Since it's believed that Tim and Jenn read here, if'n y'all don't mind, I'd like to address some Tracker-related topics.
I'm short and I wear a generous US 18 or a skimpy US 20, and a unisex XL; and would guess Jenn's size a US 14-16. Jenn, regardless of your size, foundational garments are your friends. Panty girdles are not just for special occasions, they have helped my back a lot. If you have a ratty bra or one that you're spilling out of, a light-duty sports bra, such as the stretchy ones you find at Walmart, can be worn over the bra for a bit of lift. Avoid light-colored swimwear and don't be afraid to check out more "matronly" styles: you are a matron. And one thing we plus-size women have going for ourselves is that *only* we can carry off those long flowy dresses that overpower standard-size women. Look into A-lines, make sure the necklines are bra-friendly, and avoid pastels. Being taller, too, you have a little more freedom with accessories than we shorties do, and can wear brighter colors.
You can drive, Jenn. Whatever this schtick is, needs to be gotten over. You and your husband will soon have to work as a team and divide up child-raising duties. You MUST be self-reliant and ready to do this. And don't think that Tim gets off Scot-free either (with no offense meant to the Scottish participants of this board): he thinks he can do everything, he can't, and he's too damn proud or stupid to ask for help. And given the difficulties and risks that occurred during your pregnancy with Jackson, it is unwise to be planning a second: the risks to your health are too damn high.
I never had children, but I liked kids and was around them often; and now my nieces and nephews are slaying the whole parenting thing. One thing I know about having children is that THEY COME FIRST. That means that their needs come before your wants. If your child loves blueberries, y'all had no business going to a blueberry festival and NOT COMING AWAY WITH BLUEBERRIES for your son. Y'all had no business leaving your son asleep in a van with a stranger, subjecting him to the abject terror of waking up and finding you both gone. And IF you're using melatonin to make Jackson sleep so that YOU can do stuff, you might as well be giving him a shot of whiskey. He's too old to be sleeping this much; he needs a toddler bed, too, and a whole lot more listening to when he speaks: No means NO.
Y'all have never injured me and I still care for you. However, I ain't gonna kiss yo asses. Before you ruin any chance of Jackson having a normal life, it's time for you two to grow up. Pay your damn taxes. Turn off that damn TV. Put your damn clothes away. Count the cost of your choice of a career versus your son's well-being. Start planning long-term for your lives and saving for your child's education: you have the resources and no excuses. Sell the mansion, downsize, move back to Sanford, put that boy in daycare, and get him around his family. Dismiss the nanny and BE YOUR SON'S PARENTS.