Nothing like a stomach bug to start off the new year right. After 12 hours of vomiting, and 36 hours of gently convincing my stomach to keep food down and gradually climbing out of bed, the worst is over. I’m down 8 pounds after the whole ordeal (my maternity pants are suddenly falling off of me), which combined with the 3 pounds I’ve lost overall since becoming pregnant means I might be heading for a stern talking to by my OB this month.

Naturally, I hoped to wake up this morning feeling better, and I did, at least as far as my stomach is concerned. But I now seem to have developed a massive head cold overnight. So. not. fair.

Baby #2 seems to have weathered it all OK. I was a bit worried at first – I didn’t really feel any movement at all yesterday or the evening before, but today I felt a few twitches to let me know she’s still OK.

Any real thoughts on resolutions for the new year were pushed out of the way by ponderings of what I did to piss off the gods of health. If I were to come up with any resolutions, they would be to perform more random acts of kindness this year, and be a more upbeat person, all in an effort to refill my karma meter, which has clearly strayed into the red zone judging by what I’ve been dealing with lately.

In the meantime, I must work on breaking my dear, sweet toddler of her newest habit. She’s somehow picked up the word “help” and now, whenever we do something she doesn’t like (such as tell her “no”), she will cry out, “Help! Help!”

While harmlessly annoying at home, this new game is no fun at all when out in public. Like when we’re out shopping, and we walk past the toys without stopping to let her grab them, and she yells “Help! Help!” to everyone passing by.

Or imagine trying to order food at a drive-thru, while your toddler is drowning you out in the backseat, yelling, “Help! Help!” as if she’s being kidnapping. Yeah, that happened today. As I was driving home, I wondered if the drive-thru attendant was copying down my license plate to call the police on me. So if I disappear for a few days, know it was all Cordy’s fault for crying wolf.

Not too long ago, I lived my life like a little Pavlovian pup. My cell phone would ring and an editor would be on the other end of the line, telling me about a shooting at a local church, an Eric Rudolph arrest, a Terri Schiavo court battle, a family that lost their son in the Iraq War. “Can you get over there and find out what’s going on?” these editors would ask me. And I’d always say yes, all the while mentally preparing myself for how I’d drop what I was doing – the leisurely morning with the husband, the in-law visit, the plans with the girlfriends – and get myself into indispensable get-to-the-bottom-of-it mode.

Being pregnant with my first child did not stop me from carrying on like this. Seven and a half months along, I covered a story about a woman held hostage by a courthouse shooter. I drove two hours to Augusta – The soundtrack? My constantly ringing cell phone. – to cover a press conference where the onetime hostage asked the media to leave her alone. It was cold outside that night, and colleague of mine told me I shouldn’t even be there. “Why?” I barked at him, knowing what his answer would be. “I’m pregnant. I’m not dead.”

Or was I?

A month later my water broke at the end of a day when three news outlets called me about covering the story of a missing bride-to-be. Halfway through the calls, these editors realized I was “due to pop any day now” and decided not to send me out on the assignment. “Come on,” I said. “I’m not due for another two weeks. It’ll be fine.” They begged to differ. And before long, the phone stopped ringing altogether. Meanwhile, I was full of that terrible little feeling you got back in grade school when you weren’t picked for the kickball team; you want to be in the mix, but you’re forced to sit there and watch.

Though I didn’t know it at the time, these editors saved me from myself. Hours later, I was in a hospital gown, readying myself for the womb-cracking effects of the Pitocin that started dripping into my veins and for a life that probably wouldn’t resemble the one I knew before I walked through the hospital doors.

For the first time in years, it was time to turn my cell phone ringer off.

It has remained that way ever since, thanks to a little hazel-eyed bundle who helped me slow down and recognize that the most important call to answer was her own. These days, I don’t jump into action – and out of my own precious existence – every single solitary time the phone rings. Thanks to my daughter and husband, I’ve learned that it’s possible to be a good reporter and still tell an editor “No. I can’t work during the holiday. I’ll be spending it with my family and friends this year.”

Paige Bowers is an Atlanta-based freelance journalist whose work has appeared in The New York Times, TIME Magazine, People and Allure. But her proudest accomplishment is her 20-month-old, duck-loving daughter, Avery Lane. She blogs about life with this tough little boss at The Avery Lane Experience, which is where you can find Christina today. If you’re interested in participating in next month’s Blog Exchange, click here for more details.

When I found out I was pregnant in September, one of my first thoughts was: how do we prepare Cordy for this?

She had just turned 2 at the time, and while her grasp of language is pretty good for her age, we figured we wouldn’t tell her right away. Since then, I’ve tried to explain to her why mommy can’t pick her up as much (besides the fact that she’s 33 or 34 pounds solid), and why she can’t sit on mommy’s tummy. But she still shows no signs of comprehending what I’m telling her.

Then a few months ago, there was a special on Nick for the Blue’s Clues 10th anniversary, and it covered the topic of having a sibling. Meet Blue’s Baby Brother is still Tivo’d, because it is something she likes to watch at least once a week. I’m used to her walking up to me, looking up at me with pleading eyes, and saying, “Bwue’s budder? Bwue’s budder?”

So for about a month now, I sit with her when she watches it, and tell her, “Cordy will have a new family member, too.” We didn’t know if it was a boy or girl yet, but I knew that if we had a boy, we could keep using this program to prepare her for a little brother. I was even planning to buy her a Blue’s Clues shirt that features Blue hugging her little brother, saying, “I love my brother!” if it was a boy.

Well, now I need to look for another way to explain it to her. Because it looks like she’s going to have a little sister.

The doc is about 95% sure it’s a girl.

The ultrasound yesterday showed a perfectly normal baby, growing at just the right rate. Unlike Cordy, who at her 20 week ultrasound was moving around so fast the doctor couldn’t get much of a look at anything, this baby was mellow and stayed still – too still, even, which made it hard to get a look at everything. Her knees were pulled up, making it hard to look at “the goods”, but the doctor and I both saw the trademark three lines (indicating a girl) at different times. It’s possible we’ll have another ultrasound in a month or so, to confirm that this is indeed a girl.

Aaron and I are happy about having another girl. While he was leaning towards wanting a boy, we certainly don’t mind saving money by reusing all of Cordy’s old clothes and toys. And it will be fun to see the relationship between sisters. I had a sister who didn’t survive infancy, as well as a half sister who is much younger than me and I saw only a few times a year, so I never got the chance to experience that sisterly bond.

So, anyone know any good DVDs to prepare a child for a new baby sister?