Here we go again on our own.

She's kicking. I can't believe I have the ability to create both kinds of genetailia. I am a medical wonder! (Cue Natalie Merchant song.) Maybe I should back up a bit. It's been a few years since I did the whole personal blogging thing.

Getting that job at City Pages led to a lot of freelance writing which led to a whole lot of neglect on the personal writing front. Also, I didn't so much feel like writing more about the bummer stuff in life.

On here, I strived for gratefulness. I struggled to understand why we were so stuck, there was so much awful, but... after Julie died, we weren't through with the struggles. A year later, we lost Matt's older brother Paul to suicide. There was more awfulness.

I remember sitting in my car (that would eventually be repossessed after breaking down and requiring $3,000 worth of repairs) sobbing, "WHY!?" Why couldn't either of us get a full-time, livable wage paying job? Why couldn't we catch a break? Why was everyone around us still dying? The war we waged against grief and poverty and hopelessness only lifted somewhat recently. And now, I'm confident, we've made it through.

Matt's job sustains us. As of... now. Like, right now. Just a month ago he got another raise that lifted us to livable income. We moved into an adorable house with a loft in Vinny's bedroom, a backyard with a firepit and a neighborhood filled with awesome people. Sure, we got robbed when we first moved in, but as is the case, our friends and family lifted us up.

We could not have made it through everything if it wasn't for the deep love of family, our steadfast friends and most of all - our moms. They paid our rent, dried out tears and shared in every small joy we found as we pulled ourselves up and out of a chasm of all the awful life can chuck at a couple.

And then there is my husband. He saved me. Saves me. Every day of being married with him, I know that there is no one else I'd rather face that steaming pile of manure that was the better part of 2009-2012 alongside. It was rough, but we're here and we always laughed. We laughed through tears. He and his family saved me and my little boy from falling into The Awful.

Speaking of the boy, he is awesome. He's the kindest kid I know. And he's hysterical. I know I'm biased, but he really is a wonderful person at his most basic core. He's five and a half now and such a fully formed, awesome version of himself.

It was probably three years ago when we decided we wanted another baby. It didn't exactly happen right away. I half heartedly tried to talk to a doctor, but she told me I would have to lose at least 15 lbs to stand a chance of conceiving... and honestly, at my age? Ahem. She sucked. I believed her and internalized the shame which meant I didn't go back to the doctor. Awesome.

When we found this house, I knew it would be next to impossible to fit another person in here. I figured we were done, so that was fine... We'd be fine. Vin is pretty much perfection and our family was whole as we were.

Then I kicked off a cocktail blog - which meant a lot of booze tasting - which, I'll be honest, was fun. It was another step into life with one kid. Fine. We were fine. I left City Pages and took a job editing Eater Minneapolis.

Then, we took a fateful trip. Vinny stayed with family for three solid days - this had never happened before. (He wasn't a strong sleeper. He wasn't consistently sleeping through the night until he was over 4. That is FOUR YEARS of me not getting 8 hrs a night. Ugh.)

So, through the magical powers of an extended weekend of eating and drinking in rural Wisconsin, driving down country roads and remembering just why Matt is my favorite travel buddy, I came home with an extra souvenir.

A couple of weeks later, I was at the bus stop for Vin's first week of Kindergarten. The extended summer hangover just refused to lift. I was chatting with my lovely neighbor - an awesome mom of two of Vinny's new best friends - a boy and girl who live on our block, when I heard myself say. "I'm just tired all the time -- and now I'm nauseous!" Ding! A very tiny, dim lightbulb popped up over my head.

But, no, it couldn't be.... no way. I went to the bank and then I went to Target. I was determined to pay cash, because I knew if I bought a pregnancy test on my card, I was guaranteed a baby coupon book showing up in my mailbox 8 months from now. When the test was negative - which I was certain it would be - I would be heartbroken twice. Again. Because, I was too old and my weight fluctuates and I'm just not that lucky.

When the plus sign showed up, I honestly could not believe it. Matt was out of town - same as when I found out the last time I was knocked up! This time, he wouldn't be home for over two weeks, possibly three. This summer he was gone all the time - he is doing so well at his job, but one of our new sacrifices is that when the weather is good, he is gone.

I called him as he drove to North Dakota. "No shit?!" He laughed. A lot. "I always wanted to give you another baby!" Well, he did. Him and Wisconsin.

The first trimester was rough. I was way sicker than last time. The nausea just hung out all day every day, sweeping waves of wanting to barf.

I also found a new doctor. Longtime followers will remember that I had basically the worst midwife EVER for Vinny. He was delivered by a doctor that I'd known for about 10 minutes before the surgery. We never formed a relationship...

Anyway, another fun family thing we've contended with in the past couple of years was that my sister in law faced down breast cancer. She did it all with grace and an intact sense of humor - she handled it all as only she could. Since she'd had to spend all this time at one clinic and still liked the people there, I figured it might be a good spot for a gun-shy preggo.

This time, I have found my ideal doctor. She is sweet, personable - has never ONCE said I was anything, but that I am capable and doing great. In fact, when I mentioned my past troubles she made a disapproving face and said, "You are NOT too old or overweight. That is ridiculous!" And even though my age does put me in the extra-mature pregnancy category, she eschews the words "geriatric pregnancy." She is awesome and gives me all the information, before supporting whatever decision I make. Best of all, when she hears my baby's heartbeat she always breaks into a huge smile and says, "Perfect." I know it's a word doctors aren't supposed to say, but it salve on my sunburn. I love it when she says, "perfect!"

And, so far, it's a perfectly manageable pregnancy. I'm eating well, completely freaking out about where we are going to put this kid in our up-until-now perfect house and enjoying the kicks and squiggles going on in there.

New Year's Eve day we went as a family for the ultrasound. Vinny was hoping for a brother and I guess I kind of was, too. This is hysterical given last time I was certain I could only ever be the mother of a girl.

"You've only got this guy?" the cheerful tech asked as she moved the wand over my goo-covered belly. I said yes and she said, "Well, now you're going to have a girl, too." A sister!

For a moment, Vin was sad. I could tell. But, he swallowed, considered that many of his friends are girls and said, "I wonder what color she'll be?"

"Probably the same color as we are," Matt answered. Probably.

She.

She of the perfect heartbeat and tiny bird legs that don't stop moving. She will be a handful. I'm sure of it. She will be of us. She will be ours. She will complete this little family. And she will be named for the two strong, amazing, hysterical, brilliant women who guided us through those dark, long years of Awful. She is going to be perfect.