It is no secret to most in my circle of friends and family that I’ve had baby fever for a while now. I think I was ready to get started on baby number two before my doctor was even done stitching me up on the delivery table. Pumpkin required no special monitoring of my ovulation cycle, no temperature-taking at certain times of the month, no extensive planning or medications; she just…happened (well, she didn’t exactly just “happen”, but I’ll save the “When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…” chat for another blog entry). My pregnancy was incredibly easy, except for some pretty heinous all-day sickness for about five weeks in my first trimester. I didn’t get stretch marks until the very end of my eighth month, and even those were confined to a relatively small area on my body, though it isn’t “small” any more. Some varicose veins were the yuckiest physical legacy of childbirth that are left on my body, but those can’t even be entirely attributed to the pregnancy; they tend to run in my family (so one might say that my legs were doomed eventually anyway). Despite a fever and a possible C-section scare during labor, we sailed through without complications. An all-around easy go of it. The icing on the big ol’ cake is that Pumpkin has been an absolute dream of a child. She is as sweet as a peach pie, funny, self-possessed (if that quality is even possible in an infant), intelligent, alarmingly strong, and the relative ease with which Captain and I slid into becoming a mommy and a daddy to her is still a popular topic at the dinner table (we also regularly have a similar self-congratulatory chat about how fortunate we were to have adopted our third puppy, Cody, rather than having let her slip through our greedy hands to another prospective adoptive family, but I digress…)
So, speaking of greedy, Captain and I are both pretty greedy folks in that we definitely want more children. The introduction of Pumpkin into our lives has been an incredible blessing, even from a social perspective. We now have another person in the innermost circle of love and experiences that our family is defined by. Its like we took the most interesting and special parts of ourselves and custom-created another member for our secretest of top-secret clubs. We get to share in the intimate process of watching another human being become herself, independent of us, though always inextricably tied to us.
Isn’t that the most exciting thing, ever?
Anyway, Captain and I bought her a new convertible carseat this weekend. This new seat will be her carseat until she weighs eighty pounds. As Captain was loading the seat into the car, he asked me, “You know what this means?” and the first thing that popped into my head (with the terrifying lightning-speed of neurons communicating within a brain afflicted by baby rabies) was, “two carseats means room for two babies in the car!” though I didn’t actually vocalize my thought. What Captain actually meant was that we’d only have the capability of transporting Pumpkin in one car now, since the seat that we got doesn’t actually have a base, and is possibly the heaviest carseat on the market, so we’re not going to be lugging it back and forth between two vehicles. The days of having two carseat bases, one in each of our vehicles, and the freedom to vary who takes her and picks her up from daycare are over. But our girl is going to be as safe as she possibly can be.
Read user reviews about the carseat that we purchased. Perhaps we’ll do our own review in a few months when we’ve got some experience with it.
For a future blog post; reflections on how doomed we are when it is actually time for baby number two…we’ve essentially used up all of our good juju with Pumpkin. Will the universe find balance by rocking our world with the second kiddo?