I’d like to start this post with a public service announcement: for those of you who think breastfeeding is a contraceptive, it is not.
When my first bub, Max was only nine-months-old, I found myself staring in disbelief at two little pink lines and thinking, “WTF?”.
After my initial confusion about potentially giving birth to ‘Jesus the Sequel’, I remembered a rare night out when my in-laws were babysitting and anyway…TMI.
On 29 July I welcomed our second little cherub into the world – a boy named Hugo. After a very difficult pregnancy with crippling pelvic instability, I was overjoyed when the anesthetist jabbed my spine and he popped out of the sunroof 15 minutes later at a whopping 4.19kgs.
My daily calorie intake, while up the duff, equated to that of a pre-menstrual hippo. So I am now three buckets of ice-cream away from being able to apply for The Biggest Loser and my BMI is in the “consider gastric bypass surgery” zone. But on the positive side, I have a scrumptious little bub to snuggle and he is rather fond of burrowing into my fat rolls.
Hugo is now 10-weeks-old and I am still zoned out in the fog that is early parenthood.
Last night he woke at 10.30pm and decided to stay awake for the rest of the night. After the early months with Max, Lach and I were prepared for the worst so I think I’m coping better with the sleep deprivation this time around. Yes, I still lose my shit at 2am, I forget passwords and find clothes in the dishwasher and peanut butter in the laundry basket, but knowing what I was in for makes it less of a shock to the system.
Even though I look like a 50-year-old bag lady with a dead metabolism and a lazy eye, I am trying to enjoy the early months with Hugo as much as possible. We’ve decided that there won’t be another little McCallum erupting from Mt Uterus so I’ve tried to savour every snuggle and not stress about what we SHOULD be doing too much.
Hugo has pretty much lived on my chest for the last 10 weeks and we’ve done everything wrong according to all the ‘baby whisperers’ out there. I’ve rocked him to sleep, breastfed on demand (sometimes every hour) and popped him in our bed in the early hours of most mornings.