The pregnancy diary part was sweet: We filmed me every month or six weeks, and I showed my growing belly and talked about how far along I was and what the baby was supposedly growing that week. Awwwww.

It was cute and fun to watch until I got roughly to month 8.

Oh, good Lord, was that me underneath there? How was I able to stand without my spine cracking? Did my upper arms really get fat like that? No wonder when I went out in public people thought I was a freak show.

Then we saw sweet, smushed-face Sammy just after she was born, and OK, yeah, she was adorable. I remember gently rubbing the soft skin on her face and head, holding that wriggly little body tight so I didn't drop her, kissing her over and over and over.

And then, for the next 18 months, I look like I haven't slept.

Hair brushed? Negative.

Make-up? Negative.

Clothes that match? Negative.

Bags under my eyes, slow response time and a general look of malaise? Affirmative.

What is it that kept me from remembering that? Was it the sleep deprivation itself, or is there some sort of evolutionary amnesia going on here so that we'll continue to procreate and subject ourselves to this?

I know Sam will love watching this stuff when she's grown and having kids of her own, much as I wish there was footage of me when I was little and precocious. So it's definitely worth it for that -- although, for some reason, our constant filming dropped off dramatically around the time she turned 2 (maybe we were afraid of recording one of her most notorious tantrums for all time ...).

But for now, I'm thinking that video was a bad idea. I'd like to call a time-out with this pregnancy, please, and decide whether we need a do-over here.

Anybody else panic when you were pregnant with baby No. 2 or No. 3?