I feel like my posts have been really negative recently, pretty much since the moment I announced my pregnancy.  It’s kind of like when you were younger and had a boyfriend, you always had that one friend who ended up hating him because all you told her was the negative stuff.  Hey, you have to have someone to vent to, right?  Thank you, fellow CT moms, for allowing me to vent!  But I would hate for my younger daughter to ever find this blog when she gets older and think that I spent my whole pregnancy crying and feeling sorry for myself, so I feel like I need to set the record straight.

The truth is this:  I am nervous about having a newborn again.  I am cautiously optimistic about having another infant.  I am thrilled to have a second child.  And I get a big stupid grin on my face when I think about two little girls running around here.  Two butts in the bathtub, two set of pigtails standing at odd angles, two chipmunk voices echoing through the house.  But the fact is that pregnancy is hard.  I’m about a pound shy of the highest weight I’ve ever been, I feel like I have a cinder block hanging out on my pelvis, and I need a nap after climbing a flight of stairs.  But by far, the worst part is knowing that I’m sitting on top of this giant, impending life change.

Change.  That’s really it.  I don’t like it.  It’s hard for me.  As much as I sometimes fantasize about moving to some exotic location or creating my dream job or getting purple highlights, I derive so much comfort from the thought of everything in my life staying the same forever and always, The End.  During my first pregnancy, I knew my life was going to change, but I was totally unprepared for just how profound it would be.  This time, I’m anticipating a reality rather than a fantasy, and even though I know that the end result is going to be amazing, it’s hard not to get stuck in that rut.

One recent example of change: last weekend, we did our big room move.  My daughter’s nursery became our guest room, and our larger guest room became the girls’ room (one day they’ll share).  I’ve been dreading this transition for a while, afraid of how my daughter would take it.  It would be the first of many changes in her life with this new baby on the way.  To my delight, the room (though still unfinished) is adorable, and I love the thought that my two girls will be sleeping and playing in there together.  When I put my daughter to bed in there the first night, she cried.  Hard.  I gave her a few minutes, then went back in to snuggle her.  When I put her down again, she was inconsolable.  I ended up basically having to let her cry herself to sleep.  She didn’t want to be in there.  I didn’t want her in there.  I cried too.

I’m not any more ready for all this change than my daughter is, but here it is, happening.  I’m barreling toward this great unknown.  It’s terrifying, but it’s also really exciting.  I am soon going to meet a new member of my family, and when I think of that little girl at the end of this dark, scary tunnel, I know it’s all going to be alright.