What they don’t tell you about becoming a mom of two…

They say the hardest transition is always with your firstborn, and it’s true. Your priorities completely shift, you adjust to an essentially non-existent sleep schedule, your idea of family narrows, your friends’ time is limited to between naps and your time with your partner is centred around this tiny, noisy blob.

But that doesn’t mean having a second is like giving them a friend, at least, not at first.

I remember picking up my two-and-a-half-year-old when we came home from the hospital with her little sister. She was so heavy. Nine months of lugging around a baby bump and unable to really hold her, plus two days in the hospital cradling a three-kilo newborn, had rewired my brain without me knowing: suddenly, she was no longer a baby anymore. Even though she was little, she was now a “big girl”. I should have known that was the beginning of the changes that you meet when you bring someone new into the family fold.

It began with the toddler guilt. In those early days, all I felt was the overwhelming sense that I had abandoned my first baby in favour of my second. I was always holding the baby, feeding the baby, soothing the baby. My husband took over toddler duties, and I missed her. I wanted to collect her from creche, to hear about her friends, cuddle her and read her bedtime stories, to sing her to sleep. But I couldn’t. Physically, I was still struggling postpartum with a plethora of infections, and I was on the clock trying to breastfeed a tiny human every three hours.

Those little pockets of time I had when my eldest was very small, when I could nip to the loo while she lay stationary on the playmat had gone too, because you can’t leave them with the toddler in case someone gets decides that a “sleigh ride and baby sister is Rudolph” is a good idea (based on actual, recent events). Instead, I spent my time telling my eldest not to jump on the bed, to be quiet because her sister was sleeping, to share her toys, to be gentle, be gentle, be gentle. In a not-so-gentle tone.

As I began to return to myself and come out of the fog of those early postpartum days, I realised my time with my partner had completely disappeared. He was always found with our toddler, keeping her entertained and happy while I was minding our youngest. He did one bedtime, I did the other. We went to sleep at different times and often ended up in different rooms depending on who woke during the night.

Plus, offloading two children is an entirely different story from asking someone to babysit one. Sure, you can ask a grandparent to take a fairly straightforward toddler for an afternoon so you can have lunch with your partner. But asking them to take two smallies, with very different eating, sleeping and playing requirements? It was a big ask. Suddenly, you’re dropping one here and one there, and it feels like too much effort and like you’re calling in too many favours for the sake of one very rushed meal. You can’t even fathom taking the evening off and lumping two bedtimes on someone. A night away together? HA! Maybe in two or three years, and it better be a really good reason and for a very nice hotel.

But then, suddenly, you hit the year mark.

Your tiniest tot is no longer so fragile. They are both sleeping through the night (if 5am counts as morning, which, after two kiddos, it definitely does). You can book a late dinner and be pretty sure no one will wake while your mom is minding them. Your toddler has finally learned to share her things and show her little sister the delicate care required for a baby. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

And then your baby starts walking. She wants everything her big sister has and now has the legs to get there, along with a Thor-like grip strength. The era of fighting over everything and excessive amounts of hair-pulling begins.