The Little Bear illuminated my life, The Warrior Princess made me fearless, and Little Church renewed my faith in “This Too Shall Pass.”
I was asked an interesting question last month. “Which was harder: going from one to two kids, or two to three kids?”
After making the decision to continue with pregnancy number three, I kept thinking “how much harder can one more be?” Eventually that thought turned into “I don’t think I’m going to make it. ” The physical pains which brought me to tears just about every time I had to walk or stand for long periods lasted right up until I gave birth. Each pain I had to push through because there was ultimately no other option but to push through them. This sentiment held true way past CJ’s birth.
I was so overcome with nausea, pain, and fatigue throughout the pregnancy that I felt a very limited connection to our little guy, which would later leave me feeling really sad and angry with myself. I didn’t have any dreams or visions of him or even an urgency to hold him. I wasn’t unhappy that he was with us but I felt almost ashamed to not be overcome with joy at his impending birth. I just knew that ‘This Too Shall Pass’.
Until I saw his face.
December 23rd, the night before meeting CJ, I dreamt of him pushing his head onto my belly and I was able to see his face through the imprint. (Which is probably what he was doing while I was sleeping. Just not as pronounced as my dream feeling). I woke up instantly after feeling so so so much joy in my heart. I woke my husband up and said “I saw him!!” and that was the most excited I felt throughout the entire pregnancy. That day I pushed myself to finish cleaning and Christmas shopping/wrapping as much as possible because even though my estimated due date was January 5th, I knew time CJ would be joining us by the next day. I got through most of the present wrapping in the evening before I had to throw in the towel, cancel the kids’ ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas” movie night and send them downstairs to my sisters house to take a trip to the hospital. I spent the next 4 hours walking up and down the stairs (while Tung got to catch up on zZz’s in the sitting area) until the nurse left us with the decision of waiting for more dilation at home, or walking the stairs some more. I got my clothes back on, bag repacked, we got our winter coats and gear on. Hubby opened the Uber app just as the elevator door opened to go downstairs.
He asked what entrance we should meet the driver at. As I was about to respond “The entrance near emerg would be easier to find”, I instead said “Ew…I either just peed myself or my water broke!” and we turned right back around to greet the nurses.
At 8:27 a.m on Christmas Eve we sang “Hey Jude” to one of the sweetest, calmest, warmest souls I’ve ever met. Labor was short and simply put, sweet. I didn’t know it at the time, but the epidural I was so thankful for would soon leave me in tremendous pain. The anesthesiologist punctured my lumbar and I was basically leaking spinal fluid for almost 2 weeks while I suffered horrible spinal headaches, skyrocketing me to pain levels I never knew I could reach. This period of time was incredibly difficult but our newest addition was still quiet, calm and patient as he sensed my suffering with every feed, diaper change and cuddle. Although Thing 1 and Thing 2 couldn’t necessarily understand why I had to remain in one end of the apartment for almost 2 weeks, they were happy to help at every chance. Without my husband though I would not have been able to get through this or much of 2018.
There had been many periods of doubt, fatigue, worry, and tears in the first half of this year than I had anticipated. It’s been a time to slow down from my natural habit of being on schedule, walking fast or keeping the house in tip-top shape to instead enjoying our family moments together, relaxing and taking it as easy as possible. Here we are now at 6 months old. 2 sharp teeth, sitting, pulling himself up to stand, smiling at just about everybody and a whole lot of separation anxiety. Mr. Cillian Jude is a photocopy image of his siblings with a completely different temperament and a giant heart warming smile.
Some days it feels like his crying and whining is what everyday is going to be like until he starts school. Other days I feel like I can’t hold him tight enough or give him enough kisses. Some days I miss what life was like before kids. Other days I manage waking up before the kids, getting completely ready, each meal planned out and most of them ready for the day, and get most of the house tidied in between drop off/ pick up/ park times. Some days I feel like I’m not cut out for motherhood at all and I have nothing to offer them. Most days though I look at these weird people, feel warm and fuzzy and I don’t know what I’d ever do without them.
So, which was harder: going from one to two kids, or two to three kids?
Honestly, once you have one child you’re not going to sleep again until they’re a teenager so don’t bother trying to compare the transitions. They always need food, hugs, kisses, missing toys or clothes, to be taken somewhere or put to sleep, help with homework or with crafting, treats or money to buy something. It’s all just a giant chaotic, wonderful blur.
side note: Does anyone remember that Buffy episode- Once More, With Feeling?