When we got pregnant with our second child before the first turned a year old, my husband was understandably nervous. Our first pregnancy was a little complicated. I had an irritable uterus and lots of early contractions that led to some scary hospital visits and me having to leave work a month early. How would I manage all THIS while juggling another baby?
“Don’t worry, hun, I got this,” I tried to reassure him. “We know exactly what to expect this time around! Things could be way worse.”
Just a suggestion for anyone else thinking of getting pregnant again: don’t tempt fate. If you pretend to have some sort of handle on pregnancy, pregnancy will kick your butt.
After having a boy the first time around, I was convinced that the second was a girl because the pregnancies were SO different. The first time I felt queasy, a little sick for a couple weeks at the most. The second time I was down for the count the entire nine months.
I recall a particularly nauseous trek to Rite Aid in which I raided their “Stomach Relief” pharmacy aisle, slapping on every seasickness band and downing every Vitamin B supplement that I could get my hands on before puking all over my shoes in the parking lot. People would tell me I had that “expectant mother glow;” I’d scowl and explain that it was nothing but sweat from hovering over a toilet bowl all night.
There were a couple bright spots, though. The irritable uterus wasn’t quite so irritable the second time around, leaving me free to chase after my son when I wasn’t throwing up. And after a roller-coaster of hormones during the first pregnancy, I was thankfully level-headed as we went through the stressful life changes of having our second child and buying a home for the growing family.
I think the biggest difference the second time around was my energy level. I felt SO much more exhausted the second time. Having transitioned from working full-time with the first to being a stay-at-home mom with the second, I expected to have the luxury of squeezing in naps now and again. Not so much. The couple hours that my son slept just didn’t seem to cut it, and I wanted to sleep from sun-up to sun-down and then all throughout the night. I had to invest in a bigger playpen and more gates for the house out of fear that I would literally pass out while watching my baby and he’d crawl off into harm’s way. It was brutal.
In the end, however, we did all survive unscathed and made our way into a fast labor that was exactly like the first. At least my two sons had one thing in common: they were both anxious to meet me!
Were your pregnancies very different, or were they similar?