Ohmygod, I’m so good at this!
Everybody said that being a mother of two would be vastly different than being a mother of one, and boy, are they right!
The biggest difference? I’m so good at it! I know! I was kind of surprised too!
But seriously folks, I’m such a superstar. So far, we have made it through the following week-one milestones with absolutely no freaking out:
The projectile super-pooper
When Bee punk’d me at about 4 days old by squirting chocolate-pudding poo all over my hand, I reacted by withdrawing my hand in a flash of movement, sending the aforementioned pudding poo all over Chris, who was unwisely sitting next to me.
This time around, a) it only takes one of us to change a diaper and b) when the 8-day old mustard squirt came at me, I reacted by putting a diaper there as quickly as possible. Yes, I still got it all over my shirt, pants and bed, but not all over my husband. Superstar!
The holycrap-call 911-my-baby-is-possessed-and-choking-and-coughing-up-a-hairball day 1-3 hacking
We never actually called 911 when Bee did this, but do you parents remember the gagging, retching sound that a newborn makes while extracting the last of the pre-natal mucus from her lungs? Scared the shit out of us the first time and left me shaking for a day thinking that something very horrible had nearly happened to my child.
This time? I simply put her over my shoulder for a better throat-clearing position, and let my little kitten cough that hairball up but good. No shrieking, shaking or shock at all.
The nurse your baby laying down sleep deprivation saviour
It took me a good few weeks to figure this one out with Bee, and I was a much happier camper once I finally did.
Now? Dude, I just started nursing this one sitting up. Horizontal parenting is the shiznit.
The what-is-she-doing-what-does-that-mean-what-should-I-be-doing? newborn weirdness
No learning curve this time - I’m bilingual. I speak baby.
That tiny ‘o’ she makes with her mouth? She’s about to poop.
Eyes open, brow-scrunch when she was asleep a minute ago? She has to poop.
Just put a clean diaper on her? She’s gonna poop.
Neck-craning, mouth shut? She needs to burp.
Scrunchy face, hands waving when I thought she was asleep? Needs to burp.
Neck-craning, mouth open? Hungry.
Wildly stuffing both hands in her mouth, grunting and squealing? Hungry.
Really, it’s an easy language to learn – she either needs to poop, burp or eat. I was just a lot dumber the first time around.
The what-should-she-be-wearing-is-she-too-hot-too-cold-I’d-better-disturb-her-8000-times-to-be-sure-she’s-not-too-hot-or-too-cold ridiculousness
Bee was born May 2005, a very warm May. The first time I dared go outside with her when she was a few days old (we got as far as the back deck, how adventurous), I put her in a onesie, a sleeper and a light fleece bunting bag. Then I placed her in the bassinette in the shade and proceeded to poke her and prod her over and over again trying to gauge her temperature. I was so stressed out after 10 minutes that we went back inside and Chris called me a lunatic.
This time? Ok, well, she’s 9 days old and thanks to the c-section we haven’t gone outside yet, but I live in an old, drafty cold house and it’s December. And I’ve barely touched the back of my baby’s neck, trusting that in a sleeper, wrapped in a blanket and next to me, she’s good. We’re good. And I can’t wait to go outside, because I’m going a little batshit stir-crazy in the house, and when we do, by golly, I’m gonna bundle both my kiddies up, and we’re gonna have a crazy good time walking around the block or maybe to Starbucks. Nothing insane about that.
So to sum up:
Baby #1 – scary, confusing and hard.
Baby #2 – piece of cake, and I rock.
It’ll always be like this, right? Even when the painkillers wear off? Maybe I'd better save a few for when they're teenagers.