I know it might seem odd, but even though my days are chock-full of kid-related adventure and hilarity, sometimes I have trouble coming up with topics for this column.  Lately it’s because there is a topic hanging over my head that I have been trying to avoid.  I try to think about anything else that will illustrate the life of a mother of young children in an honest and humorous way, and still be legible.  After all, I could just send video clips of my 21-month-old son running circles around the house shouting “RUN! RUN! RUN!” and then tripping over his feet and whining “FALL!”  That sums it up right there.

But you know all about that.  You are mothers of one or more children, and they have all been young at one point. So even if your children are grown, I know you remember the piles of laundry, the leaving the house wearing pants that nobody should see on you, the days when you really, really, really meant to take a shower but somehow never got around to it.  Maybe those days fade in your memory, and you are left with the happy warm fuzzies when you think of the years in which your children were young? I know I want that for my future:  selective memory.

Even now the image of me holding my infant son while sobbing as hard as I possibly could because he wouldn’t take a nap, is getting harder for me to conjure.  While I cherish my son’s last days of baby-ness, I am looking forward to holding actual English conversations with him, and to the days after he is potty trained so I won’t have to change his diapers anymore.  The struggles of his infant days are definitely behind us.

Oh, wait.

This is the thing I have been avoiding writing about, but I feel I must, because it’s hard to ignore now that I’m wearing size L maternity clothing.

I’m six months pregnant.  In a wonderful coincidence, I share this condition with our intrepid Mommy Times editor, and our due dates are within 12 days of each other.  So because I know I’m not the only one who’s tried this more than once, I’m going to throw my observations out there for you to point your fingers and laugh.

I’m not sure if it was because the bad memories were fading, or because our first son was exhibiting particular cuteness during those months, but my husband and I temporarily lost our minds and decided to have a second child.  The Peanut (as we’re calling him was conceived after only two months of trying, which is much faster than our first time, and so came as something of a shock.  Since I was so very aware of my cycle and what days were which, I used a home pregnancy test after exactly two weeks and the line was very very faintly positive.  Even so, I knew it was true, and when I showed Stewart, his reaction was to smile and then strike a manly pose, because he was proud of himself for getting the job done.  (Not that I had anything to do with it!

Eventually we got used to the idea that there will be another infant in the house pretty soon, but I am still struck with the seeming impossibility of it all.  I mean, I still have moments when I think, “I can’t believe I have a child who is almost 2!” much less, “I can’t believe I am pregnant…again!”  The great likelihood is that this will be our second and last baby, so I am trying to cherish this pregnancy.

Boy, I wish I had thought of that last time. It was my first very exciting time being pregnant and it was all new and glowy and even though I was uncomfortable, I was awash with anticipation and everyone in the world was happy for me. This time I have been through morning sickness, bloating, fatigue, back pain, crampiness and hives, all while tending to a very active toddler who does not understand (nor would he care if he did that Mommy is feeling a little bit run down right now so can you please play quietly and stop pulling my hair/jostling my tender bosom/screaming so loud my brains are coming out my ears? This time I get comments from people like “Another baby? Wow, you’re so brave!” or “Two boys? Ooh, you’re in for it!”

Inevitably, the comparisons will continue. Between the first and second pregnancy, and the first and second children, no matter how much I try to avoid such comparison and treat each baby as an individual. The boys will be almost exactly two years apart, born in the same month. Screw the idea of separate birthday parties… I’m 35 now, people. I’m tired.

Being 35 when I deliver has also put me into a distinguished class of women called “Advanced Maternal Age.” Growing up, I was used to being advanced academically, and I was rather fond of the label. Not so, now. That birthday triggers a statistic and makes one’s risk factors sail through the roof, so more screening is called for. The only good thing about all the fuss is that my husband and I have been treated to extra ultrasounds. Mr. Peanut exposed his genitalia to us with no hesitation at about 18 weeks. I was blindsided: I was hoping SO hard for a girl that I never really believed it could be another boy. So I asked the doctor if there could be some mistake. I think she was offended that I questioned her judgment. “Well, it has testicles and a penis,” she replied, “So I’m 95% sure it will be a boy.”

At least I don’t have to get used to wiping different private parts. It was weird enough to deal with testicles and a penis the first time around — but now I’m a pro. Also I get to haul out all of Kyle’s adorable little baby clothes, many of which he grew out of before he even wore, and I get to use my know-how to love and teach another child. This time it won’t be practice. Maybe I’ll actually be good at it. Maybe we won’t have The Great Nap Wars, and my soothing motherly voice will be enough for this baby to happily drift off to sleep on a schedule that suits my needs.

Even more than being a welcome addition to our family, this baby will be a second chance to get it right. Or to screw it up completely. But at least this time I have lots of notes to look back on, in case my memories have faded too much to be reliable.

– Kim Tracy Prince

Kim is the loving mother of one very energetic toddler. She has worked on the hit show, “Bringing Home Baby.” Have a comment for our very blunt Mama? kim@themommytimes.com