This week’s guest blogger is Kim McDonald, a wanna be blogger who spends her free time searching the interwebs for all things baby and celebrity. She started a blog when she realized her husband wasn’t very good at pretending to listen. A self-confessed wanna-be celebrity stalker, Kim is also a Google addict (Google knows everything) and wine aficionado. You can read about Kim’s days of sitting at home watching soap operas and eating Bon Bons at Two Bugs and a Blog.
When we found out we were pregnant with our first child, there was a subdued elation. We couldn’t wait to tell our friends that finally, after many years of trying, we were finally going to complete our family. Our son came a little early, but he was perfect. We were perfect, just the three of us. So perfect in fact that Hubs and I decided that we should treat ourselves with a trip to Vegas to celebrate that—in the six awesome months our child was with us—he and we had survived.
So off we went. My mom had the pleasure of getting her gorgeous grandbaby all to herself for four whole days, and we would finally get to sleep in for four days.
Yet something in the back of my mind was telling me that something may not be as perfect as we thought. Our trip was wonderful, but I didn’t get to enjoy it quite as much as I should have. We got off the plane, and I knew we had to make a stop before we got home.
Yup, I was pregnant again. How the heck could this happen?! I was actually afraid of telling Hubs this time, with our first child only six months old. We weren’t going to have any more kids.
So after cuddling my baby to bed, I came downstairs. One look at my face and Hubs knew something was wrong. We had had a great time; everything went well with my mom babysitting. I sputtered the words out, not sure what to expect. There was silence, some mumbling about us having to move, and just general disbelief.
I went upstairs to bed to try and deal with my own feelings on the entire situation. When he finally came upstairs to join me, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I googled it.”
“Googled what?” I asked.
“You’re still nursing. You’re not supposed to get pregnant.”
I laughed out loud and said to Hubs:
And now we’re a perfect family of four.
What’s the spacing between your children, or between you and your siblings? How has that worked out?