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Second Baby: Back into Combat

Back into Combat…

As I await the delivery of my second child, I can relate (in a very small way) to an experienced soldier returning to battle.

Yes, I’ve done this before. I’ve made it THROUGH before, with lots of struggle but minimal collateral damage. But can I make it through AGAIN?

First Baby Birth Experience

My first delivery was fairly unremarkable, in the big scheme of things. I labored for over 24 hours, but had an epidural. Pushed for two and a half hours, but didn’t tear. I gave birth vaginally and both mama and baby were healthy.

Adult hands gently holding a baby's bare feet.

But as I lay my lumpy hospital bed, hours after giving birth, vagina, abs, thighs and, face burning, I felt like a cross between a soldier with PTSD and a sullen teenager. I couldn’t shake the feelings of sheer terror I had while pushing. I had felt like a trapped animal. That night, I kept thinking, “Why didn’t anyone TELL me it would be so awful?”

But of course, they HAD told me. My mom had described her three deliveries to me countless times and was the most sympathetic figure in the room as I delivered. Every silly TV show and movie depiction of birth has the woman screaming her head off in pain. But I suppose you can’t ever really know what your birth experience will be like until you’ve experienced it. Kind of like a plebe in bootcamp or a pilot in a simulator. You have to go through it FOR REAL to truly understand it.

With the Second Baby, You KNOW

And then of course, that’s the trouble when you have to do it again. Now, you really know how much it sucks.

And I’m not just referring to the actual birth. There’s also its aftereffects. The through-the-rabbit-hole feeling, where without an uninterrupted night of sleep, each day flows into the next, like one long, excruciating day. The actual anger I felt when I realized that despite it being 4 am, my son was up FOR THE DAY. And the resulting stress that new parenthood put on my marriage. We’d never used the “D” word before. But somehow, in the brain fog and frustration of sleep deprivation, every slight becomes grounds to dissolve your marriage.

Mother laying in bed with a newborn baby and her dogs. Tired mother.

My eldest is almost five now. I finally feel like a real person again. A person who has time and (somewhat enough) energy to pursue interests other than swaddling techniques and the best diaper deals on Amazon. A wife who has an actual equal relationship with her husband. A woman who has time for the occasional coffee date or phone call with friends.

Love Being Pregnant, Dread the Delivery

So what on earth inspired me to get knocked up and start the whole process over? It’s not something I can put into words. I love being pregnant, despite the yucky parts. I adore feeling this baby rolling around inside of me. I’m just not sure I’m ready for it to come out!

But like the veteran soldier returning to combat, the timing isn’t up to me. When this little one is ready, the battle will start again. Wish me luck. I’ll accept crates of wine and diapers.

Also, note to self, look up when to take newborn photos. I know those early days will blur together in a haze of sleepless nights and spit-up-stained shirts, but I want to remember how tiny they were. The curled fingers, the wrinkly toes, the weight of their whole world tucked into one sleepy yawn. Even if I feel like a mess, I’ll want something beautiful to look back on later.

**PS, no disrespect to actual members of the military, who I thank for their service. It’s a metaphor, people.

Back into Combat. Mother holding a crying newborn.

Jen
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