Also, sweet because thanks in part to that weight loss, I did NOT get gestational diabetes with this pregnancy.

I have not quite gained 35 lbs in this pregnancy but close enough. Anything over four seems tragic. My sister started doing Weight Watchers in earnest about three months ago and has lost well over 20 lbs. I am thrilled for her and glad to have another Weight Watching partner in crime, but it's been almost painful to cheer her success while I watch my hard-earned success go the way of elastic waist pants and belly bands to hold up my girth.

So as I recently Iamented all of this and plotted my strategy to get a Weight Watchers meeting started at my job just as soon as humanly possible after the baby comes, I had a heartening realization. I, apparently, liked dieting. I enjoyed counting points, attending meetings, coming up with inventive ways to get a tasty dinner, and most of all, watching those pounds drop off week after week. I AM THAT GIRL. I am a sicko who LIKES to be healthy.

My husband often tells me that instead of moping over a tough situation, I have "bright side that stuff." Well, I've done it. I've bright sided a nearly thirty pound weight gain.

Friends, I hardly recognize myself. Regardless of my recent, er, weight addtion, I am a healthy eater at heart. Weight Watchers did a real number on me, and apparently I am one of those "lifestyle change" people I used to hear tell of and then scoff over my plate of pasta as if they were as mythical as a Sasquatch.

Yes, I have put on most of what I lost. Hopefully it will come off easier than it did the first time. Regardless, I'm glad to know I have the tools to do what I need to about my waistline after this baby removes herself from my premises. And, if you're interested in joining me in Weight Watchers at The Ballard Center, let me know.

Pregnancy, it turns out, is all about numbers. It's all about weeks, centimeters, beats per minute, pounds, and measurements.

Here are a few numbers that have become very significant to me during this pregnancy.

39. That is how many years old I am. That's pretty old to be pregnant. I mean, it's not unheard of. It's not freakish. But by and large, most women of this age are either all done with the baby-making or never were doing it at all. I have the body of a 39 year old, probably and then some. I'm not setting any fitness records, either pregnant or not.

35. How old I was last time I was pregnant. There is a big difference between 39 and pregnant, and 35 and pregnant.

33. The number of pounds I lost prior to getting pregnant. Boy, am I thankful for that. I am finding pregnancy more difficult this time than I did and I can only imagine that 33 more pounds of me would have compounded the issue even more. Pun intended.

5. The number of months it took me to lose 33 pounds.

15. The number of pounds I have put back on.

4.5. The number of pregnant months it has taken me to put the 15 pounds back on.

4. The number of weeks I currently can fund for maternity leave.

12. The number of weeks I want to take for maternity leave.

6. The maximum number of hours I can sleep at night.

25. The number of times a day I have to climb the staircases at work and at home on my two very sore old lady knees.

55. Number of hours a week I work.

6. Number of times a week I have to go to the grocery store because my severe case of pregnancy brain ensures I will forget several items every time.

2. Number of times I have to get up in the night to use the bathroom.

17. Weeks to go before I can sleep on my stomach again.

1. Tiny baby that makes all the stress, aches, pains, and fatigue TOTALLY WORTH IT.

I am not the kind of woman who claims to have "intuitions" about things, and this pregnancy is no exception. People asked me over and over again whether I thought I was having a girl or a boy, and I could honestly answer "I don't know." I didn't care, either. I mean, I was going to find out because I am a Control Freak, and I wanted to plan a nursery and collect clothing and have things all ready for the bambino's arrival, but I honestly didn't care if I was having a boy or a girl. I could imagine both scenarios being fun. Johnny and his little brother? What a pair! A little girl? Awesome - one for me and one for daddy. I didn't have any designs on either sex. Or, at least, I didn't think I did.

We went to Kansas City last week for a Level 2 sonogram. The purpose of this sonogram was to reassure me that this baby is typically developing without my having to submit to a lot of invasive prenatal testing that would likely, at least in my case, result in a false positive for Down Syndrome. But let's face it: I was also excited to find out the baby's sex. First and foremost, I wanted that technician to pronounce that the baby "Looks good," but once that was out of the way I was chomping at the bit. WHAT IS IT WHAT IS IT WHAT IS IT?

And it surprised me as much or more than anyone that when she said "You got yourself a girl," a tear escaped my eye. Maybe two. My husband and I were both dumbfounded. Apparently, deep down inside our hearts of hearts, we thought we'd be having a boy. I have often said that I "just feel like the mom of boys." I hadn't really allowed myself to consider that it might be a girl. And I think that all of that was a subconscious way to protect myself from disappointment if she wasn't a girl.

I have the sweetest little boy in the world and I do believe I love him too much. I would LOVE to have another boy. I'm not the kind of woman who goes gaga over a sea of pink, and I don't like Disney movies and I certainly don't like Disney princesses, so what is it about having a girl that has me all verklempt? What is it the caused me to burst into tears at the pronouncement of her femaleness? I don't even have a girl name solidly decided on. I think girl names are either too frou frou or too dumpy or too trendy. I can't seem to find one that suits my sensibilities.

Still, I'm over the moon about this baby girl. And it's not because of tutus or pink nurseries or dollies (though I am certainly partial to rumble bottom underpants). I think it's something more simple than all that. I think it's because I want to share my femininity with someone. Because what I know first and foremost in life? Womanhood. I know about being a woman. And that doesn't just mean clothes and hair and bra fittings. It means understanding nurturing AND work. It means paddling against the current sometimes, but forging the most amazing transcendent relationships all the while. I'm excited to share my experience in love and life from a woman's perspective with another woman. And yes, I am also excited to do her hair.

I'm 38. I will be 39 in just a few days, which means I will be 39 1/2 when this baby comes.

The medical community misses no opportunity to remind me of this fact. From the earliest days of pregnancy, a woman of "advanced maternal age" (oh, how I detest that phrase - it's up there with "old maid" and "spinster" in linguistic crimes against women, as far as I'm concerned) is made to realize just how nervy she is, getting herself in this condition at this age. I mean, 39 year old women are supposed to be all dried up, right?

Apparently I'm not appropriately withered up just yet. I will have a baby when I'm almost 40. Some of my really brazen friends went right out and got pregnant well AFTER the age of 40. Lunatics.

The doctors offer you invasive, painful, and sometimes dangerous tests. Women your age give you sidelong glances and say things like "Oh, wow. No WAY could I have a baby now." YOU ARE A HUMAN MARVEL, AKIN TO A SASQUATCH OR A 30 LB TUMOR. LET US SEE IT.

Last time, at age 35, I bought the whole geriatric pregnancy package and even paid for all the available upgrades. I got the Cadillac of Antique Mommy treatments and I made sure they added the heated seats and the GPS navigator even though they were extra, because, well, they offered them. I had a nuchal translucency test done early in the pregnancy. This test is a bizarre amalgamation of tests. They do a level 2 sonogram wherein they measure the thickness of the fetus's neck, take a couple of drops of blood from a finger prick, then they get the results of those two (seemingly unrelated) tests, mash them together with the Antique Mommy's age, and come up with a probability regarding whether or not the unborn child will have Down Syndrome or some other genetic disorder.

I will not pretend to be a statistician, an MD, or any other kind of smart math or science person, but I have a hard time understanding how these things can add up to any kind of reliable score. Here's why: I read, during my first pregnancy, many message boards and articles regarding these tests, because I got a positive result from nuchal translucency, which meant I had a high "probability" of Down Syndrome. It did not mean that my child had it (obviously, because he's 3 and chromosomally normal, at least). So I needed an amniocentesis, which I could not have for several weeks. I had about 18 agonizing days between the NT test and the amnio. Plenty of time to let the internet really run away with your pregnant imagination.

In one of the more reputable forums, I found this response to a nervous post NT mother, from another mother who also happened to be a statistician. I recommend you read it in its entirety. Again, I do not claim to be a mathematician or a scientist, but these comments not only calmed my nerves, they made me think about (and begin to regret) the process I'd submitted to: "I'm answering you as a statistician," the mother wrote. "The way the 'nuchal test' is typically conducted in medical practices in the US these days is an unfortunate marriage between a relative reliable and a very unprecise indicator. I can not see how these two very different things can, even half-resonably, be combined into one likelihood:

(A) The measurement of the nucal fold taken during an ultrasound. If the measurement is above a certain threshold (2? if I remember well), this is a semi-quantitative (but relatively reliable) indicator for Down syndrome.

(B) A measurement of the concentration of a hormones released in pregnancy, and some other data. It has been observed that the concentrations of this hormon develop slightly differently when the fetus has Down syndrome (or other chromosomal problems, or spina bifida). A deviation from the typical curve can, but does not have to, be caused by Down syndrome or one of the other diseases. Unfortunately, the evaluation of the results is extremly sensitive to the estimated time of conception. The latter is estimated by the date of last period, or by ultrasound. Both methods are not precise enough to ensure the interpretation is even half reasonable.

I would encourage doctors to report their findings separately. Every woman who chooses to do this test should be reported the measurement from (A). She could then choose by herself if she wants to put any confidence in part (B) or not. In particular, if she already has reasons to belief that the date of conception (the doctors will talk about 'due date' for the birth, actually) was well estimated. For example, if her cycle lengths are not the 'normal' 28 days, if she's not sure about her date of last period, or if the dates based on the day of last period and the date based on ultrasound differ. I actually talked to the statistician in charge of the Californian program for screening for genetical diseases. He said that something like three days off the correct date of conception can completely falsivy the results. Doctors and their assistents usually do not even know this, and go ahead to do a useless compution. The results they report to the women are probabilities of a precision that is misleading. I would like to see the standard errors for their computations. It would not be surprised to see: 'the probability your fetus has Down's is, most likely, some number between 1/10 and 1/300'."

Now, that is not very interesting reading unless you are a pregnancy woman with a positive nuchal translucency test. Then, that reading is the most riveting thing you've read since you discovered Margaret Atwood in high school. Seriously. Do those numbers really mean anything at all? I don't know. I know that for me, they didn't. My child happened to be chromosomally "normal" despite the scary tests and all of the clucking about my advanced maternal age and its risks.

Are the risks real, then? Yes. But do women besides those over 35 have children with Down Sydrome or other disorders? Yes. Do women above 35 have healthy babies? Yes. There are many factors. Age is just one. Call me crazy, but I felt like I'd been sold a bill of goods. One test begets another test. Talk of "risks" and "defects" spurs nervous mothers to be into action. And in my mind, the most benefit that comes out of it goes to the medical community. To doctors and labs and manufacturers of tests and equipment. Fear, it turns out, is a real money maker.

Now, don't get me wrong. I loves me some western medicine. I love doctors and nurses. I love hospitals and exam rooms and all that stuff, because it means I live in a developed country wherein I have access to all sorts of cool things that range from life-saving to just darn convenient. And I believe in all that stuff. I am not running around telling women to have their babies at home because the doctors are just trying to make a buck. I want us all to take advantage of the resources available to us, if those resources ensure safety, peace of mind, and overall good health. But this Antique Mommy situation is going a little bit far, in my never to be humble opinion.

So this time, I'm skipping it. I'm throwing caution to the proverbial wind, and no one will be pricking my finger and doing fancy arithmetic to find out if the baby in my old lady womb is has a 1 in somewhere between 10 and 200 chance of having a genetic anomaly.

Also, when people look surprised when I tell them that yes, I'm 38 and I'm pregnant, I offer to let them see my one long arm hair, for it is a more interesting medical anomaly than this baby.

Pregnancy the second time around, at least so far, could not be more different than the first time. I mean, physically, it's about the same. I have never been afflicted with morning sickness, but the usual fatigue and aches and pains have plagued the last 9-odd weeks of my life. But that's not what I'm talking about. All of that is precisely like my pregnancy with Johnny. Other than that, the two experiences could not be more different.

In my first pregnancy, I waited with bated breath for my weekly babycenter.com updates. "What kind of fruit does the baby resemble this week? A kumquat!? A KUMQUAT! DID YOU HEAR THAT WORLD? THE BABY IS THE SIZE OF A KUMQUAT!" I devoured websites and a couple of books on pregnancy in the first couple of weeks, and I journaled my every thought, feeling, and idea. I had childcare and names picked out in the first month, and signed up for every elective prenatal test ever conceived of by modern medicine. I lived for every doctor visit and counted the minutes until I could find out the sex of the baby. In a word, I was obsessed.

This time, I sometimes forget for minutes on end that I'm pregnant. My pregnancy does not occupy my every thought. In fact, I have lots and lots of thoughts that have nothing to do with pregnancy whatsoever. I have signed up for Babycenter updates, but sometimes it is days before I get around to checking them. I haven't secured childcare, have rejected the idea of most of the prenatal testing, and can't remember off the top of my head when my next doctor visit is.

Maybe this is a symptom of the other things going on in my life. I accepted a new job close to the time I found out I was pregnant, and shortly thereafter made the job shift. Also, this time, I'm chasing a toddler around, and my husband is in town instead of on the road like he was for the majority of my last pregnancy. So, yes, things are different in my situation. Last time I was pregnant I had time to be obsessed with it. I was mostly alone in my house, sitting around, staring at my growing belly. This time, I have a few other things I have to handle.

But I'm not sure that's completely it. It's not that I don't care about my pregnancy or this baby or the exciting changes in store for our little family. I just have a feeling of well-being this time. Kind of an "No worries, I got this," kind of attitude. I have been there, done that, and I am pretty sure I know how to grow a baby now, no instructions required. It's nice, actually. It just feels like part of my life, instead of my whole life this time around. It's a natural progression of things, like "Well, of course there is a human growing inside me. Why wouldn't there be?"

Is this typical? Tell me, ladies. Did your second and/or subsequent pregnancies lack the same urgency and obsessive qualities your first one had? Or am I just playing like the proverbial ostrich, with head firmly planted in the sand regarding what- namely, the total dissolution of everything that I know to be normal - is going to happen in the coming months?