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Forget boot camps and Insanity workouts! No need to waste money on barre classes, gyms or even yoga mats. If you want to burn some real calories, get your toddler dressed when you have less than two hours to get out the door, a limited amount of patience and a list of things to be accomplished out in the real world.

When Henry was an infant, I remember absolutely dreading having to put him in his pajamas before bed each night. My husband and I would argue over whose turn it was. We would do bath time, lotion, diaper and then he would go in his crib where I would brace myself for my nightly cardio.

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I am not a cool mom. Not at all. I do not have a smidgen of coolness in my mom body. And one day I will use it to make my children extremely embarrassed of me. And I can’t wait.

I know that when Henry is older, he is going to look back at this blog and be absolutely irate I shared so many stories about him with the world. He will probably ask me to delete them all and cry about how unfair his life is.

My response will be, “No way kiddo! Suck it up! This blog is like a time capsule of your adorable little life!” Then I will lecture him about how lucky he is that he learned to use an iPad as a toddler because all I had was Oregon Trail in the fourth grade.

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Over the past few weeks, I have noticed an increasing number of articles about postpartum depression. I think this is amazing. Postpartum depression is something so many women have struggled with but never talk about. And hearing the personal stories of other people’s struggles makes you realize that this is far more widespread than most realize.

I have been very open about my personal struggle with postpartum depression. But it took a really long time for me to get up the courage to put it out there. I wrote my first blog post, let it sit in my drafts for a few weeks, reread and rewrote it, nitpicked over it, and almost didn’t post it.

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It’s official! The Johnson family is welcoming another sweet baby boy to the mix! I will soon be outnumbered 4:1. This number obviously includes our dog, Newman Rockwell Johnson.

I am faithfully carrying on the Johnson family tradition of having boys. Four-year-old Ava has been the only girl out of eleven boys in the last nine decades on my husbands side of the family.

Henry, our two-year-old, acted like he was excited to have a baby brother when Logan and I sat down to tell him. We talked to him for the 800th time about there being a baby in mommy’s belly and he asked if there was a baby in his pajamas.

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Tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow afternoon, my husband and I will head to the doctor’s office for my twenty week appointment. We will get to see our sweet baby and hear his or her heartbeat and find out if we are having a baby girl or a baby boy.

I am so excited. I feel like finding out the gender of your child makes it seem real. Then you can really plan and decorate and give that little peanut a name and talk to it and get everything they will ever wear through their first year monogrammed with their initials.

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I had my first day of this pregnancy where I completely and totally lost it this week. Pretty much everything that happened made me mad or made me want to cry. When I realized how ridiculous I was being, I decided I needed to blog about it. That’s logical, right? Ha!

Really it was because I know all you other pregnant women have felt the same way. And sometimes it’s nice to share the irrational crazy that happens while forming a child in your womb. And by irrational crazy, I mean, I know I am acting like a complete and total lunatic but I could care less.

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I openly admit on this blog that I #MomFail all the time. On a regular basis. But there is one time of year when I #MomFail the most.

Yes, I have an entire season where my #MomFail reaches a new high. Where I wonder if I am totally losing my shit. Where my kid constantly looks dirtier than usual. Where hot dogs and fast food become regular diet staples.

And that season starts today.

Today is the first official day of high school baseball season. Actually, it is tryout day. So from now through the end of May/early June, I will see my husband approximately seven hours a week.

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These days, there are a lot of things that make me cry. I am sixteen weeks pregnant with my second child. My two-and-a-half year old, Henry, seems to be growing up way too fast.

What exactly makes me cry? Let me show you a list:

  • Anything
  • Everything
  • Commercials with puppies

That sums it up. Everything makes me cry.

I knew I was pregnant with Henry when I laid down on a Saturday morning to watch an episode of Glee on the DVR. It was the one after Cory Monteith had passed away. I literally SOBBED the entire time. Like, I could barely breathe.

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I am here to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Brace yourselves. This one gets messy.

Is it just me or am I the only woman that is not a cute, adorable tiny pregnant lady with a teeny baby bump? I am only fifteen weeks pregnant and I can no longer wear my old jeans. All of my t-shirts have turned into unattractive crop tops and my workout gear seems like it was patterned for a toddler. I breathe heavily when I walk up stairs and I groan when I sit down in a chair.


This photo is what I wish I looked like compared to how I feel.

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Many people probably wonder why the hell I write about everything in my life so publicly. Why would I air my dirty laundry for the world to read? Why would I post all the bad things I have done as a mom for my co-workers, acquaintances, high school classmates and random dude on the side of the road to read? Why?

Sometimes I ask myself the same question.

I get a negative comment or rude message and I get upset. I think, “Get your shit together Jamie. Why are you doing this? Everyone in the world doesn’t need to know about your life and your pregnancy and your toddler’s bad habits.

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