Saturday, 18 June 2016

Sorry I'm late... but I had a baby

So the good news is that the little smiley face turned into baby R! I freely admit I am completely in love with the little blighter but in the beginning though, I have to be honest, it was hard. And I don't just mean the exhaustion from sleepless nights, tantrums from an attention-seeking toddler and everything else that goes with having more than one child to be responsible for. I mean it was hard for me to accept the step up.

Of course, here was this beautiful little human being gazing at me with his huge blue eyes, fluttering those long eyelashes (that he got from his father by the way, not me, worse luck) and the love just flowed. There's no doubt about that but - I think what I'm trying to say is - I really struggled to feel like a mother second time round.

I have no idea if it was the fact that so many people, mainly those I'd remained friends with from my antenatal group, had said that the second birth was so much easier (and it wasn't) or that I expected things to be easier because I 'knew what I was doing' (hah) or that I put so much pressure on myself to be the perfect mother and hide from everyone the fact that it wasn't easier, it was horrific, and I didn't feel like I knew what I was doing, at all.


But then, that's me all over. I hate people to think I don't know what I'm doing. Its a development area, I'm working on it, don't worry.

Of course, when baby R started to sleep more, things improved. I had a good old cry on my mum's shoulder, and on S's shoulder, and I felt better. I stopped expecting so much of myself and I just let go.

I took a line from that famous poem and realised I needed to recognise the things I couldn't change (or couldn't do) and accept them. And I also decided that other people would have to accept a few things too. Like the washing up wouldn't be done. And the carpet wouldn't be hoovered, despite the fruit cake crumbs under the sofa, and no, Mum, I wont be growing any veg this year. Homegrown tomatoes would have to wait until 2016, or even 2017.

I decided that if little O was going to tip his blocks down the back of the sofa, then it wasn't the end of the world, and if they were still there when S got home from work, so be it. Life's too short. As long as we're all healthy, fed and watered it really doesn't matter that Fireman Sam's in the greenhouse and I haven't washed my hair in three days. I can do it at the weekend when S can watch over the boys for a hour. I have two beautiful sons who make my world a place worth being in and I love them for it.

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