Multiplyin' and replenishin'. One by one.

Well, we were gonna wait to tell. But after telling both sides of the family and after Jason told his office, news has already spread pretty fast. So maybe you know this news anyway, so it's old news to you. And while we are still in the first trimester and not yet in the "safe zone" (past 12 weeks), I feel like complete crap pretty much 24-7. Who came up with the rule that it would be best to wait to tell anyone 'til you're out of the first tri and when you're feeling much better and on top of things? When you're sick and weary is when you really need to tell people. It was a man who made that rule.

So we are expecting baby numero tres. There. I said it!

Here's a shot of Jason shortly after Scarlett delivered that little white box with the news inside. Totally candid shot. He didn't even see me standing two feet right in front of him with our big camera. Look at what a happy and proud chap he is. Pure elation on that face. And in that fist pump.

And here below is another shot. Something from a horror movie. This is a choose-your-own-adventure story. You decide what his true reaction was.

We are happy. Grateful. And excited. Those feelings come from the long-suffering, eternal-perspective side of me; the person I wish I could be at all times. Because in reality I do want more babies. I want a big family. And envisioning another one of my newbies makes me feel all gooey inside. And then there's the here-and-now part of me who feels nothing but total fatigue and nausea, impatience and irritation with everything in the world around me. Thank goodness for us all, I'm mostly made up of that first version of myself. Phew!

*Truth be told we were planning to start "trying" this December/Januaryish. But turns out, mother nature works the same whether you are "trying" or not. So we were surprised to find out even though I guess we sortof shouldn't have been. I will say that Jason is feeling more smug and manly than ever. And this baby's coming in May! The little peanut didn't want to miss out on all the summer festivities. Can't say I blame her. Him. Or whatev.*

Early pregnancy works wonders for a marriage. Like, for example, I made him take me home the other night at halftime from the BYU football game directly after watching him hoover a brat-tail (A bratworst sopped in mustard and ketchup inside a maplebar donut instead of a regular hot dog bun). I just couldn't take anymore hubby-wife time after that. I think the first real evidence that this thing is for real was a few weeks ago on my birthday. We were at brunch. A fancy, delicious brunch with everything on earth you can imagine. And I was making the rounds, trying to decide on where I wanted to start. Then suddenly I started feeling nauseated just looking at the food. And nothing looked good to me. Everything made me want to hurl. And then Jason and I reunited at our table, after our rounds, and he had a plate of tortellini. Tortellini I somehow had missed. My mouth started to water, and I knew that was the ticket. I had to have that tortellini in mah belleh right then and there. So naturally, I asked him for a bite. And by "a bite", of course I meant, "the plate". Except that on my third bite, he gave his pregnant wife the death glare and said, uhhh.... get your own plate of it. On her birthday. True story folks. I hate to say it. He was starving. And he is NOT his best self when he's hungry. It's embarrassing how much we've had this argument about sharing food.

A meltdown ensued. Immediately. Lots of ugly-faced crying. Great heaving sobs. And there was lots of hugs and, "I'm sorry baby... I didn't mean it... I love your fingerpaintins'..." on his part. Except that I knew that he meant it. I knew that my eating off of his plate was really chapping him. Even under the circumstances. So I couldn't forgive him for quite some time. Two days later:

Lucy has also been kind enough to tell me, every. single. day. while plunging her little hands all around my mid-section (emerging gut and love handles), that the baby is getting bigger mommy! It's getting SO big!! Your tummy is growing so big! What a dear heart. The baby is now about the size of kidney bean so obviously my stomach should be getting bigger silly! My advice is not to tell your 3 year old you are pregnant until a little later on. Because also, every single day since, she has asked me if the baby is ready to come out yet, and tells me to, Push her out mommy! Push her out! She's really excited. Might be the one who displays the most unrestrained pure joy over the news as of late.

We flat-ironed her hair the other day and she was more than fond of herself. Gazed like this for at least 15 minutes.

I've been feeling extra tender and crushy towards Scarlett lately. Because SHE IS MY BABY. And there's always a slight sense of betrayal at first. It's not as bad this time around as it was the first, but it's still there. And I still cry about it.

One of my favorite things that Scarlett does as of late is she puts her own shoes on. On the wrong foot. And it's usually one of her shoes and one of Lucy's. It's really flattering.

The good news is, my girls are busy as usual, and I'm happy to report this weird thing that mom is going through isn't dampening their moods nor slowing them down a single ounce. There are still princess bombing zones about every 3rd step in our house, so it sure is a relief for me. I wouldn't wanna have less to clean up after.

And I'm also happy to report that it's making Jason appreciate my chipper moments more than ever. Actually, not just my chipper moments... but just personal hygiene in general. I showered once last week I think, and got right back into pajamas afterward, and he came home from work, looked at me and while doing a little eyebrow shimmy said, "Well, well, well... don't you look nice." Poor chap. Feel bad for him. But not really. Who am I kidding?

Seriously though, I want you to know that bringing babies into the world is by far the best and most thrilling thing I've had the privilege to do in my whole life. I don't want the Lord to think I'm an ingrate. So keep 'em coming, Father in Heaven. Watching them grow into the little people that hug on my legs and laugh at me and kiss my face and pull my hair has truly been something wondrous. It is surreal to know that no matter how many times you do this, every child is a completely unique individual. With a different combination of strengths and talents and challenges to face than anyone who's ever lived on earth before. And physically, hubby and I get to see a different rendition of our genetic recipe every single time. It's pretty mind-blowing. And humbling. And exhilarating.

Here's to our soon-to-be family of 5! Cheers!