(Disclaimer 1: Yesterday and last night Baby Evan was a fussy mess. His 3 hour nap was broken up by several crying fits, stayed sad and grumpy most of the afternoon and got up twice last night, a record I would have thought was awesome just a few months ago but now sends me into a spiraling mess of exhaustion and hopelessness, as in “OH GOD I REMEMBER THIS NOT SLEEPING THING AND I CAN. NOT. DO. IT.” )

(Disclaimer 2: I don’t actually have a second child yet, so take everything with a grain of salt. Or maybe a ginormous, huge, Utah salt flats sized block.)

I’ve decided that having a second baby is infinitely easier than having a first baby.

When you’re pregnant the first time, most of your friends are childless. Childless people flock together like beautiful, exotic birds to go out on Saturday night and do fun things like drink alcohol in bars and rub up against each other and plan spur-of-the-moment trips to Thailand or Paris or Antarctica or Mars or whatever fancy location is hip this week. There is no place for babies in that world – it’s too hard to find shoes to match every color of poop. Even if you have a sister or a cousin or a best friend who had babies first, they probably aren’t a part of your daily social circle. You get all your advice from books or message boards or magazines and end up setting incredibly unrealistically high standards for every part of your life as a mom. You struggle through the first few months of babydom alone, or at least feeling alone, until you finally venture out of the house blinking and squinting at the lights like that poor groundhog in Pennsylvania, hoping the long winter is over.

The second time around, your childless friends have flocked away and you hang out with other parents. Parents understand babies. You meet at the library or at a playground or through daycare or a mom’s group or a local baby store. You plan mid-week playdates when all your old friends are at work and only visit coffee shops that have drive thru windows and take trips to the zoo instead of weekends at the spa. You plan to go to France and Antarctica and Mars together…someday. Right now you’re too busy trading baby sitter stats and tips for hiding vegetables in your brownies.

And Thank God for all of that. Mom friends have no problem listening to endless complaints about morning sickness and exhaustion and diaper explosions. They have real world advice on how to deal with teething and spit up and problems latching and first solids. They have maternity clothes in various sizes and seasons that they will lend/give you. Their garages and attics are full of boxes of baby clothes they are dying to get rid of, especially if you are having a baby the opposite gender from the first one. (You will, of course, still buy a few things yourself but you don’t actually have to.) They will watch your kid at the playground while you run off to find a bathroom because you need to pee. AGAIN.

If you’re super lucky, you’re mom’s group will have an organized Mama Meals program and by the time you actually get around to having the second baby your freezer will be stocked with enough frozen lasagnas and casseroles and homemade baked goods to feed an army of hungry husbands and toddlers.

You know that, realistically, you probably won’t need that crib for at least a few months so having a nursery done before 32 weeks gestation is overkill. You already have the baby gear you ACTUALLY couldn’t live without, rather than the things on the Must Have Baby Items Registry List Sponsored By Babies R Us, Enfamil And Your Own Psychotic Need To Plan Ahead.

You know that there IS such a thing as too many newborn size diapers.

And when the second baby actually comes and you’ve got spit up in your hair and haven’t slept in a week and would kill for a pizza instead of a frozen casserole, you will have friends who understand, bring you a frappuccino, and maybe even watch that pesky first kid for an hour or two.

I an 25 weeks today and I haven’t so much as opened my copy of What To Expect this time around. It is glorious.

A hundred years ago, I knew how to relax (Charleston SC August 2006)

Can I say that ANY MORE CLEARLY??

All over the internet (and in real life) I hear moms say “I wish I got a day off” or “I could use a break” or “When do I get a sick day?” or “I can’t wait to go on that vacation”. But those statements are ALWAYS prefaced by this:

“I love my kid, but…”

Without fail.

Usually it’s a lot more than just “I love my kid” too. Sometimes it’s whole paragraphs and posts and speeches about how they are the luckiest women on the planet, with darling, adorable, well-behaved children, super awesome supportive husbands, perfect magazine-cover lives and great hair. They just…need a minute. Maybe two. And a cocktail.

I’m not saying I DON’T love my kid. I am just as guilty as everyone else of worrying people will think I’m a terrible mother if I want him to go away sometimes. He’s exhausting. It’s not so much that feeding and caring for one small child is incredibly strenuous – heck, you can pay a teenager to keep your kid alive for a few hours for less than minimum wage and most of them are happy to do it – but EVERY DAY ALL THE TIME NO STOPPING NO BREAKS will make you crazy.

For the record, here’s what happened when I got my break: There was absolutely no whining. I stayed out late. I called to check in and was happy to hear everything was fine. I was not a sobbing, teary mess at being separated from my kid for a couple days, although when I got back I was actually HAPPY to let him climb all over me instead of wanting to claw my skin off and hide under the covers. It was glorious.

And I’m going to do it again.

I’m not saying if you DO cry when you’re away from your baby there’s something wrong with you – it took me more that a year of NEVER being away from Baby Evan to get to the point where I could even consider leaving for a weekend. But there’s no “Saddest Mommy” medal being handed out to the person with the most tears and guilt. Let it go. Recharge. Have a cocktail. Get away.

TAKE A BREAK.

It might just make you a better mom.

July 24, 2010 marks the 2 year bloggiversary of Bebehblog. I think the traditional gift is air in a can. Or maybe pants in the next size up. It’s sometimes hard to believe that I’ve been posting for that long, especially when I look at how far I HAVEN’T come. I may actually have fewer readers today than I did on that first post, thanks to my penchant for describing the state of my cervix in detail. (Don’t worry, if you missed it the first time around I’ll be doing it again at Christmas!)

But a lot of things have changed. I don’t just write anonymously into a void anymore. I write for my family, for my extended family, for friends who have moved away and for new friends. I have a real ad network that might some day actually pay me something. I’ve joined the fourth circle of hell known as Top Baby Blogs. PR people have suddenly noticed my existence and want me to tell you about their great new *insert product totally inappropriate for pregnant woman/toddler here*. Love it or hate it, I’ve starting doing giveaways. I became a Twitter addict. I bought a fancy new camera and started pretending I was the Pioneer Woman.

But despite all of that, I still feel like I write mostly for me and because I like to make people laugh. Which is why I started, those long 24 months ago, and why I can’t see myself stopping any time soon. In honor of this very special anniversary, please enjoy the post from my very first day as a Bebehblogger, written practically seconds after finding out I was knocked up.

WARNING: Several mentions of where bebehs come from below! Let this be a warning to anyone who thinks “Oh no, I’m anonymous!  My mother/grandmother/friend Amanda’s step-dad will NEVER find my blog!”

Testing…testing

“For something called ‘Clear Blue’, this thing isn’t very clear is it?” said my husband E as we squinted at the pregnancy test, looking for one vertical line.  “Look! It’s right there! I can see it!” I insisted.  “I don’t see it…wait, there it is! No I don’t…oh hold on! Wait…never mind” said E. Stupid pregnancy test, we both agreed. We’ll buy a new box.

We’ve talked about having kids since we got married in August 2004, but only decided the time was “right” last October. But then we decided we should probably wait until he made some career decisions. In January my grandfather died and I had one of those if-we-don’t-have-kids-soon-so-many-people-we-love-might-never-meet-them moments. We decided again to start trying. But I had promised to be Maid of Honor in my best friend’s wedding, so I didn’t want to be pregnant for that.  In March we decided the time was never going to be perfectly right so I threw out my birth control pills. No baby in April. E was out of town for his job in May and the first part of June, so I did some period math and figured out the first weekend he’d be home was just about the week I’d be ovulating. Did you know that when it comes to babies, everything gets counted from the first day of your period? For years I’ve thought I was most fertile two weeks after the end of my period. Nope. It’s days 10-14 of your whole cycle. Aaaaand now that I think about it, I’m damn lucky I never got pregnant accidentally due to my poor reproductive knowledge.

We had sex twice the weekend that was supposed to be right for baby-making. A week later I declared I was feeling queasy and must have morning sickness. Six days before my period I couldn’t take it anymore and bought a box of early response tests. The next morning I peed on the stick and waited three minutes, staring at my bathroom floor. It really needs to be cleaned. Times up, no line. Not even a really really really faint maybe-I-see-it line. According to the very long instructions in the box, there was still almost a 50% chance I was pregnant, but seeing the results come out negative seemed so final to me. I put pregnancy out of my mind and vowed to try again next month.

My period didn’t come. When I was officially 6 days late I couldn’t take the stress of waiting anymore, so I tried another Clear Blue test. This is how we ended up in the kitchen with a piece of plastic I had recently urinated on. “Maybe I’m just a little bit pregnant?” I suggested, even though I knew this isn’t really possible. “We’ll go get a better, fancier test. A digital test,” suggested my technophile husband.

Sunday July 20^th, my mother’s birthday, I took the better, fancier test. PREGNANT said the little window. I just stared at it with my mouth hanging open. “What’s the matter? What does it say?” E asked, grabbing it from me. “Hey, good job!” he said when he saw it. “Um, thanks. I’m pregnant,” I said, in case he was still unclear. “Yeah you are!” he grinned. “I’m pregnant” I said again, showing off my awesome conversation skills, “What do I do now?”

This is sort of rambling and vague so I apologize in advance.

Baby Evan’s birth was just the way I wanted it. It was fast and uneventful and pain-free. I went to the hospital without a formal birth plan (although I joked I was going to print out a dozen pieces of paper that just said “GET THE BABY OUT” in giant letters) since my requests were already written in my chart. I liked and trusted the OB practice I was seeing and with my totally normal, low risk pregnancy I was confident I could avoid the only two things I was horribly afraid of: a c-section and an episiotomy. And I did, thanks to a doctor who let me go home to labor, a very well placed epidural, some of the strongest pelvic muscles in the Western hemisphere and a lot of luck. I have absolutely zero regrets regarding my choices, especially since I ended up with the healthy baby every mom wants after 40 weeks of pregnancy.

But sometimes I feel that because I didn’t give birth squatting in a meadow surrounded by bluebirds and fawns and harp music and 100 of my closest friends chanting ancient birth rituals I have somehow failed. Because I don’t have regrets about trusting modern medicine and taking advantage of pain medication I am betraying womankind. Because I didn’t even try to do it naturally I am less worthy to call myself a mother.

Which is all ridiculous.

I think I just spend too much time on the internet, where the only two stories seem to be horrible traumatic c-sections no one wanted and all-natural wheat field births where Jesus himself was the midwife. If I had never heard a birth story other than my own I wouldn’t feel this way at all. Which is probably an indication I need to get away from the computer more often. But with every joyful, triumphant, glowing story about a natural childbirth I wonder…could I do that? Do I even care if I do that or is it a weird form of social peer-pressure and misplaced guilt?

This pregnancy is clearly to blame for all my thoughts about my last birth, since I hope to experience another one in the not too distant future. But do I want the same one?

(Sidenote: E thinks I’m a crazy person for even considering doing things differently. What kind of person decides their birth was too easy and too painless? A crazy one, that’s who. Which means any of the husband-coached pain management techniques are probably out – my coach is too skeptical to be truly helpful.)

p.s. As silly as this sounds, one of the reasons I feel I have to give this birth so much more thought is my day after Christmas due date. I have horrible fantasies of a doctor who doesn’t want to miss his kids opening presents and insists I get a c-section so he can be home in time for dinner. Not that I think that would ACTUALLY happen. Probably not. Right?

p.p.s. And THEN I start thinking of the mothers who didn’t end up with a healthy baby in the end and think I’m being totally selfish for spending so much time thinking about trivial details. I imagine those mothers would sign up for unmedicated c-sections if it meant they could have their babies back.

Regarding comments: Please feel free to share your experiences and birth stories. I love reading them, especially the good kind – and by good kind I mean any that you were happy with. But if you use the phrase “women have been giving birth for thousands of years” or “your body was designed for birth so of COURSE you can do it naturally” you’re going to get some epic eye rolling on my part. I’m not looking for a bunch of “you go gurl!!!” support. If I DO decide to do things differently this time I will let you know I am open to all the womanly power affirmations you can think of.

My sister-in-law Meghan had her baby girl on Friday! Cadence Brooke was born at 2:39 PM weighing 7 lbs and 14 oz. She is the first girl grandbaby in our generation and I am so excited to finally have a niece. I’m also insanely jealous of the crazy number of adorable dresses, headbands and lacy socks I know Meghan has in her nursery. Girl clothes are just so much CUTER.

Since I am full of good intentions but terrible at execution, Cadence’s baby gift didn’t make it home to her family before she did, but should be there soon! Until then, just show Cadence these pictures of her new friend. Computer screens are cuddly, right?

Teddy Bear pattern by Debbie Bliss from the book Simply Baby

Knit with Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmarino yarn - machine washable but still SUPER soft. I made and sewed on the little bow to make her special.

I hid the felt heart inside the bear before I stuffed it. If I was more talented I would have embroidered it but Sharpie on felt worked too.

Evan's (former zombie) Teddy sends his love with Cadence's teddy.

I’ve been thinking about taking orders for more bears from some local friends but I’m afraid my knitting skills aren’t really good enough to justify charging money. I guess I could sell them for just the cost of the yarn but the seaming takes SO MUCH time I would hate making them basically for free. I think I need a little more practice before I let my Etsy store dreams get out of hand.