I don’t know if I told you guys this, but in about 2 months, I am having a second baby.

Holy pajamas, batman.

I mean, if anyone was planned, it was this baby, let’s be honest here, but for some reason it has only recently begun to sink in that I will shortly be pushing crotch parasite #2 out of my cooter. And I couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

Aside from one niggling detail. At age 26, I will have 2 children. ChildREN. Like the transition from preschooler to kindergartner, for some reason this change feels huger than huge. Massive. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye I go from looking chic and trendy (let me dream, people) to wearing mom jeans with white keds. And have a muffin top. I DON’T WANT TO WEAR SENSIBLE SHOES AND SHOP AT KOHLS!!

So, immediately I decide that I must change something. But what?

The first thing that pops into my addled (but very typical female) mind is to dye my hair, which is my natural color for the first time in I don’t know how long. I envisioned a kind of punk rock hairdo in a funky style. Scratch that, dude. When I am NOT pregnant and/or nursing a boobfruit, I suck at dying my hair. I don’t imagine I’ll be ‘doing’ my hair daily for the next several months. When I do, I will reward myself with a rockin’ dye job, done by someone other than my husband. Oh yes, ladies, he does hair too.

The second thing that pops into my head is to get another tattoo. Now, before I got pregnant with this one, my late birthday present for myself was going to be a new tattoo. As it turned out, turning 26 made for a sweet-assed union between the sperm and egg. If I can’t eat hot dogs, I certainly cannot get ink. Especially since I have a horrible reaction to the red dye and would be unable to medicate myself properly.

So I resolved to get the tattoo. But of what? And where? This is where my inability to be creative is highlighted: I have two tattoos. One on either foot. Both mean something extremely personal, and the last one came from an exact QUOTE from a conversation that I had with a friend. It’s not rocket science, my brain.

And this is where I turn to you, dear Internet. You see, I need your help. What else can I possibly do to stave off the inevitable mom-ness that will come with this baby?

P.S. I was completely unable to find a diaper bag with a skull and crossbones on it. I settled for having to make my own. It’s sassy as fcuk.