So we're having another baby. YEEHAH!

Now, my reaction to discovering this news in early January can best be summarized as: WHAAAA? Eeek! Errr...WHOA! Yikes. gulp

We were going to start trying for said baby sometime early this year, thinking a two year, three month or two-and-a-half year age separation would be nice. But after one festive December evening involving a lot of chocolate and a flagrant disregard for birth control, apparently the universe thought differently. Carter and his brother or sister will be almost exactly two years apart. What can I say? I - ahem - REALLY enjoy the holiday season.

So here I am - just shy of 15 weeks along, though looking more like six months in. I'd always read that your stomach pops early with subsequent babies, and let me tell you - they are NOT kidding, folks. I waited until the second trimester to spread the news, and it was not easy, given the impressive baby gut I've been accumulating over the past few months. At work I took to wearing lots of open blazers and long scarves, yet still saw suspicious coworkers eyeing me carefully. It was such a relief to finally announce the pregnancy and assure them all that I hadn't just suddenly developed some kind of thyroid problem.

I'm feeling fine, with no morning sickness or queasiness to report, much like the first time around with the Little Roo. Thus, I can only assume Little Fetus Draitser is another boy, though we'll know for sure next month. That's right - we're finding out the sex this time. I don't need any more surprises, people.

Carter has been particularly clingy and Mommy-oriented since I got pregnant, which our pediatrician assures me is par for the course. We had told him about the baby, and then he came to Mommy's 12-week ultrasound, where he was fascinated by all the blinking lights and beeping machines at the hospital.

"There's the baby," we told him, pointing to the fuzzy little figure squirming and kicking up a storm on the small screen. "That's your brother or sister!"

"Doooooowwn!!" he replied, desperately hoping to be let loose to find an 87 bajillion dollar machine to bang on.

He was, however, momentarily very distressed each time they had Mommy lie down on her back on the exam table, and began to cry and wail protectively. From that day on, the clinginess increased tenfold, and lately it's all-Mommy, all the time (oh god, the exhaustion...). The daycare tells me he talks about Mommy all day - "Mommy. Mommy?? Mommy..."

Oh boy. This is going to be one wild ride.

(to be continued when I am not slammed with paperwork at my desk on a Friday afternoon)