PMA! is the mantra I used to repeat to myself in the early stages of my second pregnancy, and inevitably my third, I tried so desperately hard to convince my constantly nauseated self, that, if I concentrated hard enough, I might be able to make the sickness go away.
Alas, go away it did not, on the contrary, it seemed to get progressively worse and last progressively longer with each pregnancy. I had thought my body would be used to it by now, but seemingly not! The unfortunate fact this time around, was that I had another human to look after and simply did not have the luxury of being able to hide under the duvet for 9 months. Ironically my Gp signed me off as unfit to work for 8 weeks in both pregnancies, guess you don’t get to phone in sick at the work of Mum! Max tried to help as often as he could and Esme had started the occasional morning at nursery, but it was still difficult to manage and I found it completely exhausting and emotionally draining. The one thing I would say about the second time around tho, is that you simply don’t have the time to focus so heavily on every little detail and symptom and the time passes a lot quicker. Esme was completely indifferent about the impending arrival of her new sibling, when anyone tried to talk to her about it, she totally dismissed them to the point that I asked them to stop raising the subject and became increasingly anxious about our decision to have another, we’d just assumed she’d want it as much as we did. I think in reality its just not an emotion that children of that age can process, their little minds are too focused on their immediate lives, they can’t possibly imagine something so far in to the future and that they’ve never yet experienced. Although, she was the same in my third pregnancy too, where as Lucy was always very excited about it and would still love us to have another now! (Nevermind Lucy!)
Labour with Lucy was a little easier than with Esme from the perspective that I knew a little more about what to expect (the concrete netball!), although, it still hurt like buggery and left me shocked and drained afterwards! This time round, Max went home afterwards and I was admitted to a bay of other women. I didn’t even try to put Lucy in the cot and just settled back and dozed with her all night in my arms, letting her graze on and off for feeds as she wanted. When Max arrived, I handed her over, grabbed some breakfast and had some sleep. Phew! This was already easier I thought!! We took Lucy home that afternoon and introduced her to Esme, who did show some semblance of interest, until she cried and needed a feed, then she got bored and went off to find Max. The first couple of days weren’t too bad, we had far fewer visitors, partly because it seems people are a little less interested 2nd time around, but also we’d learnt from our previous experience and restricted it a bit. Unfortunate timing meant that Max had to go away for 3 nights in Europe when Lucy was 3 days old. He was reluctant to go but I ushered him out of the door assuring him that we would be fine! Oh dear! Silly, naive me!
The day Max left, I had planned to take the girls and go and stay at my Dads until he returned. Dad and his partner are retired so would be around to help, and keep Esme entertained. I optimistically, prised Lucy off my breast, something she was getting far too attached too, and put her down, planning to dress Esme and sort our breakfast out, then hopefully shower and pack before Lucy’s next feed which she would have and then sleep all the way to Dads. That was my plan anyway. An hour and a half later, my mother let herself in to my kitchen to find me sobbing on the sofa with Lucy firmly attached to me and Esme, still in her nightie, watching cbeebies and eating cereal out of the box. I hadn’t even got out of the room before Lucy had started screaming. I had achieved nothing of my plan. So I did the only thing I could think of, aside from ringing Max and telling him to please come home, I rang Mum and asked her to come and rescue me, and rescue me she did! The next couple of days at dads weren’t awful, they were fantastic with Esme and basically waited on me hand and foot, I think they could see immediately how phased I was, to the point Dad tentatively asked me if I thought I might be suffering with post-natal depression. I assured him that I wasn’t. We even managed a short trip out which was lovely until the point that we got ice-creams and I promptly dropped mine on top of Lucy’s head as she slept in her carrier. It must have looked bloody hilarious to everyone else but I was devastated and massively over-reacted. That drama aside, it made the time while Max was away, pass smoothly.
Back at home and after Max’s return, I was still really struggling. Possibly because of his absence so early in her life, Lucy would not settle at all for him which he struggled with as I much as I did. The result of this was that it seemed to push him and Esme closer together, she was by now completely unimpressed with how much of my time was being consumed with Lucy and would seek Daddy out more and more in favour of me. I took this personally and that coupled with lack of sleep and the now constant breast feeding made me feel completely defeated and like I just wanted to escape. In hindsight maybe it was post-natal depression, but also I had just thought I’d be better at it second time round. Max again intervened. Lucy went on to the bottle, admittedly not as smoothly as Esme had, but I refused to give up purely on the premise I needed to be able to hand her over and recapture some precious time with Esme. We also went away for a week which helped massively. After this, things slowly got a little easier. By 6wks I actually managed to leave the house and make it to the park with both of them for a whole hour.
When it came to Bella, in all honesty, both still somewhat scarred after Lucy’s first weeks, we weren’t really ready to jump back into trying again but knew if we didn’t do it then, we never would and 3 was always our plan. Pregnancy was much the same and birth quicker and to be honest easier, I knew exactly what had to be done (concrete netball!!) so just got on with it as quickly as possible! I was discharged home 5 hrs later and was on the school and playgroup run the following morning and cooking dinner for my in laws that night… I simply did not have time to dwell upon or think about any potential difficulties, which isn’t to say it wasn’t hard, it was, none of mine ever slept or breast fed well which was always my main stumbling block, but that aside, I managed much better and poor Bella had to ‘manage’too!
Many parents of three that I’ve spoken to over the years strongly advised me against it! ‘Never have 3’ I was told, ‘have 2 or 4, odd numbers don’t work’. Honestly? There is a lot of truth in their advice. Will I have 4?! Never. Ever. No. Not in this lifetime….!
Enjoyed this post? Please like and share…
It's a mums life. 