Welcome - About Me

Thursday, 25 May 2017

How Yoga Helped Me Through Pregnancy

When I was 15 weeks pregnant I left my one year old at home and ventured out to a pregnancy yoga class. It was my third attempt in as many weeks to take my I-could-vomit-at-any-moment sick self to class. Until this point every moment of every day since we’d conceived had been about surviving (more on that here), so this yoga class was my first attempt to focus on the pregnancy in a positive way, connect with the baby in my womb and do something for my own health. And though I missed a few classes due to the sickness, most of the time it became my weekly retreat.

I’ve done yoga when I’m not pregnant, but I particularly like doing it when I am pregnant (especially seeing as exercise options become limited, and it is one practice that is safe and very beneficial). Over two pregnancies I have done two different pre-natal classes, two different mums and babes classes and a post-natal class. 

The thing I love about yoga is it focuses on health holistically, and it is as much about mental health as it is about physical health. As mums, whose worlds have completely changed, who make a thousand tiny decisions every day, and who are entirely responsible for the wellbeing of little people, our mental health is both vulnerable and vitally important.

Physically it has great benefits too (we all know yoga is good for us, right?) You could probably do any yoga class and the instructor would modify the poses for you but I would recommend doing a pregnancy specific class. That way you get to learn techniques to deal with all those niggling pregnancy symptoms (like how to prevent night time leg cramps and what to do if you wake up in the night with a searing cramp in your calf. And no, the answer is not to punch your calf over and over until it goes away…) And even if you don’t have any niggling pregnancy symptoms, pregnancy changes everything about every part of your body and with the right instructor you can learn so much about what is happening to your body, what to do and what to expect. Oh, and you’ll find yourself in a room full of pregnant women – the information and connections you can gain from this is invaluable (but don’t go to make friends as you might be disappointed…)

Now, let's talk about pelvic floor. You know the poor muscles that get stretched and pulled and damaged in pregnancy and birth? If you've given birth in an Australian public hospital recently you'll know they offer you a session with the physio who teaches you to isolate those muscles and pull them 'in and up'. It's a half hour session, and then you’re on your own with only the daily exercises prescribed to you and a black and white hand out with instructions. And these exercises are BORING. They are the epitome of boring. They are so easy to forget or not do properly. But they are so important. Enter pre/post-natal yoga. The instructor will talk you through a pelvic floor segment and teach you that there are actually many ways to strengthen your pelvic floor and many exercises you can do. And if you're lacking motivation to do them, at least you'll know that once a week in your yoga class your pelvic floor will get a good work out (I am not endorsing only doing pelvic floor exercises once a week, you should do them daily like the hospital tells you to, I’m just saying that if you don’t at least you know that you will at your yoga class.) These pelvic floor exercises are important before and after birth, which is one of the reasons I am currently doing post-natal yoga rather than a normal yoga class.

When my firstborn was a few months old we started mums and babes yoga. And I thought it was the best thing ever. At this stage I was absolutely attached to my firstborn, I didn’t want or need space from her, I saw it as a lovely thing that we could do together. She would lie on the floor and look up at me with big eyes, she looked very happy and interested, so I felt it was lovely for her too. We continued doing yoga together until she started crawling, when it got too hard to keep her in one spot.

Last week I went to a mums and babes yoga class, with my second baby, but I felt completely different. Yes, it was a lovely thing to do with her (and we did baby massage and some movement just for her), but right now my entire life is about doing lovely things for my baby and toddler. It is always about them. Yoga is the one thing, the one hour every week, that is not about my little people. Yoga is about me. And I find we do a lot more actual yoga in a yoga class than in a mums and babes yoga class where I need to break to feed my daughter, settle her etc. So this time around I’m not continuing with the mums and babes class, instead I’m doing the post-natal class on a Saturday morning.

What surprised me though is how differently I feel about mums and babes yoga between my first and second child. I’m sure this is a second time mum thing, a symptom of caring for children around the clock and having been doing so for nearly two years now. I have a need for my own personal space and for me time that I didn’t have when my firstborn was small. Motherhood has seasons, and this showed me that I am in a very different season the second time around. 

So, where do I go to do this yoga that I’m harping on about?
Here I'd like to shout out to two of my favourite yoga places, Blissful Bellies in Durban and Kula Yoga in Melbourne. I've done pre and post-natal and mums and babes yoga at both. Both are so different but each was my favourite time of the week.

The first one is Isabel at Blissful Bellies in Durban, South Africa. She runs this yoga from the garage of her home. Her classes are small and intimate, she knows each of her students and their children. Her classes are casual – there’s always time for a chat before class and there’s a WhatsApp group for everyone to communicate throughout the week. As well as being an awesome practice it also became a little pregnant community for me – women I could message throughout the week to chat about all things pregnancy. It was lovely to regularly be in a room full of pregnant women and share what was going on for us. And it was even more lovely to see the birth announcements rolling in on the WhatsApp group.

In Australia, I’ve been going to Kula Yoga in Hawthorn East and though it feels completely different I love it there too! The pre and post-natal classes are taught by Andi and Steph who have clearly been trained in this area and you get a lot of information about changes in your body and different poses that can help. And Steph and Andi say lovely things to help you visualise and connect with your baby, reminding you to acknowledge the divine feminine, the natural mother inside you. I leave the studio, feeling great physically and also with a sense of calm. The main downfall of the Kula class is that it is only on once a week, which means that if you miss it, it's two weeks between classes.

So, did yoga help me with birth?
I thought yoga might help me with birth. In pre-natal yoga we talk a lot about positions for labour, hip openers and breathing through discomfort. I thought it was great preparation for birth. But I’m going to be honest and say I don’t think it helped me in the delivery room. Birth is such an overwhelming experience (you can read Zara’s birth story here) that I forgot everything I knew and had practiced and the pain was so intense that nothing could ease it. But it did help me feel confident in the lead up to the birth and in my body’s ability to give birth. And I do believe that if my doula (who is also a yoga teacher) had made it to our birth she may have been able to guide me through some breathing and positions to help.

It is recommended that women wait six weeks after delivery before they return to exercise. Luckily yoga is one of the first exercises that you can return to. I really missed my weekly practice in those six weeks. But now I’m back on the mat. And the best thing about starting yoga again postpartum is that all of the sudden all the poses and sequences are so much easier and you can do them without dragging your huge, heavy, pregnant body from one position to another and feeling like your squashed lungs just can’t get enough air to move. Ah, the bliss of being able to move again!

Life is busy and it’s hard to find time for myself with two kids. So don’t invite me anywhere on a Saturday morning. You’ll find me on my mat. 

Saturday, 13 May 2017

To the Mother who has Lost – on Mother’s Day

Three years ago it was my first Mother’s Day. And by that I mean the first Mother’s Day since I had carried a child inside me. I didn’t look like a mother. I didn’t have a child in my arms. I didn’t even have a child in my belly. The world didn’t think I was a mother. But I wanted to be a mother so bad. I wanted to join what felt like a special club that I wasn’t in.

On this day, I found myself in church. I wondered what my church was going to do for Mothers Day. They tend to make a big deal of honoring the mothers in the church. The year before they had given them all gifts. But this time, they said they also wanted to honor those who Mother’s Day was difficult for – those facing infertility, miscarriage, infant loss, the death of a child or their mother. It was us who the church wanted to pray for. The ones who are nearly always forgotten on the day of floral arrangements and handmade crafts and lunches with mum. It was like they were speaking right into my heart. How did they know?

You see, that was the first Mother’s Day since I had lost a pregnancy at 12 weeks (more on that here). Everyone had moved on from this little incident, but I had not forgotten. Mothers don’t forget. We hold all our children in our hearts, whether they are here or not.

I was recently reading a book by a mum who lost her infant baby. She describes her first Mother’s Day in church, when all the mums were asked to stand for prayer. She records her conundrum writing, ‘Do I stand up? Do I sit?’ It reminded me of the confusion and grief that Mother’s Day brings to so many women. Those who were a mum, who wanted to be, who almost were, or are trying to be.

After I miscarried, I suddenly heard of so many others who had. I joined a group of women, that no one wants to be part of. I became the one others would whisper to in the workplace kitchen - telling me that last week they were pregnant and now they are not. And my heart broke every single time, because I knew the emptiness they felt, the enormity of their heartache, the loneliness of the grief that only a mother’s heart can feel. Because I had told people when we lost our baby, it gave others permission to tell me. And now I realise the world is missing so many babies.

That first Mother’s Day was a trigger for me. It was a reminder that I was supposed to be celebrating my first Mother’s Day, but that I had nothing to celebrate. I didn’t feel that I could consider myself a mum. The day showed me that because I didn’t have a baby on my hip my baby didn’t exist. Mother’s Day was not for me. Not that year. Not until I became a ‘real’ mum.

The prayer at church acknowledged that I was a mum, that this day was also about me. It gave me permission to grieve on this day. It reminded the congregation that, when there is a lot to celebrate there is also often a lot of pain. I appreciated this prayer so much.

I know many have lost much more than I have. Some will have had multiple losses, some an early loss, some a baby or child who had been born, some will be waiting, some will be experiencing this day for the first time, some will have living children as well, some will be celebrating, some will be grieving, some will do both.

My message to mums facing this, is as simple as the message I so wanted to hear – Your child is important. Just because he / she isn’t here, doesn’t mean that he / she is not your child and doesn’t exist. And you didn’t stop being a mother the day your child went to heaven. Mother’s Day, even if it brings you tears, even if no-one buys you flowers, is for you too.

Sometimes (actually, almost all the time) as women we have to take responsibility for looking after ourselves. Though it would be wonderful for others to remember the life you carried and acknowledge it on this day they most likely will not. My only advice would be to take some time to do whatever it is that you need, that makes you feel good. For me, that thing has always been writing. For you, it might be buying the flower that reminds you of your baby, it might be a special prayer, a walk in the bush with your partner. Give yourself that. You most definitely are a mother, and Mother's Day is for you too. 

Thursday, 4 May 2017


‘What is this?’ ‘That’s a charger / crumb / pirate / apple seed / (insert noun here)’. ‘That’s a penguin, it does look like a duck, they are a bit similar’. These are the conversations on repeat in my house, as we label every single item over and over. This, I have discovered, is how children learn language. One word at a time. Imagine, learning the whole English language this way. We all did. Yet, now I get to observe this, I get to be the teacher, I get to see that learning language is actually a full time occupation. My daughter never takes a break. It amazes me the way she stores these words up. Day by day, her vocabulary expanding exponentially.

We never taught her the sentence ‘what is this?’, we don’t know where she learnt it, what a useful sentence it is! She can use this sentence to learn and learn and learn! Apparently, the average 20 month old can learn 10 or more words a day.

Now, at this age, I can see the magic of books. I can see just how much my daughter learns from looking at books and pointing to each item on the page and either labeling it or asking ‘what is this?’. The stories are not important right now. It is all about the pictures and their names.

“Harry, Harry, Harry”, she says as she points to the red frog on the playmat. She is remembering the frog called Harry, who looks nothing like the frog on the playmat, in the book Hungry Harry. A book that we haven’t read for a while. Her memory astounds me.

I have a newborn who makes a few gurgles and sounds and I realise how far my first born has come, how over time her sounds have slowly developed, first into her own language and now into words we can understand.

As her language develops I am getting a better insight into the depth of thought in my daughter’s head.

A few weeks ago, out of nowhere, she said to me ‘where is Gogo (granny)?’ This question might seem simple enough, but it amazed me and saddened me in equal measure. She hadn’t seen her Gogo since we left South Africa four before. It occurred to me that she’s probably been wondering this the whole time but just didn’t have the words to ask. How wonderful language is, that she can finally be heard and express some of the things inside her head. How much this question made me realise that I must explain things to her over and over, even if she doesn’t ask. Every time she sees a mobile phone she picks it up and says ‘Gogo’ because she knows we talk to Gogo on the phone. How wonderful that now, finally, she can talk back to Gogo. How cute it is to hear her say enthusiastically, ‘hello, hello, hello’. How smart she seems when she looks at her baby sister and says ‘ra-ra (Zara) shleeps (sleeps)’, or when she sees me making dinner and she says ‘cook, cook’. It shows me she knows exactly what is going on.  

To me, few things are as adorable as her voice, her mispronounced words, her insistence, the effort she puts in to being understood. She is trying so hard. She is learning that some words get her what she wants and some don't. She runs around the house saying, 'Katie, Katie, Katie', because she hears others calling me that. And, after a while when I haven't responded, in her loudest possible voice, 'M U M M Y'.

Monday, 1 May 2017

I miss life before kids.

I miss life before kids.
I miss not being exhausted and sleeping all night.
I miss relaxing weekends and owning my time.
I miss making plans without having to think of babysitting.
I miss date nights and nothing being more important than my marriage.
I miss my husband and the time and energy we had for each other.
I miss intimacy without sleeping kids in the bedroom.


I miss leaving the house clean in the morning and finding it clean when I get home from work at night.
I miss the gym and healthy eating and having the time to invest in these things.
I miss study and learning and being able to invest in me.
I miss work and productivity and performance reviews that told me I was doing well.
I miss new projects and morning coffees and colleagues to call on on tough days.
I miss days off and sick leave and annual leave and work-from-home-with-no-distraction days.

Getting stuff done with some of my former work colleagues.
I miss weekend plans without having to be home for nap time.
I miss wearing any clothes I want without worrying whether I can breastfeed in them.
I miss leaving the house with just myself and a small handbag.
I miss travel and adventures and holidays without needing to pack two cots, a double pram, a highchair and bags of toys.
I miss freedom and my life being all about me.
I miss having capacity, making progress, achieving and getting things done.
I miss going to the hairdresser without needing help and having to justify why I am leaving the house alone.
I miss dinner without food on the floor.
I miss home being a quiet place, an easy place, an escape where nothing is expected of me.

The lounge room in the first house we lived in after we got married.

There, I've said it, I miss life before kids.
And it's important to say this because so often we focus only on what is gained when we start a family and not what is lost.
But life is full and when something is added, especially something as wonderful as children, other things have to move to make space.

I shared this with my husband and he said, 'no, I love that we have kids, we've always wanted kids, life is way better with them, they give us and our marriage direction, we are so blessed'. And life IS better with them, that I know, and they DO give us direction and make our lives full. But I'm also allowed to miss sleeping all night and having a tidy house. It's important we talk about this because postnatal depression rates are high, the mental health of parents matters, and only sharing the rosy moments doesn't create space for parents to admit it can be hard too. Becoming a mum made me a new person and a better person. But it's ok to miss the old me sometimes too.

And just as I'm missing the old me, my daughter does something hilarious, and I remember that never before has my life been filled with so much laughter...

Thursday, 13 April 2017

Welcome Zara – Our wonderful, intense, didn’t-make-it-to-the-water birth

A week and a half before Zara was born I had 10 hours of contractions. I was sure that I was in labour and that the baby would be born that night. I had been timing the contractions since 4pm and they were coming consistently and getting stronger. At 2am I eventually fell asleep, expecting to wake later and rush to the hospital. Instead I slept till morning and woke feeling completely normal. No baby.

Up until then I had assumed that the birth would be similar to my first – which was a precipitate labour that you can read about here. These contractions made me think that this birth might be quite different and I wondered if I would cope if it was a much longer, slower birth. With my first I had put a lot of things in place to ensure it was a positive one – I organised a doula, hired a TENS machine, had acupuncture, practiced hypno birthing and pressure points with my husband etc. This time I hadn't organised anything, I was just assuming it would be ok, and the 10 hours of contractions made me nervous. We couldn’t afford to do everything we did last time, so out of all of the things I had to choose. I decided to choose a doula as I felt we needed all the support possible and because having a doula last time made us feel so positive about the birth, both in the lead up to it and afterwards. We organised a student doula through the Australian Doula College, which is much less expensive than booking a fully qualified doula. It’s lucky we went for this option because for the second time the doula didn’t actually make it to the birth. Even though she didn’t make it in time I don’t regret having a doula because you never know what type of birth you will have. You just have to plan for the unknowns as best as you can and be prepared for anything.

Knowing my first birth had been so fast and with such little warning I had started staying close to Box Hill Hospital at 37 weeks. This was not something I did with our first baby, as I had assumed that labour would start slow and gently and give me enough time to get home from wherever I was. Staying close to home, made the waiting very real, it made me constantly think that our baby could be close. But I was feeling great right up until the final day of my pregnancy so I started to think, maybe this bub is still a while away.

The day before I gave birth was our wedding anniversary. It was a sunny day and mum and dad had our eldest daughter. We went to a beautiful nursery café in Warrandyte with a view. We sat outside in the sun and took some time to reflect. We went for a walk along the river. We took photos of my belly and I realised that it was absolutely ready to pop, that it was the hugest belly I have ever seen. We sat by the river and talked about our baby. We prayed for her and wrote letters to her. Sitting with the man I love and doing this brought me a great deal of peace. I very much felt that as a team we were ready to welcome our baby and become a family of four.

Sunday morning was the end of daylight savings so my daughter woke at 5am. When she woke us up I noticed that I was having cramps. This wasn’t unusual for me though, as I had been having cramps / contractions / prelabour on and off for about 5 weeks. They weren’t strong so I didn’t think that anything was happening. I started timing them and realised that, though they weren’t strong, they were coming consistently about five minutes apart. I was still in denial though as my previous contractions had been a false alarm. Still we started getting ready for the hospital just in case – packing the last few things, putting the bags in the car, tidying up the bedroom, bathing our daughter and doing her hair for a party she was going to that afternoon. At 8:20am I messaged our doula and asked her to come. I said I wasn’t sure if it was going to go away or progress but I asked her to come anyway. By 8:50 the contractions were getting stronger and fast. I realised that we weren’t going to have time to finish bathing our daughter. Luckily my dad was there so I quickly asked him to get my daughter out of the bath and dressed and we ran to the car.

I remember getting in the car when I was in labour with my first and how dramatic it had been, how I was screaming and kneeling and holding back her head. This time it was all very easy and calm. We drove to the hospital and I was able to discuss the best place to park with my husband. We found street parking. I jumped out, leaving my husband to park the car, and walked alone into the hospital, up the lift and into the birthing ward. The midwife who greeted me later told me I was so calm that she thought she was going to check me and send me home.

But as soon as I got into the birthing suite the contractions started coming thick and fast. I leaned on the table and swayed my hips to get through them. My husband arrived with our bags. The contractions were ramping up and the pressure was building. I remembered the feeling of pressure from last time. I tried a number of different positions and ended up on all fours on the bed. When I arrived I had told the midwife I wanted a water birth and she had turned the water on. I wanted to get in the bath but it wasn’t full enough. The contractions were so painful that I was now screaming through each one. I was grateful though that the contractions were coming and going so I was getting a break between each one to catch my breath. My first birth had been so fast that I didn’t have contractions, they just rolled on top of each other without a break for an hour and a half. Now that I remember the intensity of the pain of birth, I wonder how I did it with my daughter, how I got through it without the break between contractions. With my first birth I actually blanked out as I was birthing, so I blocked the memory of the pain. This time I was much more aware of it, I was feeling every little bit. I was becoming terrified of the contractions because I felt they were too much for me. As I felt them coming I said 'oh no, oh no, oh no; because I didn't feel I could face it. I felt I had too much pain and no path through, as though the people around me couldn't and wouldn't help me through. I asked for the bath and I asked for gas but I wasn't able to use either.

Looking back this is the time I would have appreciated having our doula with us, who could have made some practical suggestions to get me through, who could have advocated for me, updated me on where things were at, explained what was happening and why.
I asked the midwife if she could see the baby’s head. Although you might think it would be obvious whether the head is out or not all I could feel was pain without being able to identify exactly what that pain was. Luckily, the birth was quick, and before long the baby was out (she was born at 9:30, half an hour after we arrived at the hospital). I was so relieved. I had birthed, again, without intervention or any pain relief.

It is often assumed that a quick birth is a good birth and that it makes it easy. I can’t count the number of people who have said how lucky I am. And while I am grateful to have had two quick births, it is true that short labours are characterised by contractions that are continuous or extremely long and intense. In both births I had no options for pain relief, despite experiencing pain that was more intense than I can find words to describe.

I didn’t see it but I was told my daughter was born in the sack. I wish we had got a photo of that but the midwife popped it straight away and my husband was too busy caring for me in that moment. Within seconds she was placed on my chest, naked and wet and messy, and we were covered in warm towels. She was here! 

My husband and I had named her a couple of months earlier – Zara Lethu – a name that means ‘our radiant dawn’. I held her close to me and was overwhelmed that she was here and by just how blessed I am to be the mother of two daughters. I looked at my husband, I remembered the first night I had vomited at a restaurant and suspected I was pregnant nine months earlier – what a journey it had been to becoming a family of four!

I was lucky because I had no tearing or problems with the birth. With my first I had had internal lacerations which took weeks to heal. This time the recovery has been much easier and much quicker. I believe that this is birth how God created it to be – with breaks between the pain, no damage afterwards and a quick / easy recovery. Having not anticipated feeling so good afterwards I was amazed, amazed at how the body can repair itself and how it can bounce back from something as momentous as birth. I personally am in awe of just what a woman’s body can do.

So now my second daughter is here, and I’ve just embarked on the crazy, amazing and no doubt life-changing journey of being a mother of two. Welcome, little one. 

Zara's birth photo
Zara's first photo - moments old.

Saturday, 1 April 2017

How to create a baby mobile from old cards

I love the occasional creative project. When I was 8 months pregnant with my first, my doula and I sat down and mapped out the final weeks of pregnancy. Day by day we made a calendar of things to do while I prepared and waited - write a letter to my baby, do yoga, have lunch and a walk with a special friend. 'Make a mobile' was written on the calendar for the day I reached 39 weeks. It's lovely to schedule some special things to do while you wait for your baby, but you might not get to do them. At exactly 39 weeks, my daughter made her appearance, and the mobile was long forgotten.

So this time around I started a bit earlier and I'm happy to say made the mobile in time. Here it is.

DIY baby mobile

DIY baby bird mobile

I went for a bird theme and I made it out of old cards that my mum had saved from when I was kid. Some of my first birthday cards have now been cut into bird shapes and transformed into this mobile. I very much enjoyed looking through the pile of cards mum had saved. The same names appeared year after year. How special to look back and see cards from my aunties from when I was born, turned 1, 2, 3, 4 etc. 

What I used to create the mobile:

- a box of old birthday cards. 
- a circle for the top that I bought from Spotlight
- white ribbon that I twisted around the circle and super glue to secure it
- gold string, bought from the craft shop
- an assortment of beads that I have collected over the years
- the circle part of a keyring, used to hang it
- a bird shape template that I found on google images

Old birthday cards used to create the baby mobile

I went with a bird theme, but you could choose any shape, colour or design you like. Once I had gathered all the bits and pieces I invited my two closest friends around to help. I decided it was a great excuse for a creative afternoon, a catch up with friends, and a time to drink tea and eat cake.

Here's what we did:

- Decided on a design and colour theme. I decided on a multicoloured / patterned bird theme, but again, you could choose anything you like.
- Covered the top, wooden circle. I did this by wrapping it tightly with white ribbon (secured with super glue at the start and end)
- Using a template to ensure each shape is the same, we cut out the shapes. For each bird we cut out two shapes (back and front of each bird) and two wings.
- Before we glued the back and front of each bird together we layed out each string of the mobile. We treated the beads and tied knots to secure them on either side of the birds. We then glued the back and front of the birds together with the string between them. We made 8 strands, each with three birds. Some were short with the birds close together and some were long. 

paper birds for the baby mobile

- Tied each strand to the circle at the top.
- Tied four strings of equal length to the keyring circle and then tied the other end of each string to the white circle (equally spaced around the circle). Now when I held up the keyring I could see that it was ready to hang.

baby craftanoon with friends.

And, voila, just like that, we'd transformed old cards from my childhood, into something special for my baby. 

.... Now my baby is born and here she is enjoying her mobile at 3 weeks old.

Saturday, 25 February 2017

Becoming a mother of two. Pregnancy the second time around.

To be pregnant is to carry creation inside you. To realise that your body is not completely yours. It is to surrender to the mystery. To surrender your own control. No one can control if and when they become pregnant, you have no say over whether you carry a boy or a girl, you do not know for sure that your baby will be healthy, you do not choose what type of pregnancy you have – whether you glow and breeze through it or whether you struggle through every pregnancy symptom in the book, you rarely choose your birth. And once the baby is conceived inside you there is nothing you do to grow him or her, as you sleep little arms and legs sprout, tiny fingers and toes, skin and ears and lungs. It truly is life’s greatest miracle.

Pregnancy is very much a season of preparation, of waiting, of looking to the future, of letting go of the past. For your first pregnancy it is about you becoming a new person – becoming a mother. It is starting on a journey that is long and unknown, the only known thing is that you must commit to it, commit to the journey for the rest of your life.

And as I carry my second child I realise that even though I am already a mum, this pregnancy and baby is no less significant than my first and this little one will change our lives just as dramatically. And yet, despite this realisation I have felt that I have had so much less time and so much less focus for this second child of mine. Everyone says the second pregnancy is different. And it certainly feels different to me, (and I’m not just referring to how much earlier and faster my belly started to grow…).

My first pregnancy was a beautiful time. I was able to change my entire life so that I could focus on the baby that was coming. I wrote letters to my unborn baby (one which you can read here), I got acupuncture to prepare for the birth, I did prenatal yoga, I read and read and read about pregnancy and birth and newborns, I bought a pram and a cot and room décor, I wrote birth affirmations and drank birthing tea, my husband and I attended birthing class together, we met with our doula, we went on a babymoon, we did a pregnancy photo shoot, we had a gender reveal party and a baby shower, I sorted through piles of gorgeous newborn clothes that were given to us, I journalled so I wouldn’t forget how it felt to carry a life inside me. And all of these things were important to me because they acknowledged and celebrated the huge change that was about to happen and they prepared me for the journey ahead.

This time, I have actively tried to recreate that focus and calm that I had but it just hasn’t worked. Now I am more likely to read a book about toddler behaviour than about birth or breastfeeding. My first born is still the one that takes us through uncharted waters. I feel, that compared to my first, I have put very little time into preparing for this one. Yet she is just as significant, just as loved. So much of the preparation is not about the baby, but about me. Though it seems strange, painting a chest of drawers is mental preparation for the sleepless nights. This is the reason that when I made my daughter a santa sack for Christmas I felt I had to make two. My mum said, ‘I don’t really understand what the rush on the second one is…’ But it is about my mind moving from being a mother of one to a mother of two. It is about giving my second everything I have given my first.

But, though I would love to repeat everything I did for my first, I know that being pregnant with my second is simply different. It’s different for me and everyone else. It was different right from when I first told people I was pregnant. Because they have celebrated this before. Because they think I already know everything and already have everything. Because this time I already have a child to chase after. Being pregnant for the second time means getting a pregnancy massage and then crawling on the floor to pick up food my one year has thrown on the ground. It is trying to remember to tell my husband when our baby is moving so that he can feel her. It is loving the magic of carrying a baby inside me and not wanting it to end too soon.

Two weeks before my first daughter was born I went on maternity leave from work. It marked the end of something and the beginning of something new. It was significant and celebrated. It transitioned me to a time of waiting, it gave me time and permission to rest, to focus on me, to nest, to get ready. But when you are a stay at home mum there is no maternity leave, there's no break before the baby arrives, one season doesn't end before the next one starts. The world seems to think you will seamlessly transition. 

With this pregnancy I have noticed just how much of what is written about pregnancy, birth and newborns is tailored towards first time mums. Photos in baby magazines are always of a mother and one baby. Always. Magazines and books are full of advice like ‘get as much rest as you can before the baby comes,’ and ‘sleep when the baby sleeps', information about what to expect for a first time labour and birth. Perhaps by now we are simply supposed to know it all.

People have told me the second baby is easier, because you know what to expect. And yet, for me, it still feels just as unknown. The unknowns are two fold. Firstly, the baby and birth are just as unknown because they say every baby is different. But secondly, I wonder how the way I mother my daughter will change and how it has to. How will it be possible to sit and snuggle my toddler to sleep when I have a newborn? How will I entertain my toddler when my newborn needs cuddles and feeding on the couch?

I recently was reminiscing with a friend about my first birth, about how I had a birthing candle and so many evenings alone with my husband to prepare, how calm and lovely it was when I bought my first home from the hospital, how I could fully embrace the long days and nights of breastfeeding. And my friend said, ‘you have to let the first one go. This one wont be the same, but it will be beautiful in a different way.’ And it already is beautiful in a different way. Like when my one year old points to my belly and says ‘baby’. In some ways it has been easier because I have known what to expect, how to get through the awful days of sickness, and there’s been less preparation because I don’t need to spend as much time researching baby carriers. And in some ways it has been harder because the world didn’t stop this time when I got pregnant, because I have a one year old to look after and because, as I race towards the finish line, I'm reminded of what a big deal welcoming a child is, whether that be your first, your second or your fifth. 

Pregnant with a toddler