The Post I Wish I'd Read Before Having My Second Child

This email from a reader broke my heart -- because I knew exactly what she was afraid of.

Six weeks after my daughter — who’s now 10 — was born, an email landed in my inbox that sounded like it had come from the inside of my own head. A reader, J, wrote to me that she was pregnant with her second baby, and that she was excited, of course…but also scared. Scared of how her life was going to change — rewind from the (relative) calm of the toddler era to the madness of the infant period — and scared that her relationship with her first baby would be…not lost, but dimmed somehow. Pushed aside.

Her email both broke my heart and filled me with relief, because I understood it completely. I had struggled so much with these fears myself, and had experienced such enormous guilt about them that…I guess it just helped to know that others felt exactly as I did.

“I’m scared,” she wrote, “because life right now is pretty great. I feel like we’ve just started to get out of the weeds of all the baby stuff and are having more and more fun as a family. We are both still able to pursue hobbies and have down time to just read or watch TV, etc. We travel. We go on adventures. We’ve got our systems down and life is pretty calm and smooth.

“I’m scared that while all that was possible with one, we can forget it with two. It seems like every single [website] I read says two is impossible and you can kiss your own life goodbye. I feel selfish even admitting that I need time to myself, but honestly? I need that time to be able to be a happy, fulfilled person who can be truly present when I’m with my son.

“And I’m scared for another reason. Sometimes lately, I look at my son and want to burst into tears. It’s not so much that I’m afraid I won’t love this second child. Logically, I know I will. But I am scared that having this second baby will change the way I love my son. We have a blast together right now, reading and playing and snuggling. Will I be able to do that? Or will I just be so tired and stressed out that I’ll just yell at him and tell him I’m busy?

“I ache from missing him already.”

I remember these feelings so well.

Below is what I wrote to her all those years ago, reprinted here mostly because this is something I would have loved to read myself when I was pregnant with my second baby and frightened of all those changes that were on the way, whether I was ready for them or not. Also, with the lovely hindsight that comes with now being the parent of a teen and a tween, I have a few additional thoughts on the matter (positive ones, I promise).

Our son wasn’t an easy baby or toddler, but in the months leading up to our daughter’s birth (right before his third birthday), suddenly everything changed. He grew up, or into himself somehow, and life started feeling not just ‘manageable,’ but fun. Easy in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. During the last couple of months before our daughter arrived, my (now ex-) husband and I arrived at this wonderful balance where we spent time together as a couple, had relaxed family outings, were romantic and happy and calm. I got back into reading, and there were peaceful evenings where we all just hung out together in the living room, actually enjoying ourselves, not just going going going.

I loved those moments, and I dreaded giving them up and returning to the insanity and exhaustion of the baby stage. More than anything, though, I was scared that the new baby would take away from my relationship with my son. I mean, I didn’t even know this new baby, and I worried I already resented her.

The first piece of good news is about the logistics of welcoming a second baby. I swear, leading up to our daughter’s birth everybody I talked to was all Woe Unto Thee, telling me stories of how crazy-difficult it was going to be, “more than twice as hard as one baby.” And granted, our daughter was a preternaturally easygoing baby, but regardless…I mean, no. Not even close to “more than twice as hard.”

Here’s why: when you’re pregnant for the second time, your life has already changed. You’re already in the rhythm of taking care of a child, so it’s not the huge “dear god, what is this waking-up-at-three-o’clock-in-the-morning thing?! MAKE IT STOP” acclimation that it was the first time. Chances are the birth will be a million times easier (I learned from my first go-round that I wanted to be medicated to the freaking eyeballs, and told every single medical professional I encountered as much)…and it just goes from there.

I’m telling you: by the time my daughter was just a couple of weeks old I was sleeping, and eating like a normal person, and doing the things I wanted to do, same as I was doing before she was there. I was reading books. I was blow-drying my hair. I was relaxing in front of the TV. Sure, I was busier with two kids to take care of, but it all felt about ten thousand times more manageable…mostly because I knew how to be a mom, and that’s something I truly wasn’t certain I knew how to be with my first child. Bumps and bruises? Fussy appetites? Horrifying diaper situations? I knew I could handle it, whatever “it” was on any given day. That’s big.

Second piece of good news: all those worries about how your relationship with your first child will change after the arrival of a second make a ton of sense, but I can promise, as someone who was absolutely consumed by the exact same fears: you have nothing to worry about. Just the fact that you are thinking about this now means that you are paying close attention to your needs and to your child’s needs, and that you will make whatever adjustments you need to to make sure you all feel safe and loved.

In the days leading up to my daughter’s birth I found myself utterly obsessed with spending “special time” with my son — taking him out to just-us-two meals, laying with him as long as he wanted at night, literally breathing him in. And in the days after my daughter’s arrival, when I was recuperating from the birth and had to take it easy, it was — just the truth here — really hard. I missed running around with him so much I ached; I did.

But – and this is a big “but” – because I knew my daughter would seriously, totally be okay without me for short periods of time (something I wasn’t able to internalize the first time I did this), I was able to make a conscious decision to do little things that I felt were important to make myself (and my son) feel more comfortable with the changes going on. I stepped away from my daughter when I needed to, knowing that she would be okay, and found chances to spend alone time with my son. Even if it was only for fifteen or twenty minutes a day, it helped so much.

Nothing will make your heart melt like this sight. Nothing.

Soon enough, our relationship was back to being as it ever was. I remember a couple of months after my daughter was born we all went to a carnival, and my husband had to make some calls so he sat in the car with our daughter while I ran around and ate turkey legs or whatever with my son, and when we got back in the car I realized: we totally just had amazing one-on-one time. But I didn’t freak out about savoring it…because I didn’t feel like one-on-one time with him was something so scarce in my life that I had to hold on to with an iron grip whenever it appeared.

Now, a caveat, because my children are older now, and while my ten-year-old still wants me plastered to her side 24/7, my 13-year-old is growing up, figuring out his own approach to the world. I do ache for time with him sometimes.

But then I overhear him explaining fifth-grade math (omg is it harder now than it used to be?) to his little sister, or see the care she puts into writing a birthday card for him. All these years and all these changes later, and our family is a constantly-shifting entity, yes, but it’s also precisely our own.

They say you don’t just have “space” in your heart for more than one child, but that your heart actually grows with each baby…and growth can be painful, sure, but it’s worth the ache for what you get in return, which is to watch your children turn into people — their own people, not just offshoots of you.

Finally, there’s this: life starts feeling like it’s running more smoothly when a child grows older (well, until the teen years — but that’s another post for another day), and of course the fact that he or she is more mature is part of it…but it’s also because of you. Because you’ve come into who you are as a parent, and because you know how to be a mother and be a part of a family and all those things that you didn’t know the first time around.

Don’t underestimate how much you are capable of, or how extraordinary you will be when asked to rise to the challenge of parenting two people who completely hold your heart.

You will be extraordinary, and you won’t regret your choice for one single moment. I promise.

Love,

J