“Smile, E.” Own it.
I told Brandon that I feel like Oscar’s getting jipped. When I was pregnant with E, he was all I thought about. Now he’s still all I think about (other than milkshakes). Sometimes I forget that I’m pregnant, until I collapse horizontally onto the couch and remember why I’m so exhausted. I want to dream more about him. About what he’ll be like, if he’ll be a participator like his papa or an observer like his mama. If he’ll run circles around the coffee table whenever football is on the TV, or if he’ll keep stacking blocks on the carpet, one on top of the other. If he’ll go with the flow like his brother, or if he’ll be spirited and stubborn all his own.
I guess I’m less enchanted with the whole growing-a-human thing this time. I’m not supposed to say that, but that’s how I feel. Maybe it’s because I just want to meet him already.
Two kids by 23.
Rest assured, Oscar Maxwell — you are so loved and much anticipated.