The parenting world is one filled with false securities. For instance the day you smugly announce that your child sleeps through the night is undoubtedly the day that they will scream till 2am. Karma’s a bitch right?
For me the biggest false security was the one my first labour gave me. Labour is HARD, there’s no pussy footing around it, it’s called labour for a reason, but some just aren’t as hard as others. My labour with Dylan began with little butterfly twinges and increased fairly quickly. In all it lasted around eight hours and after an Olympic medal worthy thirteen minutes of pushing he entered the world.
Skip to four years later and a heavily pregnant me is thinking ‘right well that was easy, it’ll be even easier this time. I’m a labouring pro, I’m the fricking Yoda of giving birth. Bring…it…on!’ How wrong I was.
There is an old wife’s tale that your second labour will be shorter, granted this may be true for some but not for everybody. After twenty five sleepless hours Ben begrudgingly arrived, tearing my A to my V with him. I lost a lot of blood and after arriving home hours later in tears out of pure exhaustion and discomfort I was mentally not in a good place.
It has taken me a while to really come to terms with the impact of my second labour but I can happily say that regardless of how difficult he may have been during that time, Ben has always been a very placid, happy child, who (if I dare say it) sleeps pretty darn well.