My relationship with coffee has changed so much in the past few weeks. I’ve seen all these cliche mom posts about wine and coffee, but once you pop out a second kid something inside of you wants coffee 24/7. It’s just like the SNL spirit animal skit. We instinctively chop off our hair, drink a LOT of coffee and develop a taste for wine. I mean-I haven’t yet wanted wine *vodka cran girl*, but it appears to be my closest goal.
I have two kids, a minivan, and strong opinions on vaccinations. I am a 19 year old child in a 31 year old mother’s body. And it’s weird as hell.
I had my second child three weeks ago. A girl. Her name is Juliet. She has dark hair and newborn blue eyes. She’s a chill baby, but a newborn nonetheless. She wakes every few hours and has terrible gas pains. My labor was easy and quick. The worst part was the epidural. It was even more painful and time-consuming than last time. I can gage that by the fact that I (only once) yelled two of the nastiest curse words I’ve ever uttered. Yelling isn’t the correct word as I had no breath. Gasping. I gasped these words. It was bad enough that I felt the need to apologize to the anesthesiologist afterward. He forgave me. Mom says he was super cute. I can’t even picture his face, but if I had to it would have horns on its head. Once I reached 10 centimeters I sent my Dad out for Zaxby’s. I knew I’d want food STAT after it was over. By the time he returned, his first granddaughter was here. Push. Push. POP! Hello big girl! As I was pushing the team of nurses (because really, they are the ones who do everything) told me she had dark curly hair. Considering I come from a long line of blondes and my son was born bald I asked them to double check. “We are having an Ashlyn!” I notified my husband. She is our only dark-headed niece. They asked if I wanted to feel her head. “Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. No.” #ew
So here I am. 3 o’clock in the morning feeding my precious daughter and writing on my iPhone simultaneously because once you have two kids multi-tasking is a must. It is the only way to survive and feel like a person instead of a lazy dog nursing her pups. Second children are the reason the baby Bjorn was invented. Probably.
Introducing my new daughter to my three-year-old son went so much better than I had expected. Speaking of mom guilt, I had been dreading forcing my only child into sharing his parents with another. I am an only child and have no idea how it feels to not have my parents’ undivided attention. He was great. He brought her a Jessie doll from Toy Story and she brought him Woody. Wasn’t that thoughtful of her? Even now he wants her to read books with us and sing with us before bed. When she cries, he wants to give her a paci or he’ll say, “She wants me.” Jealousy is obviously there. He has told his dad to put Juliet down and pick him up-which of course, his father immediately did because Juliet really doesn’t care. He’s also compulsively poked her in the eye or smacked her in the face. At this point, I would feel more comfortable leaving her alone with my two 60 pound dogs than with Jack, but at least his jealousy doesn’t seem to be fueled by anger.
The most important difference between having our first and having our second is I’ve learned that having some time for myself is most important for my children. With Jack, I didn’t do ANYTHING for myself until he was about 3 months old. For the record, this was totally my own fault. With Juliet, I’ve already gotten away for a few hours to go to my friends birthday party (thank you, husband) and this weekend, I plan on going out again with my best friend Sarah. My best Macon friend, Amyre, has been so kind as to offer to babysit and while the first time mom would not have accepted this gift, the second time mom knows she needs something for herself. Anytime I leave my children I miss them and come back refreshed. It is better for everyone.
For now, waking up every few hours sucks, but I know there is a light. In a year, I’ll be reminiscing of these beautiful moments between newborn and mommy. I will miss her tiny body resting on my chest and the art of swaddling her wild little arms. I also hope to be somewhere in Spain with a stomach that does NOT resemble a deflated balloon appreciating life with my husband.