This ain’t my first time around, but time with my first-born went by in such a blur I thought I would document a few experiences with my second child. So here goes... 

Warning: This content includes references to miscarriage and baby loss. I am in no way a medical professional or a mothering guru. Everything I write is in relation to my journey as a mother experiencing mother-like things. If you need any kind of help/guidance, please seek the assistance of a professional. 

Day 1 - The Hospital

My brand-new baby girl, Samantha, was born mid January this year. As my husband put it, the delivery was ‘carnage’, but I was relatively happy with how it went as I opted straight for the epidural this time. With my eldest daughter, Evie, by the time I was screaming for pain relief the midwives informed me it was too late. I tell myself that I don’t know why I didn’t take the drugs with Evie’s labour, but deep down I know exactly why. For some reason I felt like it was the ‘easy way out’ and that if I was going to be a ‘good’ mum I needed to endure all of it. I needed to prove to myself and to others that I was tough enough to do this mothering thing. Classic first-time mum syndrome. Thinking it should all be done naturally and that I would be less of a mother if everything didn’t just happen as nature ‘intended’ it.

Anyway, back to Samantha’s labour though. I took the epidural and have absolutely no regrets. There I was having a lovely conversation with the midwife when she asked me if I’d even realised I’d had 4 contractions in that time. I had no clue. What bliss compared to the wailing buffalo noises I had been making earlier.

I had a lot of amniotic fluid that had to be carefully dealt with to avoid the cord slipping around Sammy’s neck, which meant there were overflowing buckets sloshing onto the floor as I pushed. My second born arrived, with her hands behind her back, surfing a wave of fluid and emerging from my hooha like Arial in The Little Mermaid up against that rock. Except this little mermaid squirt-pooed on the way out, contributing to the Jackson Pollock on the floor.

As they handed me my screaming, naked spawn, the first thing I looked for was her tongue…and there it was! So much relief, so much happiness. Maybe this baby would be a breeze compared to my first (my first had a tongue-tie and caused so much breastfeeding pain it actually instigated Bubs and Boobs Co. If you haven’t already, read about it here). They plonked her on me, and I finally felt my baby girl in my arms.

Some women say they felt an instant connection, recognition, and waves of love when they met their newborns. That has never been my case. It was actually a source of anxiety for me with my first child, that maybe I didn’t have the capacity to love as a mother. I now know that’s bullshit. I love my girls more than words can describe, but when I first met them, both times it was more like ‘huh, so that’s what you look like’. No waves of love—more curiosity. Same as it would have been if I met someone else’s new baby, except every now and then I would remind myself she’s mine and get a shock. I had a baby. I didn’t have a baby, and then I did. It’s a strange feeling to have your whole world change in an instant, but I now knew it was ok to feel strange; I just needed time to fall in love with her and wrap my head around the fact that I now had two children. 

My husband tiptoed around the ick on the floor and came round to meet his daughter properly. As strange as it was for me it must be 100 times stranger for dads, who haven’t felt the realness of the baby kicking them in the ribs and hiccupping under the skins surface for the last few months. He looked pale (I think he saw too much of the business end) and was quiet, but he’s not exactly the gushing type at the best of times and I knew he just needed time, like I did.

Sammy had been hard fought for. There’s five and a half years between her and Evie, and not because we wanted it. There was a painful journey in those years, filled with losses and emotional trauma. One day I might write a post about that too, as it’s a struggle so many women keep to themselves, but for now let’s stick to the happy ending. That journey, however, did mean I got to marvel when I took Sammy in as she lay on my chest. I got to feel it. My struggles were over. She was finally here. I had the second child I had been wishing for for so long, and so many times thought I would never get.

I think, for me at least, this was the main difference between baby number one and baby number two. With Evie, everything up until breastfeeding had come relatively easy. Then she arrived and I was in WTF mode, feeling like life was just chaos and a battle and that everything I was and knew was gone from me forever. It meant I didn’t really take it all in properly. Not to sound too woowoo, but I didn’t live in the moment. It was the main reason I wanted another child. I knew if I had my time again, I would want to really take it all in and not just live in panic land. And in that hospital room, I did just that. I marvelled at her. I inspected every fingertip and tiny fingernail. I looked for similarities in eyes, nose and mouth. I soaked her into me. In fact, I did that for too long…we sat in that birthing suite for ages, no midwives or anything. They just left us there until 6 hours later Chris and I walked out, baby in hand, and asked if we could go now. 

Eventually they settled us into a room, baby cot by our side, and as it was 11pm by that stage, once again we went to bed starving with no dinner, as we had with our first. I tried to get some sleep, but the plastic under the bedsheets and pillow kept squeaking, there were babies crying all up the hallway, and what’s with the hospital-wide call outs over the intercoms? As soon as my eyes finally shut, a midwife would waltz in and check on Sammy; doing tests on her and chatting to me as if it wasn’t 3am and I had just performed one of life’s most beautiful and exhausting miracles. It had been years since I’d done this, though, and I needed all the reminding of how to parent a tiny munchkin. When would all the midwife checkups be? And when were vaccinations due? How often do I feed her again? And wait, can you remind me how to swaddle? 

I had done this before, but I was back at square one. This time I wasn’t going to be so hard on myself. This time I was going to enjoy the moment. This time was going to be the last time. No more babies for me. This time was my time.

Continue on to Day 2 - Home Again