I won’t break him: I was pretty convinced I’d be rushing to A+E at some point having accidentally dropped eldest on his head, twisted his arm trying to wrangle him into one of those damn baby vests, or broken his little legs by crashing the car seat into a wall as I tried to navigate through a tight space. Luckily none of those things happened and with number two I realise his risk of sustaining any of these injuries is small. He is, however, more likely to have his eyeballs poked out, his cot tipped over and his peace significantly broken by his older brother. Rough with the smooth, my friend, rough with the smooth.
Feeding times: I was all about The Routine with number one. When does he feed? Is that ten minutes earlier or later than yesterday? Shall I start to stretch him an extra half hour between feeds? I would plan my day around when he would most likely not be needing a feed so as to avoid The Meltdown in public. With number two, hey, I cant even remember what he was wearing yesterday, let alone tell you when he fed. Sometimes when he cries for a feed, well, I’m changing the bum of his brother and he just has to hold on a minute. Other times I jump to him like a stealth ninja in order to keep him quiet so’s to not wake his oh-such-a-light-sleeping brother. The routine is Fly By The Seat Of Our Pants. Gottit?
Bonding: Gone are the days of gazing into your precious baby’s eyes as he feeds in the day, or watching his little chest rise and fall as he sleeps. I remember once with eldest simply marvelling at his little pupils enlarge and retract as he was trying to get a focus on the world around him. These days it’s all about keeping raisins from being posted up his nostrils while trying to instruct a 22 month old to pick up and bring to mumma the muslin I always seem to have carelessly left just out of reach. Feeding now is about being pinned down as I helplessly plea with the eldest to stop licking the charger connector on my iPhone which will mean yet another ‘water damage’ trip to the Mac man. I never thought I’d say this, but thank god for the night feeds when I get to feed in peace and we can do a little bonding.
Night feeds: Having said that, back in the old days I took all the time in the world. I was literally dying of sleep deprivation but for every feed I still diligently fed, burped, changed, fed, burped, changed. Now I feed, pat back, sniff bum, feed, pat back, sniff bum. If *absolutely* required I change bum, but in semi darkness and directly on the bed, for I am now a total master at nappy changing and have only been peed on 400 times in the last ten weeks.
Me: I am still me, I am just a different version of me. As I changed from non-mother to mother with eldest, I have now metamorphosed once again from mother-of-one to mother-of-two. This woman doesn’t have time to fill out diaries, make freshly cooked daily meals, see the bottom of the laundry basket or eat. She rarely has time to call friends, put on make-up or get dressed. But she really wouldn’t have it any other way.