I can handle comparisons to cows, but to my former self? Not a chance | #parenting


This is part of a series by Aisling Marron on her pregnancy during the pandemic.

I thought we were adapting well to life as a family of four, but judging by how keenly my husband was researching vasectomies from the moment we got home, maybe not.

I mean, we agreed we’d probably have two children – it’s just that when he’s actively looking to cut off the supply so soon, I’m somehow broody for another child even though I’m literally holding 8lb of newborn in my arms.

Snip talk aside, it is great to be home and he is playing a blinder providing meals of previously off-limit foods: rare steak with red wine, runny egg, smoked salmon, gin and tonic, sushi, prosecco. “Would you like some blue cheese on crackers?”

Yes, yes I would.

On the bad days, I look and feel like a zombie, the baby won’t latch, my breasts are sore

Like most things in life, there are good days and bad. On the good days, I feel rested, I sleep when the baby sleeps, the feeding is going well and I convince myself that I’m acing parenting two children if I manage to pat the toddler’s back any time she happens to come within arm’s reach. On the good days the public health nurse says, “You’re doing a great job,” and I think thank you, yes I know I am.

On the bad days, I look and feel like a zombie, the baby won’t latch, my breasts are sore, I miss the toddler and I look down at a crying baby and suddenly find myself crying, saying to her, “I know you’re hungry. I’m sorry, baby. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The days the public health nurse says the baby has gained 200g in a week are good days. The days we’re told she’s lost 5g in a weekend are bad days (no, that is not a typo – she lost the equivalent of a teaspoon of sugar in weight). Yes, our mood is very much dictated by the scales – those very sensitive scales.





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