Having a Second Child: Disastrous or Delightful?

Originally, my husband and I wanted to have a big family. We planned to wait for a year, but we were too impatient and excited – I got pregnant two months after our wedding. I was ecstatic.

Before long, I told myself, “NEVER again.”

Why would anyone do this more than once? I asked. The desire for a big family now seemed incomprehensible. Perhaps China’s one-child policy was a good idea, simply for maintaining national sanity. No wonder American women are crazy.

Many people told me, “You’ll forget about the bad parts. Your daughter will start sleeping through the night, your estrogen will kick in, and you’ll start feeling all maternal again. One day, you’ll see a tiny little infant, and you’ll start to cry. Then you’ll rush home and jump your husband. Trust me, you’ll get the ‘baby bug’ again.”

Well, they were right – partly. I do want another baby. I long for it with a deep, gut-wrenching desire that never subsides.

I want to be proud of my burgeoning belly, instead of feeling self-conscious about it. I want to enjoy the thrilling, uncomfortable feeling of a fetus banging on my internal organs like drums. I want to cuddle a wrinkled little infant that smells like newness and looks a bit like my Uncle Arthur and my husband’s grandmother. I want to spread the news, “It’s a boy!,” and I want to show off a screaming little bundle that only I think is cute.

But they were also wrong. I haven’t forgotten what it was like.

I haven’t forgotten the nausea, the soreness, the fact that I couldn’t eat sushi, the stretch marks, the size of prenatal vitamins, the fun of putting a crib together, or the horror of labor.

I haven’t forgotten midnight feedings, or 1:30 a.m. feedings, or 3:00 a.m. feedings, or 4:30 a.m. feedings, or 6:00 a.m. feedings, or my dangerous ability to sleep while standing up AND holding the baby.

I haven’t forgotten the loneliness, the constant crying (both of us), or the impossibility of figuring out what she wanted. Nor have I forgotten the poop. Or the poop. Or the poop. Oh the endlessness of poop.

Also, I’m terrified.

As much as I want to have a baby, three fears are holding me back.

Pregnancy

I’ll never forget my first episode of morning sickness. (I was in the DMV [as if that wasn’t bad enough]. I had to leave the endless DMV line to vomit in the nasty DMV bathroom. Twice.) I lost fifteen pounds in a month, and I lived by the toilet. It never ended; the last time I threw up was during labor.

Not to mention the swollen ankles, heartburn, and constipation. And the pumpkin-sized stomach.

Labor

It lasted 18 hours. The epidural didn’t work. I got a third-degree tear and an episiotomy. My tailbone was “in the way,” the baby had trouble coming out, and the doctors worried that she had aspirated meconium.

I’ve never been so worried, pained, or overwhelmed. I’m not in a hurry to repeat that experience.

Infancy

Taking care of a newborn is the most challenging, distressing, scary thing I’ve ever done. I worried about being a good mother, about training her well, about staying sane. I love my daughter, but I did not enjoy her infancy.

Plus, living a well-rounded life is impossible with a baby. I couldn’t figure out how to care for a baby while also running a household, being a wife, feeling like a human being, and occasionally sleeping. (I still haven’t figured it out.)

How on earth can I do it again, now that I also have a toddler? It will be twice as complex and difficult.

So What’s the Solution?

I have no idea. In the meantime, when I long to have a baby, I remind myself of morning sickness and sleep deprivation. When I don’t want to have a baby, I remind myself of the first sonogram and the first smile. I guess I’ll be ok either way.

P.S. If you have any advice, seriously, I’m all ears.