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So I haven't posted in a while, but it's for a good reason: namely, that my pregnant ass couldn't think of anything to talk about besides all these changes currently mowing me down, and as I hadn't told everyone yet I did the blogging equivalent of holding my hands nervously in my lap and flitting my eyes around the room until I figured out something to say.

Yeah, I am unexpectedly, surprisingly, amazing, with child. It doesn't seem real to me, actually. We had given up on the idea of a second child; in fact, we gave up on it so completely that we had moved on and were just fine, thanks. I could look at babies without feeling that twinge. I could look at pregnant teenagers and not feel bitter. And then, surprise! To be honest, it is still not real to me. I'm due in December, and the news might possibly manage to sink in before then.

I'm really worried about L. We have been broaching the subject with her (but we don't plan to tell her until after I see the obstetrician in a couple of weeks), and the response has been really negative. She doesn't want to be a big sister. She doesn't want a baby around. She thinks my claims that there will be lots more love and lots more fun in the family are total BS. "There would be stinky diapers, Mama," she said, "and babies cry ALL THE TIME. It would be a hundred years before he'd be big enough to play with. No thank you."

Am I overreacting to worry that this could traumatize her? That this could ruin our relationship with her forever? I am on a bit of an emotional and hormonal roller coaster right now so I honestly don't know if my fears are realistic.

In other news, my bestie and I are writing a children's book together. We are going to win a Caldecott Medal. At least. Make sure you order your copy autographed.