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So, the Duggars are having another baby. Their youngest is only 8 months and she’s about 3 months along, which means she got pregnant when the baby was 5 months. (I wonder if Michelle breastfeeds. I was under the impression it was supposed to suppress fertility so you didn’t end up with like, 19 kids. If she doesn’t, can you imagine how much they’ve spent on formula? More than enough to afford some condoms. I’m just sayin’.) I suppose if your goal is to have as many babies as possible you don’t really worry about things like child spacing.

There’s a woman at my mom’s group who’s son is about 8 weeks ahead of Baby Evan. She wants to be pregnant again by Christmas because she wants her kids close in age, like she and her sister are.

There’s another woman at my group who has three kids under three, 2 boys and a girl. They adopted the first one after her round of fertility treatments “failed”, and found out she was pregnant only a few weeks later. The third one was just a total surprise. She makes all those babies look easy.

A friend of mine has two kids, a boy and a girl, and came over to see Baby Evan because she “was going to miss little ones” now that she was done having babies. She just announced she’s pregnant. She’s over the moon happy, even though it’s going to mean another set of diapers while her second is potty training.

Another friend agreed with her husband from the very beginning they were having just one. I might be giving her baby fever with my own munchkin, as she said the other day “Are we REALLY done having kids?”

A woman I was standing in line with the other day was talking about her daughter and how although she loved children she NEVER wanted to go through birth again. She was so traumatized by the first one it scared her out of pregnancy forever, despite her desire for more. (This stranger over-share begins as soon as you’re visibly pregnant and only gets worse once you have the actual baby.)

And for my last example, there’s a woman I’ve met a couple times at mom’s group who has an 18 year old daughter…and an 8 month old son. Talk about an age difference. She wanted to start a family with her second husband.

E and I are both oldest children with siblings only a couple years behind us. Neither of us really remembers what being an old child was like. Although we are both close in age to our next oldest siblings, I wouldn’t say either of us is best-friends-talk-on-the-phone-every-day close. (Distance has something to do with it too – his whole family is in Ohio while my sister is literally across the world.) But having those built in playmates when we were little is something we both enjoyed.

(My sister may beg to differ on how great having me around really was, since I insisted on things like doing THAT to our hair on Easter and my mom made her go along with it. Doesn’t she look excited?)

I sort of thought that once I had one I would just KNOW how I felt about more, but it swings from one extreme to another on a daily basis, depending on how taxing/easy the previous bedtime/feeding/nap time/play time has been. I definitely want more kids but when will Baby Evan understand he has to share his mommy? Should I wait until he’s out of diapers? What if he doesn’t finish potty training until he’s 4? What if it takes me three years to get pregnant? Is it unfair to the second child to have a mother so distracted by her toddler she barely remembers there’s another bebeh?  Are second (and third) children doomed to be just a little more neglected than the one before? Can we handle another one financially? Can we handle another one emotionally? What if it’s another boy? Will I keep trying for a girl?

What about you? Are you an only who wanted siblings? Are you and your brother totall BFFs? How far appart are your kids?


I’ve always been an over-packer. I cannot leave a 60-mile radius around my house without outfits for the following situations: what if we go to the beach? what if it’s cold at night? what if we go out to dinner? what if we have to walk really far? what if a giant asteroid hits earth? what if Steven Spielberg suddenly falls out of the sky and says “You! If only you had a red shirt you’d be PERFECT for the lead role in my next film!”? So I tend to carry a lot of stuff.

All that previous packing was NOTHING compared to the amount of crap you need with a baby. We didn’t even spend the night away from home and we still brought an entire car full of baby stuff. There’s the car seat, the stroller, the diaper bag, the other diaper bag, the outfits & burp cloths (because I still have the spitty-uppiest baby in the world), the pack’n’play, the sling carrier, the mei tai carrier, the toys, the bouncy seat…wait, where’s the bouncy seat? Did we forget the bouncy seat?!?!  Luckily, E’s cousin has two kids and a garage full of abandoned baby gear which happened to include a swing. I seriously don’t know how people used to survive before Fisher-Price.

Our trip was to Plymouth, Mass – I’ve always felt that was an appropriate place to spend the 4th, very America-y – and we had a good time. The baby was about as well behaved as a three month old could be. He took a nice long nap in my new baby carrier while we walked around town. Unfortunately, now all the pictures of him in Plymouth look like this:

But he was very happy being carried and he didn’t get a sunburn and besides a little numbness in my left shoulder this morning the mai tei worked great. That’s us standing next to Plymouth Rock. I know, how exciting. A rock. You’re so jealous of our proximity to a random rock on a whole beach full of rocks that has been designated as the official rock the Pilgrims landed on even though it’s definitely not. Oh and someone vandalized it so instead of saying “1620” it says “1820”. So America just lost two hundred years of history. Great job, douchebag vandal.

Here are some pictures from the rest of our day:






This weekend we’re making the annual trek out to Plymouth, Mass for E’s aunt & uncle’s 4th of July party. There will be hamburgers. There will be beer. There will be fireworks. And there will be A POOL. Which means tonight before dinner I headed out to find a bathing suit.


Actually, it was the least unpleasant bathing suit shopping ever. I tried on three. They all fit ok. One looked the best and was in a nice color and a halter style that will allow me to breastfeed. It was $25. I bought it.

Did I mention it’s a one piece? The last time I shopped for a one piece was for church camp (apparently belly buttons are the gateway to Satan) in 8th grade. Since then I’ve spent the first two months of every summer searching in vain for an affordable, flattering bikini. One year I bought a dozen cheap ones at Wal-Mart and just threw a sarong over the bits that didn’t fit right. One year I spent $100 on a very nice orange bikini with a bandeau top – and spent my time at the beach wishing I could go body surfing without flashing all of South Carolina. I’ve tried ordering them online. I’ve tried the special bathing-suit-stores. I’ve tried on literally hundreds and hundreds of suits in the past decade. But I never considered just buying a one piece. Those are for old people or my mom.

But now I am a mom. I have a three month old baby and a three month post-partum body. I could use a little extra material in my swim wear. And maybe some ruching. And a hidden control panel. And a nice flattering criss-crossy pattern. Anything short of a full body wet suit is going to expose some flaws and imperfections and the old Suzanne, the 22 year old who ate half a Powerbar for lunch and plain lettuce for dinner and hated every part of herself between her chin and her knees, that Suzanne would be dreading everything about this pool and beach filled weekend. But the cliches about how you learn to love and appreciate your body after pregnancy are true. I GREW A PERSON. I am currently keeping that person alive using only my boobs. That is way cooler than a bikini any day.

I love my father. I really do. He’s kind and caring and always tells me he’s proud of me. But DEAR GOD that man needs medication. He is so OCD about details I thought we would never get our porch finished. Dear Dad firmly believes there is a “right” way to do everything from painting a wall to putting on a belt. In his mind, “right” is the same as “morally correct and therefor not to be challenged even if it means painting every damn piece of wood for this porch THREE TIMES and buying four different kinds of molding”. Perfectionism, thy name is Biff.* But thanks to his planning and knowledge – and his awesome air-powered framing nailer – we have a new front porch. E did an amazing job of both tolerating my father and working his butt off to get everything done even though the weather was crap and he had his actual job to do during the day. And he was out of beer. I totally thought about teaching Baby Evan to play the world’s tiniest violin for him.

But now the project is DONE (Ok beside a little tiny bit of touch-up painting I am totally planning to do as soon as I get a free afternoon when the baby is sleeping and I’m not exhausted. Soooooo…….2024, give or take a few months)  and we have a fantastic new porch on which to enjoy lovely New England evenings. There are two rugs for baby play time on the floor, balustrades to keep tiny children and dogs from falling through the screen, throw pillows for lounging on, a cafe table for morning coffee, patio furniture for games and wine and a swing to rock Baby Evan to sleep at night. Check it out from old to new and be TOTALLY JEALOUS.

*Ok, William, but even his business cards say Biff.

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