I’ve started this post about a dozen different times going a dozen different directions. Getting pregnant is so many things. It’s new, even if you’ve done it before. It’s funny, because you lose your marbles and control of the scale and sometimes your ability to not pee yourself. It’s spiritual, because never have I experienced the awe and wonder of creation as I have when I held my newborn baby girl for the first time. And every time after that, if I’m being honest.
And honesty…I’ve started down that direction, too. But it turns out honesty sounds a lot like jokes and sarcasm at this stage for me because humor is how I cope. So I’ve tried to take a step back, trim down my words and make them more socially acceptable and a little more positive.
But here’s the truth: we didn’t plan this. Matter of fact, we were taking some measures to prevent this, and yet, here we are. (As my sweet grandmother said,”Doesn’t sound like you were preventing anything to me!” Thanks Grammy…you do have a point.)
But the point is, the last couple months have been a complete and total shift in thinking, in planning, in expectations and desires. I would love to tell you that we tried and prayed for this baby for months, because that sounds more sweet and more noble. But the truth is we didn’t and I had nothing but tears when I found out. And not the good kind. The selfish kind that weren’t ready for life the change, again. I adore time with my little girl and I felt like I just stole something from her, from us. And selfishly, I wasn’t ready for my body to be laid down again. I was pregnant for 9+ months, nursed for a year, then 6 weeks later, got pregnant again. I could feel the weight of sacrifice bearing down on me and every selfish fiber of my being wanted to throw a temper tantrum.
The last couple weeks (months) have been an adjustment of all things ME. My plans, my ideals, my ability to live outside of myself. I truly never aspired to be a baby factory, but that’s what I feel like–married for almost three years with one kid and one on the way. And in the midst of it all, there is still thankfulness and a growing excitement. It’s a little bit like planning a vacation with kids. You know it will be fun and you’re really looking forward to it. But it’s a lot of work beforehand. And while you’re there…. And after coming home….
Hard. Work. That is life with littles and the season of having babies. It is sleepless and messy, full of teddy grams ground into your carpet and tears and uncontrollable emotions…for everyone involved. But it’s also fun and silly and simple. It’s growing and learning and so many little rewards along the way.
Sure, I would’ve like to have waited until Ruthie was old enough to change diapers to have another baby, but that’s not my life. And believe me, I will outsource any and all work as soon as I can; but for now, I will roll up my sleeves and warm up my lukewarm coffee 27 more times and I will just deal. Because having two under two will be overwhelming for a while, but I’ve been promised by so many moms that it gets better, easier, and they become friends. I’m going to hold you all to that.
It is, perhaps, easier on your body being pregnant a second time. And by easier I mean there’s “muscle memory.” My stomach muscles realized what was happening way sooner and just gave up. In my first pregnancy, my goal was to wear my “normal” clothes as long as possible-like it even mattered. However, this time I’m embracing the glory that is full panel stretch pants sooner and my ultimate goal is comfort because somehow I just don’t care as much. Or at least I’m working on that because comparison has the risk of making me feel like there’s something wrong with me during this pregnancy and I just refuse to obsess over it all.
So there it is. I’m wearing maternity pants at almost 15 weeks, I frequently cry for no reason, and I’m sad my time with just number 1 is coming to an end. I also stopped at a stop sign the other day to wait for it to turn green because my brain is the same mush as the oatmeal I made my toddler for breakfast that she refused to eat. This season is hilarious.
And it is spiritual. I’ve seen God at work in a million different ways, His purpose and plans and goodness. He has gently reminded me that this is His baby in His time and ultimately it’s all His way. Amen and amen.
But now that I’ve confessed it all…my fears, selfishness and the truth about our “planning”, or lack there of, I’m going to move on. No more jokes or sarcasm or my big-eyed, not blinking look when I tell someone they’ll be 22 months apart. This is it sister…time to put on your giant maternity pants and deal.
I’m moving on to excitement and positivity. To thinking about names and how we want to decorate the nursery. I’m moving on to embrace both my babies-the time I have left with just me and my first and the time I have while the second grows inside me. And what a miraculous privilege it is that we get to do this…again.
And even though she can’t change a diaper or poop in the potty or string a full sentence together, Ruthie is going to be a fantastic big sister. I’m sure of it.