life · Parenting

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In the last two months I celebrated my son’s first birthday, stopped nursing and pumping, watched BB experience many fun firsts and keep getting sick (“It could be a stomach bug or it could be the start of hand foot and mouth”… Twice. Plus an ear infection), took care of BB by myself for a full week while hubs was at our union conference in Las Vegas, buried my Grandma on my second wedding anniversary, started smoking again (like a dumbass)…  

And I might be pregnant again. 

My pants have been snugger than normal and I actually signed up for an 8 week gym challenge.  Exciting, right?  With hubs and another couple.  Cool!  Personal accountability!  I’m gonna get that self esteem back up and learn how to eat better!  We’re gonna have so much more energy to keep up with the baby (who is RUNNING).  Weigh in is on Sunday. 

Then my mom sent me a text this morning saying my dad had a dream I had two boys!  Hahahahaha.

Then I did the math.  Oh shit, I am later than I thought, by like a week.  The nausea when I stayed home with a sick BB last week?  Huh.  If it’s true I’d be due within days of my Grandma’s birthday which is almost too freaky to second guess. 

Hubs was at a baseball game tonight, so I took a test (it’s old but the expiration date was 2017, score!) while BB napped.  And it wasn’t super clear because the second line wasn’t dark, but it was there.  And it could all be a big fluke, but the math is right and the line was there.  

Fuck. 

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