Oops… I did it again.

Oops… I did it again.

I’m ballooning. Eating my feelings. Freaking out. The sleepless nights are all too common. Oh and have I mentioned I’m panicking? I’m panicking.

 

Everyone keeps telling me how the second time around the parenting merry-go-round everything is that much easier. Yes, I haven’t been worrying about things like having too much caffeine, forgetting to take my folic acid or accidentally bumping my bump like the first time around… nah, none of the cute first-timer stuff. But this time, the ride wasn’t just choppy – at times, it felt like it was simply out of order.

 

A debilitating morning sickness that left me with sciatica, constant pain due to a broken tailbone from the first delivery, an umbilical hernia that only further limits movements and constant coughing (thanks to having a toddler in nursery) means that every time I have a fit, all of the aforementioned injuries kick in AND I pee, like, a lot and like everywhere. So classy.

 

Perhaps what handicaps me the most, however, is not having the warm fuzzy blanket of naïve new mother daydreams to huddle under. This time I know what’s coming. I can’t lose myself in a la-la land filled with imaginary peaceful cuddles and long, meaningful stroller walks because I live in fear of the sleepless nights and blood curdling screams. And last time, I had so much love to give. Now I feel like I’ve given every inch of my heart and being to my two-year-old son and I can’t imagine scrapping together leftovers for this poor number two.

 

That’s the other thing. I feel sorry for everyone. I feel sorry for my toddler who has been given so much undivided attention he’s pretty confident of his status as king of our household. His world is about to be shattered. I feel sorry for our newbie on the way who’s getting everything second hand, including many of his experiences and our emotions. At this point in my last pregnancy, I knew what my baby was going through every minute in utero. This time, I keep referring to ‘My Bump’ app just to remind myself which week of pregnancy I’m in. And I feel sorry for myself. I’m freaking out I’m about to lose sight of myself all over again, physically and mentally.

 

At the same time, I didn’t miraculously get pregnant – I planned it and for good reason. Despite the chaos, this whole motherhood thing actually makes me ridiculously happy. Maybe it’s worth ignoring what other (more experienced) mamas say sometimes and just live in blissful state of denial. I mean, surely it exists for a reason, right?

 

My boys will survive. Yes, jealousy may bring out some biting and pinching fits, but I am giving them brotherhood, a partner in play and if we’re lucky, a bestie as well. Yes, I may already have a son, but (as my social media mamas always remind me) love doesn’t divide, it multiplies. The fact that I’m least expecting it, will probably have me even more head over heels and whipped than ever with my number two. And yes, everyone tells me that adding a second to the mix doesn’t double the work, it quadruples it — but the experience I have as a mama has got to count for something. I’m just going to go ahead and insist that this time I’ll be prepared considering I’ve been through the storm once before.

 

Maybe I won’t have a meltdown this time.  Maybe I’ll be calmer and more prepared. Maybe I’ll react to each new trial and misadventure with the measured temperament of experience and wisdom. Or maybe I’ll still have no idea what I’m talking about or what’s coming my way. But like so many mamas, it feels so good to pretend.

Wish me luck.