Things aren't always easier the second time around

As soon as you get married, the questions start. Every relative from your third cousin thrice removed to your Great Aunt Jo want to know when you'll be bringing a baby into the family. As annoying as the constant pestering can get, it's hard to blame them. I admit, I bug my married friends about their plans of the ovary variety from time to time. My intentions aren't to bother them, I am just legitimately excited about the prospect of a new baby to play with.

The only pestering worse than this, however, is the constant conversation that happens after you birth a child. No sooner does that child reach 3 months old than the entire family has barged right back into your ovaries again - figuratively speaking, of course. Because once you've started, you're expected to act as if your sole purpose is to cook and pop out babies like your families own personal baby factory - most enticing to those either too old or too young to produce on their own.

I've said since pregnancy, when I was experiencing 24/7 morning all day sickness that I would be waiting a solid 4-5 years for baby number two. This notion was perposturous to most, especially those pregnant at the same time as me, clamoring to be pregnant again by the time their little one reached one year old, but for me it was the only way it'd ever work. After all, I was throwing up so much and so often that I was barely capable of taking care of myself some days so how was I supposed to care for two babies at once? Especially when one was already outside of my womb? (Three babies if you count myself - which you should).

I am happy to report that none of those mothers actually ended up pregnant by their little one's first birthday, but I am still sometimes surprised by the number of people who had kids at the same time as I did, having another already. Aside from the awful sickness, I actually have several valid reasons for postponing postpartum round two. And they are even better than the perfectly acceptable "I'm f**king tired."

When all is said and done I'm actually proud of myself for how well I've done with my son. Not for a second am I going to pretend I have it all together (just this past week he gave up naps in his crib), but overall, I achieved what I wanted to. I breastfed my son for over a year, I cloth diapered for the same amount of time, I successfully kept him healthy for the entirety of year one, I made all of his scheduled doctors appointments, I made all of my own (mostly organic) baby food and I stayed home with him - and still do (something I never envisioned for myself). But now, with the impeding thoughts of baby number two eventually (see: eventually) coming, I'm afraid. I'm not sure if I can be as good of a mom the second time around.

It was exhausting doing all of those things. Obviously I did them for the betterment of my child's life, because I personally feel they are important, but the idea of pumping milk several times a day and spending hours peeling, steaming and pureeing apples sounds exhausting. Add in child number 2 (now 4 or 5) who is likely bringing home sicknesses from school and feeding my baby chicken nuggets when I'm not looking, and the task seems daunting. And then I'll spend my whole life feeling awful because I was clearly a better mom round one. (No, really, I will. I'm that type of person).

So before you ask me about kid number two, be sure you're ready for a loooong explanation. Because these are the thoughts that go through my mind when I think about kid number two, and if I was having a good day before you asked me, I likely may not be once this conversation is over.

-N.


Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.