I miss life before kids.

I miss life before kids.
I miss not being exhausted and sleeping all night.
I miss relaxing weekends and owning my time.
I miss making plans without having to think of babysitting.
I miss date nights and nothing being more important than my marriage.
I miss my husband and the time and energy we had for each other.
I miss intimacy without sleeping kids in the bedroom.

Honeymooning! 

I miss leaving the house clean in the morning and finding it clean when I get home from work at night.
I miss the gym and healthy eating and having the time to invest in these things.
I miss study and learning and being able to invest in me.
I miss work and productivity and performance reviews that told me I was doing well.
I miss new projects and morning coffees and colleagues to call on on tough days.
I miss days off and sick leave and annual leave and work-from-home-with-no-distraction days.

Getting stuff done with some of my former work colleagues.

I miss weekend plans without having to be home for nap time.
I miss wearing any clothes I want without worrying whether I can breastfeed in them.
I miss leaving the house with just myself and a small handbag.
I miss travel and adventures and holidays without needing to pack two cots, a double pram, a highchair and bags of toys.
I miss freedom and my life being all about me.
I miss having capacity, making progress, achieving and getting things done.
I miss going to the hairdresser without needing help and having to justify why I am leaving the house alone.
I miss dinner without food on the floor.
I miss home being a quiet place, an easy place, an escape where nothing is expected of me.

The lounge room in the first house we lived in after we got married.

There, I've said it, I miss life before kids.

And it's important to say this because so often we focus only on what is gained when we start a family and not what is lost.

But life is full and when something is added, especially something as wonderful as children, other things have to move to make space.

I shared this with my husband and he said, 'no, I love that we have kids, we've always wanted kids, life is way better with them, they give us and our marriage direction, we are so blessed'. And life IS better with them, that I know, and they DO give us direction and make our lives full. But I'm also allowed to miss sleeping all night and having a tidy house. It's important we talk about this because postnatal depression rates are high, the mental health of parents matters, and only sharing the rosy moments doesn't create space for parents to admit it can be hard too. Becoming a mum made me a new person and a better person. But it's ok to miss the old me sometimes too.

And just as I'm missing the old me, my daughter does something hilarious, and I remember that never before has my life been filled with so much laughter...

Becoming a mother of two. Pregnancy the second time around.

To be pregnant is to carry creation inside you. To realise that your body is not completely yours. It is to surrender to the mystery. To surrender your own control. No one can control if and when they become pregnant, you have no say over whether you carry a boy or a girl, you do not know for sure that your baby will be healthy, you do not choose what type of pregnancy you have – whether you glow and breeze through it or whether you struggle through every pregnancy symptom in the book, you rarely choose your birth. And once the baby is conceived inside you there is nothing you do to grow him or her, as you sleep little arms and legs sprout, tiny fingers and toes, skin and ears and lungs. It truly is life’s greatest miracle.

Pregnancy is very much a season of preparation, of waiting, of looking to the future, of letting go of the past. For your first pregnancy it is about you becoming a new person – becoming a mother. It is starting on a journey that is long and unknown, the only known thing is that you must commit to it, commit to the journey for the rest of your life.

And as I carry my second child I realise that even though I am already a mum, this pregnancy and baby is no less significant than my first and this little one will change our lives just as dramatically. And yet, despite this realisation I have felt that I have had so much less time and so much less focus for this second child of mine. Everyone says the second pregnancy is different. And it certainly feels different to me, (and I’m not just referring to how much earlier and faster my belly started to grow…).

My first pregnancy was a beautiful time. I was able to change my entire life so that I could focus on the baby that was coming. I wrote letters to my unborn baby (one which you can read here), I got acupuncture to prepare for the birth, I did prenatal yoga, I read and read and read about pregnancy and birth and newborns, I bought a pram and a cot and room décor, I wrote birth affirmations and drank birthing tea, my husband and I attended birthing class together, we met with our doula, we went on a babymoon, we did a pregnancy photo shoot, we had a gender reveal party and a baby shower, I sorted through piles of gorgeous newborn clothes that were given to us, I journalled so I wouldn’t forget how it felt to carry a life inside me. And all of these things were important to me because they acknowledged and celebrated the huge change that was about to happen and they prepared me for the journey ahead.

This time, I have actively tried to recreate that focus and calm that I had but it just hasn’t worked. Now I am more likely to read a book about toddler behaviour than about birth or breastfeeding. My first born is still the one that takes us through uncharted waters. I feel, that compared to my first, I have put very little time into preparing for this one. Yet she is just as significant, just as loved. So much of the preparation is not about the baby, but about me. Though it seems strange, painting a chest of drawers is mental preparation for the sleepless nights. This is the reason that when I made my daughter a santa sack for Christmas I felt I had to make two. My mum said, ‘I don’t really understand what the rush on the second one is…’ But it is about my mind moving from being a mother of one to a mother of two. It is about giving my second everything I have given my first.

But, though I would love to repeat everything I did for my first, I know that being pregnant with my second is simply different. It’s different for me and everyone else. It was different right from when I first told people I was pregnant. Because they have celebrated this before. Because they think I already know everything and already have everything. Because this time I already have a child to chase after. Being pregnant for the second time means getting a pregnancy massage and then crawling on the floor to pick up food my one year has thrown on the ground. It is trying to remember to tell my husband when our baby is moving so that he can feel her. It is loving the magic of carrying a baby inside me and not wanting it to end too soon.

Two weeks before my first daughter was born I went on maternity leave from work. It marked the end of something and the beginning of something new. It was significant and celebrated. It transitioned me to a time of waiting, it gave me time and permission to rest, to focus on me, to nest, to get ready. But when you are a stay at home mum there is no maternity leave, there's no break before the baby arrives, one season doesn't end before the next one starts. The world seems to think you will seamlessly transition. 

With this pregnancy I have noticed just how much of what is written about pregnancy, birth and newborns is tailored towards first time mums. Photos in baby magazines are always of a mother and one baby. Always. Magazines and books are full of advice like ‘get as much rest as you can before the baby comes,’ and ‘sleep when the baby sleeps', information about what to expect for a first time labour and birth. Perhaps by now we are simply supposed to know it all.

People have told me the second baby is easier, because you know what to expect. And yet, for me, it still feels just as unknown. The unknowns are two fold. Firstly, the baby and birth are just as unknown because they say every baby is different. But secondly, I wonder how the way I mother my daughter will change and how it has to. How will it be possible to sit and snuggle my toddler to sleep when I have a newborn? How will I entertain my toddler when my newborn needs cuddles and feeding on the couch?

I recently was reminiscing with a friend about my first birth, about how I had a birthing candle and so many evenings alone with my husband to prepare, how calm and lovely it was when I bought my first home from the hospital, how I could fully embrace the long days and nights of breastfeeding. And my friend said, ‘you have to let the first one go. This one wont be the same, but it will be beautiful in a different way.’ And it already is beautiful in a different way. Like when my one year old points to my belly and says ‘baby’. In some ways it has been easier because I have known what to expect, how to get through the awful days of sickness, and there’s been less preparation because I don’t need to spend as much time researching baby carriers. And in some ways it has been harder because the world didn’t stop this time when I got pregnant, because I have a one year old to look after and because, as I race towards the finish line, I'm reminded of what a big deal welcoming a child is, whether that be your first, your second or your fifth. 

Here's to the chaos of two kids under two.

Not long ago I was at a child’s birthday party. They had a serve yourself buffet lunch and as I tried to dish my plate while stopping my one year old from running off and unpacking all the ice and drinks from the esky I thought ‘how will I do this when I have a newborn?’ Seriously how do people manage two? (or more??) Surely you need two hands for one child?

As I emerge from the dark cloud of pregnancy sickness, I have started to contemplate life with two kids – a newborn and a one year old. Let me start by saying I am so excited to be having another one. The desire to have a second filled my heart almost the exact day my daughter was born. I remember a few months into her life when I was discussing pregnancy sickness with a friend she asked if I would ever do it again. And I said, "yes. I don’t know how, but I know I will.” And as my daughter grew and I saw how much she loved growing up with other kids I started to desire a brother or sister for her. Someone for her to play with the moment they both woke up, someone to fill our home with even more laughter. I have known, since my daughter was born, that our family was not complete, that there was someone we are still going to meet, someone who was missing.

But as it draws nearer I’ve realised I’m also a little scared about just how much life is going to change with two. And, though I think few people would realise it, for me becoming a mother of two feels bigger, or at least just as big, as when I became a mum for the first time. It feels bigger because in some ways one can fit into your preexisiting life. You can still meet a friend for a coffee (though admittedly it is getting harder now I have a toddler), you can still work and pay for childcare and come home with a profit, you can get a break during nap times, you can still do shopping because you only have to stop one child jumping out of the trolley, you can ask someone to mind them or leave them with your partner and take some time for yourself.

There’s so many things I’m scared of about having two. Some relate to the practicalities of day to day life. Like how do you clean the highchair and get out of the house when you have a demanding toddler and a crying newborn? How do you stop your life descending into chaos when you have a toddler that unpacks everything in the house, but you can’t pick everything up because your hands are full with a newborn?

And some relate to much a deeper fear of losing myself. Of losing who I was before I had kids. Of realising that I will be off work for much longer than I originally thought. Of putting dreams, like finishing my Masters, on hold. Of wondering if being a mum is ‘enough’ for me.  Of not having time for the things I need to do for me. Of forgetting my goals.

And there’s a third fear, which is perhaps more of a grief than a fear. And that is the grief that my one-on-one time with my daughter is coming to an end and that I will never have that same one-on-one time with my second child. Newborn days cuddled up on the couch breastfeeding. Knowing that this time around the cuddles will be so different – much less quiet, much less calm, likely to be either disrupted to stop my toddler jumping off the back of the couch or disturbed by her climbing on my head. In truth I love having one child. And before I had one, I don’t think I realised just how much one child can fill up your house and your heart.

I have beautiful memories of the newborn days with my daughter – time just the two of us. I do have a sadness that I wont have the same one-on-one time with my second as I have had with my first. I shared this with a friend, who is a mum of three, and she said, “the reality is that they are born into a different place in the family. For all the lack of one-on-one time they have with you they have so much love and colour and noise and life around them, it’s just simply different. They don’t know anything else and I have to say they are happier babies because of it. You will enjoy it too, all in a completely new way”. And I know that by having two my kids are not missing out on anything. That it is my grief and not theirs, that what they will gain is so much more than the attention they will lose from me.

I actually had a similar grief when we moved from a family of two to a family of three. Not straight away, but almost a year later when I was looking at photos of a friend’s travel with her husband. I realised that holidays will never be the same for us again. Well at least not for the next 15 – 20 years. And I felt strangely jealous, of her time, of two complete weeks just with her husband, of a season of life that I loved but that has past. I hadn’t realised that by adding something to our life, we’d have to say goodbye to something else.

And that is what we’re doing now, adding another life and more laughter to our family. But, it is rarely acknowledged that this means saying goodbye to something else. Saying goodbye to our family of three.

So, to process this, I’ve turned to the trusty internet. And I’ve found so many mums that have written things that have really encouraged me. Here are two of my favourite blogs about having two children:
www.scarymommy.com/the-day-i-fell-in-love-with-having-two/

www.ramshackleglam.com/2015/07/30/the-post-i-wish-id-read-before-having-my-second-child/

These posts, and others I have read, have addressed my exact fears, so I’ve learnt that I’m not the only mum who has these thoughts before baby number two arrives. So, because I haven’t got to the end of this story yet, because I don’t know what life will be like with two, I’ll end with words from Jordan Reid’s blog:

"...I don't feel like my attention is split...I feel like it's fuller, somehow. They say you don't just have "space" in your heart for more than one child, but that your heart actually grows with each baby...and it's true. 

And finally, there's this: life starts to feel like it's running more smoothly when a child grows older,  and of course the fact that he or she is more mature is part of it...but it's also because of you. Because you've come into who you are as a parent, and because you know how to be a mother and be part of a family and all those things that you didn't know the first time around. 

Don't underestimate how much you are capable of, or how extraordinary you will be when asked to rise to the challenge of parenting two people who completely hold your heart. 

You will be extraordinary, and you won't regret your choice for one single moment. I promise."

So, I'll hold her to that promise. Here's to the chaos of two kids under two.