Her name is Ella, and she is Hell on wheels. After Sophia was born, and after all that we went through, and how extremely fortunate we were, and how totally fat I am, we decided that we were done having children. Around Christmas of 2006, I was flipping through a catalog and saw an amazing pirate ship bed with treasure map sheets, pirate blankets and a big anchor pillow. I decided immediately that I must have this, and knowing full well that my husband would never give up our king sized bed to live out the rest of our days slumbering in a twin sized boat bed, I just decided we should have a son and make him a pirate room.
Of course, there was more to this decision than just that.
We wanted a sibling for Sophia, and I desperately longed for the experience of a healthy full term pregnancy. (Also I really wanted that bed.) So after mozzarella sticks for three on a Valentine's date at T.G.I.Fridays, the deed was done.
We found out at THIRTEEN WEEKS, thanks to some dandy new test, that the little scallywag was indeed another little lady in there(no matter-she's gonna love the bed or walk the plank.)I sat on the couch for four straight months, and got a shot in the tush every week so as to ensure that this little bugger would be fully cooked. I found out that I was the proud owner of one bicornuate uterus (which gave new meaning to the song heart shaped box) And, I found out promptly in week 26 that I hate week 26, and all the weeks that come after it.
Ella was born to-be-bad-on October 25th, 2007, five years and 63 pounds later to the day of our wedding. Joe wanted to choose Halloween for the date of our c-section, but I promptly reminded him that I would commit the act of murder on him if I did not get the first available surgery date. The past two and a half years with Ella have been interesting, if not mentally debilitating. She is the other of three loves of my life, and I wouldn't trade her for the world.
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