To My Second Born... (by Guest writer @ThePrimeMumister)

To My Second Born,

My angry child. 

My still-won’t-sleep-through-the-night-at-2.

My second unplanned baby. (BY THE SAME MAN WHO I AM MARRIED TO BEFORE ANYONE STARTS BARKING ON ABOUT IRRESPONSIBLE SEX)

My little twin.

My big eater.

There’s a few apologies here and a few thank yous.

When I found out you were on the way, the emotions were mixed. I’m sorry I wasn’t bursting at the seams to tell everyone you were arriving. Sorry that I didn’t take a bump photo when I was 6 minutes pregnant to announce it on Facebook. When your brother was coming, it was new - a first. When I knew you were coming, the naivety of the first pregnancy didn’t exist anymore. I wasn’t excited for the Ralph Lauren shoes and the new Moses basket, I was just anticipating the potential death of my marriage to sleepless nights and lack of quality time.

I’m sorry that I so badly wanted you to be a girl. And that when I found out you were a boy, I actually breathed a sigh of relief that I could recycle old clothes and not spend a fortune on new ones.

I’m sorry that by time I reached my second pregnancy, I ignored the runny eggs and soft cheese rules and ate my steak rare because I just bloody wanted to.

I’m sorry that your nursery wasn’t ready by the time I was 12 weeks gone. I didn’t go to the Baby Show at the O2 Arena or hoard fluffy toys ready for your arrival. I’m sorry that your room was actually a storage room until the day I ran out of patience with you stirring in your sleep and decided you could be in your own bed at 6 weeks, despite waiting 4 months to leave your brother in his own room for more than 43 seconds whilst I had a wee. I didn’t post proud Nursery photos all over social media like I did the first time. I’m so sick of seeing other people’s I couldn’t bore everyone else with mine.

Sorry I didn’t stay awake watching you sleep. It almost ruined me the first time round and I just needed those nights to recharge my batteries. You were sleeping and you were fine and I knew you were going to be alright.

I’m sorry that we didn’t pre-wash all your baby clothes in non-bio washing powder before you wore them. Partly because half of them had been worn to death by son number 1, and partly because my Grandma told me she never did and quite frankly if it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.

I’m sorry that when you were born, I didn’t keep your umbilical cord. It’s just gross and despite keeping your brother’s for about a year, we lost it when we moved house and funnily enough, I didn’t die when I couldn’t find it. Life went on and my cupboard didn’t contain a mouldy lump of body flesh anymore. Oddly enough, no one wanted to see it when I got it out to show them...

I’m sorry that I traded a bottle steriliser for a dishwasher with ‘Bottle Mode’. The steriliser we had the first time just got minging and was a shitter to clean. I just could. not. be. arsed.

I’m sorry that I didn’t post all your ugly photos. I was so wrapped up in love and new found motherhood that I was completely oblivious to the fact that half the photos of your brother looked like a new born Gremlin. So I only posted your cute ones. I’m sorry I wasn’t so deliriously infatuated by your less attractive days, that I showed everyone I crossed in the streets the photos of your snotty nose and blotchy baby face. At least your internet footprint is flawless.

I’m sorry I didn’t video your first bath. It was between loads of washing and trying to wee on my own and childminder runs and getting a toddler dressed and trying to juggle two kids instead of one and I JUST DIDN’T HAVE ANYMORE SPARE HANDS.

I’m sorry I didn’t use maternity leave to take you on long walks and bond with you and other mums in cafes for hours on end. I’m sorry I just wanted you to sleep whilst I napped and hoped the Mothercare baby mat really was as simulating for your senses as the box said.

I’m sorry that you got seconds. You got a Mum who had already done all the exciting bits and despite the effort and enthusiasm I tried to apply to my pregnancy and first years with you, you’ve had a Mum that’s already been Mumming for a while, and is weathered and not quite as fresh faced as before.

But you’ve had a Mum who’s confident. A Mum that knows she’s Mumming brilliantly. Not every day, not all the time, but generally Mumming like a boss. You’ve got a Mummy that was told she was ‘ever so relaxed’ at your 1 year check. A Mum that was told she’s ‘so laid back for a young parent’ and who ‘seems to have everything under control’. You’ve got a Mum who’s not googling which side you should be sleeping on or stressing if you had solid food at 5 months instead of the recommend 6. You’ve got a Mum who let your Grandad feed you gravy at your first roast dinner because that’s what you wanted and who’s trusting her Mum-dar when it comes to all things Mum. You’ve got a Mum who’s just doing this Mum thing how she thinks it should be done, instead of being paranoid about how other people thinks she’s Mumming.

So thanks, babe. Thanks for just slotting into this crazy family of ours. For drinking out of dishwasher cleaned bottles, and eating chicken nuggets and chips instead of puréed carrots. Thanks for wearing second hand clothes and matching at all possible times with your older brother who, incidentally, you have taught true love and friendship to. Thanks for being dragged around the house by your ankles at times because you weren’t moving quick enough for the game and getting the second best toys when you’re playing. I know you don’t get first dibs on the best cars yet, but your brother will learn to share the good ones eventually.

Thanks for showing me that it’s totally possible to be utterly head over heels in love with more than one man at a time, and for proving that Mother and Baby books are just a guide and the world won’t end if I don’t stick to every single recommended weaning deadline.

You arrived last but your impact has been no less than the first. You have brought joy, confidence, love, friendship and a complete family to our home. You’ve had a half arsed start, but you’ll have a full arsed life and I will love you in every way as much as I have always loved your brother.

Thank you for being everything I needed from my unexpected, not-a-girl, last born baby.

Your Mummy, PM 

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❤️

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