pregnancy the second time around

First off, there was morning sickness. And that was just no fun. I can remember every time in my life that I have vomited, and now I have a few more notches in my belt, my personal favorite, being on the road, while driving, in a H-E-B sack, on the way to a 2 year old's birthday party in Austin.

Secondly, there has been much, shall we say as delicately as possible, wind. I burp and fart like nothing anyone has ever seen, sometimes over 50 burps in an hour, each eructation scandalous in its volume and ferocity.

That being said, there is no preoccupation with pregnancy. I can scarcely remember what week I am in and I have not even once looked at the Internet to find out what appendage or organ my baby is growing this week. I eat turkey and blue cheese, suck down ice tea, and routinely pick up a little squirt that weighs more than 20 pounds.

There is no baby's room in the works, just a small corner in the guest room,that I eventually get around to sometime in October.

But this baby is far more loved than the first one, because this baby has a "big 'tister" The big sister kisses the baby and tells anyone else who might get near my tummy, "be careful of my baby." The big sister is going to share her "cribby" with her baby and says that she and the baby are going to have lots of cuddles when the baby drinks "my mama's chi-chis."

This baby is more real to its father too. The first time around he showed zero interest in what was happening, and frequently told me that "pregnancy is no excuse." His only sign of husbandly concern was to seem mildly tense the whole time, snapping to if I ever stubbed my toe or bumped into something and said "ow." In fact the only true interest he showed the first time was to pronounce one Sunday morning "What is wrong with the name Annabelle, I like the name Annabelle, and if it is a boy, then Cowboy." Thankfully, the Good Lord was watching out for me on the issue of gender and names.

Pregnancy the second time around and Hyphen are very different. I awoke one morning to his hand on my belly. He drives out of his way to get me a pepperoni pan pizza from Pizza Hut after his dinner of Chilean Sea Bass and broccoli made me gag. He does as much heavy lifting as Annabelle will allow and cautions me not to "over do it."

And he told Annabelle one day, "what do you think about the name Tallulah? That way there can be a mama named Stella and two sisters named Annabelle and Tallulah." I wasn't too sold on the name until I heard that explanation.

This time, though, I am picking the boy's name.

Henry. Let's hope I get my way.