In the Age of Induction

Check out this piece of mine that was published last week by the wonderful Brain, Child Magazine...

In the Age of Induction

Seven days late

At 41 weeks pregnant, my auto-generated, pregnancy week-by-week email seemed certain this could only mean that I had neglected to click the link declaring my son’s arrival. Had I stayed with the OB practice I started my pregnancy with, there’s a decent chance my baby would have been two days old, having arrived by way of induction sometime conveniently before 5:00 pm last Friday.

But I was a midwife patient. Waiting it out old-school style. With no end in sight.

There’s something embarrassing about going past your due date. Something beyond the unwieldy way you move and the way all clothing looks ridiculous by the end.

My body was supposed to be doing something and it wasn’t and everyone was watching and there was nothing I could do about it. I was humiliated. I wanted to hide.

Friends and family gently inquired, sending notes saying “Just thinking of you,” “Come out, come out wherever you are,” and the insipid, “Any news?” And, of course, “Any talk of induction?”

Eight Days Late

It was 6:00 am and I had been up since 4:40 when I noted the time of the one lonely contraction I had last night. After waiting an hour for anything else to happen, I cried to my husband, “I can’t be pregnant anymore.” He told me we’d talk in the morning and rolled over to sleep. I got up to eat breakfast and tried not to Google “natural labor induction.” Again...

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What to Expect When You’re Expecting Baby #2

“When you have your first baby, you worry about everything. When you have your second baby… you worry about the first baby.”

I don’t know where I first heard that, but I was pregnant with my second and there was a constant hum about how different everything is with baby number two.

If the cliché of becoming a parent is, “It changes everthing.” The cliché of having a second baby is closer to, “It ain’t nothing but a thang.”

In those early days of life as a mother of two, I remember feeling intensely worried about my first baby. And I definitely worried very little about the new baby. I had done the baby thing already, so no problem, but the sibling adjustment thing was all new.

I can still see myself sitting on the couch nursing my son and watching my daughter play on the floor, looking so sad and lonely, and thinking, “Why is this strange baby keeping me away from my real kid?”

As the first child and grandchild on both sides, my daughter had been getting too much attention and I looked forward to her sharing the (sometimes literal) stage with a sibling. But watching the withdraw of that attention after my son was born was physically painful for me.

The transition from one kid to two was, for me, as big a life-changing event as the change from pregnancy to parenthood. If not bigger. Seriously.

Two kids is no joke.

Of course, as with all things parenthood, it depends on what you get. I got a very flexible, social first kid who I could take anywhere and a second who wouldn’t let me sleep and had a special knack for finding knives in unexpected places.

Maybe it would be different if I hadn't struggled with post-partum depression after our second was born. But that's the thing about parenting. Once you’re pregnant, you don’t get to choose much of anything. You don't know what you're gonna get.

It took me longer to bond with my second baby. I caught myself feeling reluctant to focus on him too much, so as not to hurt my daughter’s feelings. Until I realized how important it is for her to see how much we love him, to watch us loving him. How would she learn to love him if we were holding back? And how long would it last anyway, this pretending the new baby doesn’t change anything?

One day I remember, when my son was still new, I was pissed at my husband and not dealing well with my daughter. So I left them at home and went out alone with my son for the first time.

We went to Nordstrom, which was my happy place as a new mom. It may sounds odd, but they have this lovely ladies room (yes, bathroom) with a comfortable changing and nursing room and another room with cozy couches. There are other moms there, too, and everyone is really sweet and friendly, as if it’s in the air when you enter the room. And when you’re hungry, the in-store restaurant is full of older ladies unfazed by screaming babies. An odd oasis, to be sure, but it was mine.

Changing my son’s diaper in that happy bathroom, looking down at him, feeling free for the first time to be openly affectionate with him, without any worry about anyone else, was one of the first times I felt a strong bond with him. I was just his mom, just changing him and looking at him, and he was so easy to love.

Before I joined their ranks, I remember looking at those cool cucumber moms of two and wondering what happens with the second baby that makes everything look easier than it feels for first time moms.

But, starting with pregnancy, it wasn’t easier for me than the first time. There are all sorts of body parts that are a whole lot stronger with a first pregnancy. I had more aches and pains and what are euphemistically called “symptoms” the second time around. Why does no one tell you these things? Or do we not hear it until we’re there?

Expect... it's not all very sweet kisses.

There are some things that are much easier the second time around—labor, for instance. I actually felt like I knew what I was doing! And I bounced back from the delivery so much faster. Instead of feeling like it was hard just to walk for weeks, I had to stop myself from doing too much after day two. I felt great, but I had been warned to put a lock on those first few weeks. I thought of it as the “Don’t do dishes!” rule. You think you can do anything, but as much as you can, take that time to rest, because whatever help you have immediately after will disappear soon enough.

After the first few weeks of feeling surprisingly good, I began to crash. Parenting, especially parenting two, is cumulatively exhausting. I’ve written before about the Fifth Trimester. The hardest time I’ve ever had with kids was during that time with the second baby.

I often hesitate to say anything about that to moms expecting number two or moms with two kids around those ages. I always start with a “maybe it’s just me…” But when I do confess, other moms have been grateful to hear it. I’ve found that moms who struggle with adjusting to mothering two babies (and many other things) often think it’s just them. When actually, it’s just a hard time. It’s just not discussed.

So… Pregnancy? Harder. Labor? Easier. The first year? Harder!!! And the second year…? It does finally get easier.

I don’t know why, except to say that time is a tricky magician. It changes things when you’re not looking. The first birthday of your last kid is a big parental milestone. Not that anything changes on that exact date. For me, it happened in fits and starts until, one day—one of those good days—I looked around and realized that the crazy hard part was just somehow over.

When I had one baby, watching just one kid more was stressful and required careful strategizing. Now? Need me to watch your two kids along with both of mine on no notice? Bring ‘em over. Easy peasy.

I’m no superstar, but these days, I can do some of those things that make second moms look like they can handle anything. I can change a diaper in pretty much any condition in 30 seconds flat. I can (sometimes) keep them both happy. I can shop with two kids, even at Target. And often do. Even if I do tell my self “This is the last time!” every time, we all seem to make it home somehow.

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From a Mom of Two: It’s Okay to Have One Kid

Have you seen the movie This is 40? It’s pretty funny and definitely one of those pop culture moments where I saw myself, ticking ever closer to that particular milestone, up on the screen, with the lines coming straight out of my mouth. Not that my daily dialogue is that witty, but the conversations were eerily familiar.

One particular line stuck with me, when Paul Rudd responds to a question about whether he wants a bigger family, “No, never for a second. Never. I love what we have. One? Breeze. Two? Brutal. Three? Put a bullet in my head.”

There’s a kind of unspoken but overwhelming expectation that every American woman will have two kids. Why do parents of two participate in this pressure, knowing how brutal it can be? Why don’t we tell parents of one that it’s ok not to have another baby? It really is.

A while back, there was something going around on Facebook that went something like this:

It’s not nothing to have another kid. Only hearing that from parents of only children isn’t exactly enlightening. The only-child stigma is strong, so it just sounds defensive.

It feels hard to say, “Just have one!” when you have more. As if someone will hear it as, “My second kid is a nightmare.” That’s not what it means.

As one of four kids (with siblings I love deeply), and now as a mom with two kids of my own (who I love deeply), I would just like to say: It’s ok to have only one kid.

While I don’t have anything to add to talk of whether or not only children grow up to be more selfish-evil-weird than kids with siblings, I can share what I went through as a mom going from one to two kids.

When I was pregnant with my second, a man in a restaurant wished us good luck, "You're gonna be outnumbered!" I corrected him, "No, this will be our second." He repeated himself, "Yeah, outnumbered," and laughed. Somehow, I can't explain, he was right. And he was the only one I’d ever heard that from.

It’s so much simpler to keep one little kid happy than two. After our second was born, I was surprised to discover how much easier it is to single-parent one kid than to do almost anything with two parents and two kids.

Just because they’re both kids doesn’t mean that they will ever want or need the same thing at the same time. They have the nerve—both of them!—to be actual real live little people. And each kid demands a slightly different parenting approach day-to-day, moment-to-moment.

Since becoming a mother of two, I have learned (from a friend—thanks!) that I am “not one of those moms that make it look easy.” With two kids, I can’t fake carefree. I don’t have a baby: I have a family. We eat in family-friendly restaurants (when we go out at all). We are home for bedtime. We don’t plan to travel the world anytime soon. We plan kids activities for the weekends. There’s no going back.

And speaking of no going back, many moms find it harder, either financially or emotionally or both, to return back to work after the second baby. Women who leave the workforce after becoming mothers are more likely to do so after the birth of a second baby than after the first. 

My two.  

Why do I feel the need to pause here and say this? I love my kids! No regrets.

I’m not a love at first sight kind of girl—with men or with my babies. Not that I didn’t feel anything when my babies were born—of course I did. But whatever I felt in those early days was nothing compared to how much I love my no-longer-babies today. I remember very specific moments when I fell a little more, and a little more, and a little more in love with each of them. Then one day, I looked up, and I was absolutely knocked over by how much I loved them.

It’s not easy to tell someone else not to have a second once you’ve fallen in love with yours. But in those blurry postpartum days, I kept thinking: Why didn’t anyone tell me how hard this would be? Why isn’t it more ok to just have one?

When we signed up for baby number two, I was full of joy at the idea of another baby for our family. When my son was born, I went through a deep period of—loving him, yes, but also—wishing other moms of two were more candid about how hard it is.

I’m delighted to have two kids. I love them unimaginably. They are two wonderful little beings, each an amazing presence of in my life. I wouldn’t change a thing. But the second kid changed everything at least as much as the first did.

And I didn’t expect that.

When we were thinking about having a second baby, my husband talked to one of his only friends with one child. His advice: If you’re only planning to have one kid, just know that you’re going to have to be ready to talk to them about why they don’t have a sibling. Here’s my advice—try this: “You’re enough for us!”

My husband wasn’t as ready to sign up for two as I was, and that was essentially his question to me, “Aren’t we enough?” There’s no way to really justify this—it’s highly personal. I just felt like our family wasn’t complete and now I feel like it is.

Before my son was born, I would look at friends’ photos of their kids together, and there was something about the way they would reach out to each other that I found deeply moving. I wanted that for my daughter—someone to love her for life no matter what, not just us but someone who would get her, understand what it’s like to have the life she has and someone I hope will be there for her when we cannot, whether that’s while we’re alive or after.

I’m so happy my kids have each other. I believe there are many good reasons to have more than one kid, but I also think there are good reasons for having one. And I think parents of two or more need to chill with the whole, “Come on, jump in! The water’s great!” thing and be real about what it’s really like.

If one is great, two isn’t necessarily better.

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