The differences started when we first brought baby girl home
from the hospital. When we had our son,
I had put painstaking thought into ensuring all the details were in place. There was the rocking chair where I would
nurse him, and the lamp was placed close enough to provide light for feedings
and changing diapers, but not so close that it would be distracting. The changing table was set up and stocked with
all necessary supplies in reach.
This time around, shortly after arriving home our daughter dirtied
her diaper. I turned to my husband with
a curious look and said, “Where are the diapers?” I wasn’t panicked, just genuinely interested
in whether we had actually purchased some.
They were in her closet, in the box, rather than organized neatly in a
diaper stacker that matched the theme of her nursery. So we cracked them open, dug up some wipes,
and set up a makeshift changing station in the living room (read: towel on the
floor). After all, who wants to go upstairs
every time you need to change a diaper?
When our daughter woke up for her first middle of the night
feeding at home, I realized again that I didn’t have a plan...and that I didn't need one. I drowsily grabbed the boppy pillow, propped
myself up in bed, and nursed her in the dark with my eyes closed. Much easier than walking to her nursery to
sit in the rocking chair. And that
reminds me, we don’t have a lamp in her room yet.
After we brought our first child home from the hospital, I
was obsessed with bathing him and keeping him clean, convinced that lotions
were what provided that fresh baby smell.
This time around, I am putting off bathing our daughter because 1) I now
know from experience that she will hate it, and 2) I love how she smells on her
own. I’m convinced it’s the sweetest
smell in the world and I would only ruin it with soap and water. She basically stays in a sleeper until her diaper
betrays its cleanliness, and the only bathing she receives is in the form of endless
kisses from Mommy.
Another thing that has subsided somewhat is the general
paranoia of first-time parents. Of
course, I don’t sleep as soundly as I did before, and I’m constantly worrying
about her temperature, comfort, safety, etc.
I hear every noise she makes and check on her to make sure she’s
okay. However, the sounds don’t alarm me. I don’t have a list of questions a mile long
for her next pediatrician visit, which somehow doesn’t seem as far away as it
did with our son. My Google history from
the past week isn’t filled with phrases like “baby startles in sleep,” “what
color should newborn poop be,” and “how long does it take a cord to fall off.” She’s doing her thing, and we’re figuring it
out as we go. And why waste time on
Google when I could be sleeping.
And finally, there has also been a major difference in the
expectations I’ve had for myself to bounce back from a serious life event. I am truly in awe of what my body was able to
accomplish – growing a human life for 39 weeks and 6 days, laboring off and on
for almost 48 hours, and then finally bringing a beautiful little girl into the
world. I know that recovery takes time,
and my body will slowly get back to normal.
I remember being horrified that I had to wear maternity clothes to my
son’s first infant check-up (hello, a few days after he was born! I mean seriously, give myself a break, but I
just didn’t know what to expect). When
we took my daughter to the doctor, however, I wore a fitted maternity shirt
because that little paunch was what I had to show for what my body had
accomplished a mere three days earlier, and dammit I was proud. I haven’t stepped on the scale “just to see”
how much I’ve already lost, nor do I intend to.
And while I feel good I also know that I’m just going to look tired for
a while. My color might seem a little
off. If I do try to wear make-up, I
understand it just doesn’t quite “take” like it normally would. I won’t often have time to blow dry my hair,
which all in all just means I won’t look like the regular me for a while. But that’s okay – I give myself grace, and it
is so liberating.
The profound love I have for this tiny little baby is
matched only by the equal feeling I have for her brother. That has not changed with baby #2. I am just as focused on giving her a happy
home and making her feel loved. However,
I now realize how many things are unimportant in ensuring those things
happen. Instead, my daughter and I will spend
our time snuggling in the jammies we both wore yesterday, and that is just fine
with me.
