Second Time Around

It's days like today that make me wish I had started this blog earlier, when The Toddler was first born.

Today, I am sitting here, showered and dressed, faffing around on the computer, having just finished a (hot) cup of tea. I have done a load of washing, re-arranged all the throws on the sofas, swapped all The New'un's clothes in her drawers for the next size, and planned all of this week's meals. Husband has tidied the cupboard under the stairs. The reason for this bout of domestic efficiency is because it is Tuesday, and therefore The Toddler is in nursery. The New'un is asleep on her playmat in the middle of the floor. Life feels pretty easy.

And this is why I wish I had record of those first-time early days. I have vague recollections of spending a lot of time feeling anxious, watching the baby sleep, never eating a proper meal, and being pyjama-clad for much of the time. And I can't for the life of me think why it was all so hard. It would be really interesting to read how I felt then. The Toddler was not an easy baby, she had colic and/or silent reflux so was very, very grumpy, but even so, life definitely feels like more work now that she's running around being cheeky and demanding. I guess when it's your first it's just so overwhelming, you feel like there's so much to learn and you worry constantly that you're somehow getting it wrong. Life has all of a sudden become almost unrecognisable, and I think it must be that that makes it so hard, rather than the actual mechanics of looking after a newborn, which are pretty much "change bum, give milk". And even men can manage that. Sometimes.

I think if I had written about having a newborn the first time, I would now be trying to shout back through time, "Relax! Go and get stuff done! Newborns are easy! Just enjoy it! In a year's time you'll really know the meaning of having no time to yourself!". But I know that even if my cries did magically filter back to the me of Summer 2009, I wouldn't have been able to believe it. Nothing would have penetrated the new-mother fog of sleeplessness, sore boobs, fear and confusion. Which is why, when I see posts on ScaryParenting.com from women who haven't been for a wee in 12 hours in case their baby spontaneously combusts when they leave the room, I sit on my hands and don't type what I just said above. Because they'd want to punch me in the face, and I wouldn't blame them.