I found out that I was pregnant with L Boogie at the super young age of 24. I had just finished my masters, I was pretty fit, and it was technically the prime of my life. It was sooner than I would’ve liked but Superdad and I were overwhelmed with an equal amount of joy and fear.
I instantly quit all my vices, even my morning coffee that my doctor swore I could continue. But better safe than sorry, right? I didn’t go anywhere smoky or too loud. I made sure my diet was perfectly fit for my bundle of joy. I even did Pilates throughout my pregnancy. I was the pregnancy goddess.
Anyway, the delivery didn’t go as planned: I had to have a C-section, I barely had any milk to breastfeed, and L was a pain in the ass baby. Reality hit really hard.
But that wouldn’t deter me. I made it a point to do everything I could to make her the bestest, smartest baby who ever lived. I took her to baby music class, I talked to her about nature before she could even sit up. You name it, I did it. I handmade all her baby food from only organic ingredients. I never gave her cereal or any biscuits. She had outfits for all her different activities with matching socks and headbands. We followed a schedule that would’ve made a drill sergeant proud.
And then… I got pregnant with Z Money. Shit hit the metaphorical fan.
I let loose a little. L’s homemade organic baby food turned into whatever I was having for lunch. My prenatal Pilates turned into me barely moving off the couch to the kitchen. Baby classes turned into random sand pits at the club. There was no schedule. Life just sort of happened and I went back to having my daily cup of coffee in the morning.
Z graced us with her presence and suddenly everything made sense. Happy kids made the best kids, not snooty, stuck up organic kids. I did my best to give her everything I gave L when it came to time and effort, but who are we kidding? It’s different when you have two kids under the age of two, buying two different sizes of diapers and cleaning two different types of bottles will drive anyone mad.
But it’s funny how things kind of balance out. I read books and spent loads of time teaching L how to walk and potty training her, whereas Z just kind of figured it out by herself.
L clung onto my clothes on her first day of nursery and whimpered when I left, Z gave me a kiss and waved goodbye.
I guess it’s the universe’s way of looking out for you. No one is given more than they can handle.
So here I am, pregnant with baby number 3, a third girl, and I’m exhausted. She isn’t even here yet and I’m already sleep deprived and always out of time. So I’m praying that perhaps this time it’ll be even easier? Maybe?
Mamas hang in there, I promise you it gets better. Then it gets bad, then good again. That’s just the way it is. Be strong, do what you think is right and don’t let anyone pressure you into anything you don’t want to do. If you need a few minutes to yourself, take them. If you need to get away, go. Love yourself so you can love your monsters.
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