Carrying the two-year-old is decidedly uncomfortable these days. His little knees jab my stomach where his little brother's elbows are also jabbing my stomach. Or, if I shift him back a bit to avoid this, I work out my delts in ways I've never known.
By the end of a long walk with the dog, my lower back and abdomen tell me it's time to go take a load off for a bit.
I've begun calling to First, "I'm NOT going to chase you!" every time he runs from an impending hygienic task. He does this, laughing and shouting, "Catch you! Hehehehe." before "hiding" face-down on the couch.
I even ask him to be really helpful and turn on the floor lamps in the corners that are hard to get to with my new frontal load.
Today I chose to indulge him in more than his RDA of screen time so that I could sit in a recliner and read a book. Reading a book is even difficult, in that I'm reading Anna Karenina. Its 800+ pages are kind of heavy and Second doesn't enjoy being a book stand. Plus, every now and then I have to arch back because there's a baby appendage poking my ribs.
And there are still 11 weeks to go.
Next week, when I get that text about having reached 30 weeks, I'll probably freak out. The last of the double-digits in terms of weeks to count down. The toddler is still in the crib, I still don't have a sparkle-free light fixture picked out and OMG I'm going to have another baby.
I promise a full, official Bumpdate with that hysterical post.
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