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Someone sent me a great email the other day about the order of kids, and how things change as you get through each one. I have only one so far and already can relate to a lot of what the email said – I don't think it only applies to the amount of children you have, but also how long you have had them. It went something like this…
Child number one. You plan your dates, make sure hubby gets home early at the right time, and get things started. Before long you think you are pregnant, you hope with all hopes. You take the home test, it's positive! You rush out to every pharmacy within a five mile radius and buy a whole lot more, just to be sure. Then you go for the blood test – yes you are definitely pregnant – so you book an appointment with the gynae, and wait for full confirmation and the first twelve weeks before you tell anyone, just bursting with excitement struggling to keep it to yourself.
You spend hours paging through every baby book and magazine you can lay your hands on, speak to everyone you know who has had a baby, discuss birthing options, attend antenatal classes, you name it, you will do it. Then there are the maternity clothes – a whole new adventure. Traditional dungarees, elasticated pants, expandable jeans, and one cute Marion & Lindie number for special occasions, not to mention maternity bras and supportive panties. You can't wait for your bump to show and to start feeling the first stirrings of baby kicking, you just want the whole world to know, and spend your life browsing the baby section of Woollies, washing and rewashing the tiniest little outfits, setting up the nursery, getting everything organised. Then the big day arrives, you go gung-ho ready to take the pain, determined to truly be one with your baby, bonding as only a woman can to mother earth. And at last you are a family, baby lovingly nurtured at your breast, ready to go home to the magazine style nursery to start the journey ahead of you. And don't forget to have the dummy sterilise solution handy for when it accidentally falls on the ground.
Child Number two. Somehow it happens that you forget the sleepless nights, the screaming, the exhaustion… and you decide to start on round two. You sort of take it as it comes, hoping that it won't take long, that when the time is right it will happen. And then… hmm you aren't feeling yourself, a bit bloated, tummy queasy… You take a home test, and yes, again you are pregnant. Well you know now that those tests are pretty accurate, so you book that gynae appointment, dreading the inevitable prodding and probing. You sort of mention in passing to your baby group friends, oh, I'm pregnant again, and of course there are hugs and kisses all around.
You might pick up some of your baby books again, but soon realise that those baby magazines run in nine month cycles and you have read it all before. Plus now you have hands on, real life experience, you know what you are doing. You dig out those old maternity clothes, borrow some from a friend, and you are all set to go. Toddler gets moved into a bed to make space for the new baby, old baby clothes get hauled out, throw out very stained ones, wash reusable ones, and buy one or two new things. You enjoy the first stirrings of movement in your belly, but you are not looking forward to the discomfort that you know you are headed towards… swollen ankles, aching back, heartburn… And then the actual birth comes along, a quick ‘yes please' to the pethadine drip, not too fazed about a Caesar… You will give the breastfeeding a try, hope for the best, but bottles are always an option. When baby comes home you get the routine started as soon as possible, and a little crying never hurt anyone – at least this time it's only the baby crying, and not you. Oh and tap water is just as good as dummy sterilising solution...
Child number three. Running around after two children leaves you pretty much exhausted all the time, so you don't even notice that you are a little more tired than usual. Then you start depositing the morning's Frosted Flakes into the toilet (did you really think that after two kids you would have time to actually make toast and tea?), and your waistline starts thickening. And you say to yourself ‘here we go again…' and try to think back to when you actually found the energy to do the act that got you to this point… again. You send out a group email announcing the imminent arrival, but most of your friends are too busy with their own kids to reply, offering their congrats when they pass you in the frozen food aisle at Pick n Pay.
You have already given away all your maternity clothes, and anyway they wouldn't fit anymore – gone are the days of a cute preggie tum peaking out from above well toned hips and behind with a pert cleavage showing discretely higher up. Hubby's tracksuit pants will do just fine thank you. Once again out comes the hand-me-downs, does it really matter if there are butternut stains on the babygro? It's just going to get puked on so what's the difference? And can a boy sleep in his sister's pink sleeping bag? You are too busy fetching, carrying, bending, picking up, etc. etc. etc. to even notice the movement inside until you feel a foot wedged up under your ribcage, and by then you just want this baby out so that you can touch your knees again – forget toes, those were out of reach years ago. Birth options are once again discussed, and you happily book a Caesar on a day convenient for all parties concerned. You farm the kids off to your in-laws, book in the night before to enjoy a catered meal – hey anything you don't have to cook yourself and you can serve without tomato sauce is luxury, even if it is served in a hospital bed! You hope you remembered to run the bottles through the dishwasher – breastfeeding is for the birds! And so baby comes home, and your little family oohs and aahs over their new baby brother, but soon the novelty wears off and arguments abound. You hardly hear the new baby crying anymore what with the shouts of ‘Mommmmeeee, Jenna's got my Barrrbieeeee” and the “but I had it fiiiirrsssst” drowning out any sounds in the background. And wiping his dummy on yesterday's shirt should be okay, right?
Child number four. Are you completely insane? Have you not yet learnt? But you wouldn't change it for the world. None of us would. Children are what makes life. Period. And forget dummies – his thumb will have to do.
I leave you with this lovely poem sent in by one of our reader's – thanks Linda. I have condensed it, but you can email me if you want to read the full version...
To my child...
Just for this morning, I am going to smile when I see your face and laugh when I feel like crying.
Just for this morning, I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say how perfect it is.
Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.
Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.
Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.
Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.
Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I love you.
Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours, and miss my favourite TV shows.
Just for this evening when I run my finger through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that I have been given the greatest gift ever given.
And when I kiss you good night I will hold you a little tighter, a little longer. It is then, that I will pray for you, and ask for nothing, except one more day…
© Sally Hetherington .
