(Star Wars theme music playing)

There’s a fresh, hot, Cinnabun in my oven and the timer’s set for January. January 6th to be exact. Although, taking into consideration the way the eclair and the danish cooked up… we’ll need to be prepared by December 1st, at the latest.

*Star wars theme inspired by Princess Leia’s cinnamon roll hair, of course.

I have waited to make the “official” announcement due to many factors, the main one being that my pregnancies always seem to be as much fun as a cake-less birthday party and as difficult as pushing a car with square wheels up a hill – both ways in the snow, of course. In other words, I wasn’t sure we were gonna make it this far and once that card has been dealt… well, you’ve licked the back of it and stuck it to your forehead.

This week marks the beginning of our 23rd week, and I’m feelin’ pretty good. I’m also shocked as hell about it. With Hunter, my weight gain was already well into the double digits – 3 or 4 times over (cough). My water broke at 27 1/2 and between the “simply magical” (as Hunter would say) drugs that they gave me to keep my contractions from progressing and the “simply magical” sloppy, gooey hamburgers they had in the “way-too sinfully delicious for hospital food” cafeteria… that journey ended with my scale refusing to give me an actual number, only to display the words “oversized load.”

I lost most of that weight (all but 20 lbs or so, give or take… probably more take) prior to my peeing on a stick for Sophie. That pregnancy, however, was a hell all in itself. Never did hit the hospital with her, and she was born on time, but I was “in labor” for a good 4 months or so prior to delivery. Sitting at a “solid 4 – 4 1/2 cm” since about 28 weeks. Cool.

*Labor: Hospital trip every other day or so to get stuck in the ass with a drug that they say was to stop the contractions. I, however, am more likely to believe that it was for time travel ’cause I had patent leather bell bottoms on, “Super Freak” playing in the background, and a disco ball hanging above my head every time that sweet little pin poked my tush.

Between the two I had, I lost one. Something that is extremely common with a bicornuate uterus, which turns out to be the culprit for my pregnancy hell. I am only greatful that the baby was lost at 8 weeks, not 20 or more, which is also common with a bicornuate.

So, here we are again. The third, and as my husband has so very clearly stated, FINAL time. I will post regular updates on the pregnancy and the preparation. Cheers!