We busted out of the hospital yesterday morning. I really had no expectations about how things were going to be in regards to life with two kids. And if there’s any advice I can give when it comes to having a second, that would be it. Don’t think about it and go into it without any expectations. Other than that. We’re pretty much still n00bs at the whole thing and we’re just taking it one day at a time.
The Mini has taken to his sister better than I thought he would. I made a point of walking in the door by myself when we arrived home yesterday. He was beside himself to see me. He’s always been a Mama’s boy, but until recently, I never thought he cared whether or not I was there. But as of the last couple of months, he’s been wanting to be attached to me 24-7. It’s the best feeling in the world to have your child light up as if you’re the only person in the world when you walk into a room. He was very excited to see the Little Miss come home yesterday and leaned into her carrier to give her kisses which was very cute. The minute I picked her up to show her to him, was a whole different story. It was clear he was very jealous, but instead of acting out, he became very upset and clingy with me. I decided to make my mother drive me to Target for a quick prescription pick up, so that I could get him out of the house with just me. We’re making it a huge point to let him know of all of the big kid things he gets to do and when people come over, we tell him that they came to see him. Overall, he always wants to hold her, give her kisses and snuggle her. The only problem is, he doesn’t quite understand how tiny and fragile she is, and he’s also a very rambunctious toddler, who doesn’t understand his own strength. He means well, but it’s going to take time to understand how boring she is, and by the time that happens, she’s going to be pissing him off by grabbing his favorite toys and drooling all over them.
Having two kids. Whoo, boy, it’s INSANE. Like, what the fuck was I thinking insane? And I’ve only been home a day. Let’s talk about that whole newborn phase. Why did you kind folks not remind me to oh, READ MY FUCKING ARCHIVES? Because seriously, that whole newborn haze? There’s a reason why you forget that. So that when you go through it again, you’re like, oooooooooooooooh yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, I forgot how much that fucking sucked. And at that point? It’s too late. On one hand, I’m glad that we’re done. I know that this is absolutely the last time I will go through this, and it goes very fast (see above re: newborn haze, and it’s in this instance that I’m very happy about it). But going through it with a 2 year old is like having “monkeys on acid.” Your life just sort of blows up in your face the minute you walk in the door and you stand there looking at your spouse or significant other with a look of intense fear on your face thinking: “so this is it, huh?”
I’m sure that it’s easier for some than others. I guess that all depends on your anxiety level. I bet you can guess that I’m pretty high strung.
It’s nice to not be pregnant anymore, and while I had a much harder time bonding with her in the beginning, I can honestly say that I feel as if I know her much better than I did with the Mini at this stage. It’s funny how much you forget from the first time, but it’s also pretty cool how much you remember and how much you compare. The Mini was largely easier going in the beginning. Little Miss Monkey Toes has a flair for the dramatics. Changing a diaper is cause for crying until you turn purple and stop taking in oxygen. She’s got a temper and gets frustrated easily. Much like any baby, she wants you to hold her all day and generally sleeps better in your arms. But put her down and try getting through a meal. I could do without those days. As overwhelming as it is, I’m trying to enjoy the little newborn nuiances. She looks every bit like her brother, but she has these dainty long little fingers and toes. And I wonder where she got them from. Unfortunately, she inherited my lips, whereas the Mini got his father’s big juicy ones. They both inherited our receding hairlines. Both of them loved being swaddled in the hospital, and we thought for sure that the little miss would continue to like it, vs. the Mini hating it the minute we got home. Nope, she’s the same. She wants her hands free, which is great given the fact that she has a big time startle reflex, which pisses her off 77 times a night, that is when she’s actually sleeping. She also loves pacifiers. Mini could have cared less.
I look at her and it’s hard to believe that yes, we actually made her together. The old fashioned way. I worried for the entire pregnancy that my body didn’t have a clue what it was doing, but here she is, the most perfect beautiful child in the whole wide world (ok, it’s an even tie. I do have another child that is the most gorgeous child in the whole wide world. And really, I’m not the only one who says that. We just make really good looking kids). I can’t help but stare at her every feature. And of course, all the worrying I did about the Meester was for nothing. If you remember, he was pretty upset upon finding out, given that he was content with just the Mini and was pretty sure he didn’t want another. It took him a long time to even get used to the idea and he was largely absent for a good portion of the pregnancy. It was his own coping mechanism, and I don’t fault him for that. You get some unexpected news like that just days after saying that you were pretty much done, and I don’t really expect any other reaction. Of course, I secretly hoped that she would melt her Daddy’s heart, and naturally, the minute she came out, it was over. He coos, he talks to her sweetly, the way a Daddy should. She looks in his general direction, and he cries. And I can only imagine how he will be the first time she says “Daddy, look at my pretty dress.”
Yes, I probably need to be medicated to get through the explosion that went off in my house, but at least if I die, it’ll be from the cute and love poisoning around these parts.
Ok, did I really just get that disgusting? I’m sorry. I’m blaming the hormones.