In early December, while most people were scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping, I was scrambling for something else. Confirmation for why I was feeling so off. In my gut, I knew what that feeling meant. Tiredness, waves of nausea in tandem with waves of emotion … that only means one thing.

I am the Jedi of pregnancy. It took EPT five tries to catch up with what I already knew was happening. We were having another baby.

The first sign came when I melted down at my friend’s wedding in early December as she and her dad danced to “Isn’t She Lovely.” I attempted to pat my eyes dry, hoping no one would notice my hormonal display of emotion. When I realized everyone certainly had noticed, I blubbered to my husband and friends about how sweet it was … and how I used to sing that to my daughter, Tilly … and how that song brought back such vivid memories of our first days as a family

… and how my own daughter would be getting married one day.

My crocodile tears were met by crazy looks, especially from my husband, and the bride later told me she thought I was pregnant at which I scoffed because not even she had cried at her own wedding.

"I’ve learned that just because you’ve been pregnant before doesn’t necessarily mean you know what to expect the next time around.”

The next sign came a week or so later when I asked my hairdresser to cut more than 6 inches off my hair so it would hit just below my shoulders. She asked me if I’d thought about it before sitting in her chair to which I replied, “Not really.”

If you know me, or even more importantly, my lifelong hair struggle and the trauma it has dealt me, you know I don’t go to the hairdresser and cut off 6 inches without a second thought. After the cut and as I sat examining my fresh, new look, my hairdresser asked me if I was pregnant, again, at which I scoffed.

If there is such a thing as a plan when it comes to expanding your family, this was our plan. We wanted our children two years apart in age, which would leave a grade between them in school. And like any well thought out – or some might say obsessive – plan of mine, this one came to be. Baby Jordan is expected to arrive 13 days after Tilly’s second birthday.

I’ve learned that just because you’ve been pregnant before doesn’t necessarily mean you know what to expect the next time around. The second verse is not always the same as the first.

There’s still grand anticipation and the overwhelming feeling of excitement, but there are now days I don’t have time to stop and think about every step of this pregnancy and wonder about every detail of our new baby. I’m consumed with cooking dinners, cleaning house, working 40 hours and most importantly loving on our 18-month-old who’s already here.

My husband has also learned that pregnancy isn’t always the same the second time around. My morning sickness with Tilly was a mere blip on our overall pregnancy experience. This time around, I have gotten my fair share. While other women have certainly had it worse, I did spend the majority of my first trimester nauseated to no relief.

There have been many morning standoffs with my daughter’s smelly Diaper Genie, deep breathing through my nose and prayers that I could get through it without getting sick as I changed my daughter. And as my husband gently put it as he watched my morning ritual of near-vomiting as I brushed my teeth, “I’ve never seen someone almost throw up so much in my life.”

I’ve developed a slew of other new skills. Sleeping while sitting straight up is perhaps my greatest achievement thus far.

I’ve learned to roll my eyes and not get too hung up on weight, size and shape. When a free trial issue to Shape Magazine arrived in the mail a few weeks ago, claiming to help me drop 5 pounds in one week. I walked straight to trash compactor, tossed it and suddenly felt lighter already. At this moment, the only shape I’m working on is round.

I’m hoping others will be gracious and learn that my forgetfulness is unintended. Like when I accidentally posted a tale from my first trimester on Facebook without first telling most people I was even pregnant. I don’t imagine my memory is going to improve when our new family addition arrives either.

Like life itself, creating life is full of surprises. No two people are the same, so why would two pregnancies to be the same? I’ll take all of it – the crocodile tears, rash hair decisions, memory lapses and a loosened-up waistline – for the blessings of a new baby.