one to two

I'm laying in bed with my two children. My daughter, who is just days old, has just fallen asleep feeding and I gaze up to see my now enormous 2 year old. My face flushes red and I start silently sobbing, taken over by a very unexpected and painful wave of grief. At first I thought it perhaps was just the baby blues- the hormonal shift and physical tiredness from birthing a human being making me sad and irrational, but I realise that I am grieving the relationship that is no more- no longer just me and my boy. Of all the things I was told about going from one child to two, this was the thing which absolutely took my breath away. I was never worried about not loving my second child as much as I loved my first, my mother had told me of her experience having these worries whilst she was pregnant with my sister, and then realised once she'd been born that we always have enough love. She had described it to me as another drawer in her heart- a chest of drawers, if you will. This, and many others' stories of unbounding love as their family grew, had given me reassurance that I would simply feel the growth of love when Veda was born- and I did, but it wasn't all that I felt.

I have perhaps a slightly controversial opinion when it comes to advice that one is supposed to give when a person is pregnant. It seems that there are two accepted narratives depending on which experience of pregnancy you have. Either you must not be told anything bad, or you must be told all the bad things. In mainstream care there is a lot of 'what can go wrong', and in more left field, alternative spaces there is often a 'you must not mention any negative stories of pregnancy, birth or motherhood' situation. There are two instances where I felt I struggled because of the latter approach. One was my breastfeeding journey which was infinitely more difficult than I had ever imagined or been prepared for, and the other was transitioning from one baby to two.

Nobody told me about the grief. Yes, it passes and yes it's normal but in those moments when all I could see were images of days my son and I had spent together, on the beach, in a cafe, reading stories in bed- that's when I felt like I had done something awful to him- by bringing him a sister. The first thing Cosmo said when we brought his freshly born sister upstairs from where she was born in the lounge was "noooo....move it! move it!!", not perhaps the idyllic falling in love that I had imagined. It was two in the morning though and he had been asleep since 5pm, so I'm sure it was a little confusing to turn on the light and present him with a small and very red alien, who had now taken his space amongst my breast.

The journey of settling those feelings of grieving took some time, and they almost turned to anger when I realised how many women I knew who had experienced the same thing- and never spoken about it. In motherhood this seems to be a running theme. The darker and more difficult bits about motherhood- isolation, maternal rage, guilt- and many more, tend to only be talked about once they are happening, rather than mothers gently warning mothers-to-be (or mothers to-be-again) that these things are real and they might happen and there is no shame in reaching out and asking for help.

I have always been a person who is consistent, stable and efficient, and going from one to two children has really challenged every part of me that I thought I knew. Suddenly I'm struggling to keep calm, having anxiety attacks and feeling angry and lost and it's really hard. Having to decide in the moment which child you choose when they both need you requires a lot of emotional strength. We all know about 'mum guilt' but in reality it's a hugely internal process that twinned with the amount of patience we are required to have at all times can very quickly lead to being pushed over the edge. Learning how to rewire my brain to keep calm is helping, but that is a very personal thing and doesn't take away the need for external support. Learning how to ask for things directly from my support network, not a "don't worry, only if you can" but rather "I'm really struggling, can you help me?" is one of the hardest things I'm having to do, but I keep reminding myself of the way my toddler asks for help ("MUMMY HEEELPPP MEEEE") and try to channel a bit of him. 

This is not a PSA to say don't have more kids. Absolutely not, I would not change a thing. The joy that my children bring me- and that they bring each other- is everything I hoped it would be and I hope that I'm creating a family with the lifelong support network that my siblings are to me as adults. But now when I meet people who are having a second child, I talk about my experiences and offer a connection that might be needed later down the line. We aren't meant to raise all these babies on our own, there is a limit on what one or two people can offer to tiny humans who are learning and growing so rapidly, and the more supported parents can be in this transition, the more we are able to give our children, and that's it's all about right?

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