Prenatal Reality Check

The first time that I was pregnant, I kept "What to Expect when you're Expecting" by my bedside, along with other various pregnancy related books, and read them religiously. It makes sense, really. I didn't really KNOW what to expect since I'd never done it before. So I researched, I read. I soaked up as much information as I could. I knew to the day when my baby had ears and eyelashes and tiny fingernails. I knew when my uterus was the size of a cantaloupe and my baby the size of a kiwi fruit. I showed up to my prenatal appointments with lists a mile long, detailed questions to ask the doctor, questions out of curiosity, questions seeking reassurance. I took excellent care of myself - no caffeine, lots of fruit and vegetables, and prenatal vitamins every single day. After the baby was born, my precision and exactness continued. I documented the day that Jordan first ate rice cereal, first held a spoon, sat up, crawled, and took his first steps. I knew his age down to the week until it was utterly ridiculous.

"How old is your baby?"

"He's 73 weeks."

Um, what?

I don't think there is anything wrong with this intensely wonderful enjoyment of a first baby. There will always be something special about the first time...

But then, you have more. Maybe two more, or three. Or four.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who notices a difference.

When pregnant with number 3/4/5:

"How far along are you?"

"Um, not far enough along to have stopped barfing yet."

"How big is the baby right now?"

"Um, small enough that it's still making me barf."

"Do you have any questions before we end your appointment?"

"Yeah, can I have cherry coke in an IV?"

After baby is born:

"How old is your baby?"

"Let's see... one? two? Hold on. Let me count backwards till his birthday."

"When did your little boy start walking?"

"Oh my gosh!! Look at the baby! He's walking!!"

"When did you start him on solids?"

"Just recently, actually. The other day, I found him in the corner sucking on a pork chop, so I figured he was ready."

Sometimes I feel a little guilty about the obvious lack of attention that my subsequent children have received as compared to the first. But really, I think they actually have an advantage. Sam and Lucy were particularly susceptible to any deficiency because, well, they came at once and when you have two babies, sometimes you feel like each baby gets much less Mommy than normal. But my twins have each other. It's a special relationship, more than compensating for any one-on-one time they might have missed. And Henry? He has three other people besides Mom and Dad that are crazy in love with him. I don't think he's suffering at all, even if I can't tell you how old he was when he started to crawl.

One thing is for sure though, no matter how closely you document, no matter how much you do or don't pay attention to the little things... It is never NOT a miracle to have a baby. It is never not thrilling to feel those first stirrings of movement, or to hear the heartbeat for the first time. It is never not a miracle to see your baby for the first time, to hold them close, feed them, see their first smile, or hear their first laugh. And that's the common denominator. Every pregnancy, and every mother is different. Some may keep a running journal of every little thing baby ever does, while others make casual observations of milestones and nothing more. But it's always a miracle. Always, always.