Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Week one: take two

It’s been one week since we welcomed our baby girl into the world.  One week of rediscovering the snuggles, gassy smiles, dinosaur-squeaky baby sounds, black-to green-to-yellow poop evolution, and the downright joy that comes from holding your newborn in your arms and staring at them in awe.  I could do it all day.  For as many things that are familiar about having a second child, there are many more that have been different this time around.  I expected as much given what I’ve heard from friends and family with multiples, but starting to discover them for ourselves this week has been in general, well, freeing.

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. 

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