If only my pre-child self could see me now… I don’t think she would believe her own eyes.
Wearing one infant in front while carrying my 26 lb. toddler on my side, all while juggling an iced coffee in my free hand (yes, this would be the third of the day). Breast milk is splashed all down the front of my consignment scored tank top and since I haven’t had a haircut in months due to the fact that my infant came earlier than I had anticipated, I’m rocking the “mom-bun” on top of my head.
While there were nuances of these stereotypical “mommy behaviors” with my first baby, I made sure to go full throttle “mom-mode” with this second one. The odd thing is, I am proud of myself. I may not be in the body that once did hour-long hot yoga sessions or rocked a teeny bikini (or even shorts for that matter), but I’ve got a newfound confidence that being a second-time mom has given me.
With my first child, I was the quintessential “first-time mommy.” Everything had to be new. Everything had to be ready five weeks before my estimated due date. Everything was documented in a beautifully scrapbooked journal. Everything was perfect.
And then I had my labor induction and was thrown into this crazy life called “parenthood.” Top it off with the fact that my daughter was born in the middle of winter and flu season so I was terrified of going anywhere; she had insane colic which meant no one in my house slept for months; AND I was in severe denial of my postpartum depression which made what I thought was going to be a glistening, rainbows and unicorn experience absolute hell-on-earth.
BUT, my husband and I survived somehow. And we managed to endure the next two years weathering different storms and challenges.
Pregnant with our second child, I was armed with my arsenal of “I’ve got this!” I expected the morning sickness (that lasts all day every day for weeks). I knew I was going to gain weight and I embraced it. I jumped into my maternity pants happily. I knew my pregnancy hormones would make me anxious and paranoid and avoided Dr. Google like the plague.
I was exhausted due to the fact that I was working full time outside the home and chasing after a demanding two-year-old, but I was at peace with that because at the end of this journey I knew my family would be complete and I would have a tiny squish in my arms.
Due to some minor complications, my baby boy made his entry into the world a bit earlier than we expected. The night before my labor induction, I sat with my firstborn and realized with an overwhelming sense that I actually didn’t “have this.”
How would I handle two? How would I still ensure that my daughter felt loved and showered with attention? How would my husband and I function as a four-some when we had done so well as a three-some? How could I love anyone like I loved my first child? How could I survive the sleepless nights; another round of breastfeeding and pumping, teething, and ANOTHER toddler phase? WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO?
I sat with my daughter in my arms and cried silent tears for almost an hour. I was so ready, confident and sure… until it was actually going to happen.
My second labor was much like my first, except quicker. I knew how badly the contractions hurt and I breathed through them with the knowledge that eventually they would end.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the moment that my son was placed on my chest and it was in that second that everything clicked into place. I realized that I was already a “mommy” and I had everything in me to be able to provide another child all that he needed to thrive and grow. I knew there would always be mishaps and mistakes and guilt and regrets; but one thing was sure – my kids would always be loved fiercely and I would spend every day reassuring them of that.
About an hour after my son arrived to our family, my daughter was brought in to meet her baby brother. I held my two extensions of me and my husband close to me and I breathed in their scent; one so familiar to me and one so new. My family was complete and I was a mommy to two incredible children. I am proud. I am a mama bear. Here me roar.
So for those of you who may be thinking of making that leap from one to two, or two to three, and so on – stop thinking. You’re already a mom. Rock that mom-bun. Drink your insane amounts of coffee. And be proud. ROAR.