How many times does one have to get peed on before one learns to stand out of the line of fire? I'm asking for a friend...
Hands down the second baby is much easier. Not only does he just seem to be more mellow than my little princess was, but I'm more mellow. Not every gurgle or squeak sends me into a tail spin. I don't scream for the husband when he spits up, worried he's going to choke on his own vomit like a 60s rock star. The absolutely disgusting piece that is his yet to detach umbilical cord doesn't make me gag.
But it's not all ice cream and cake walks either. There is a learning curve and an old lady curve I have to deal with.
For one, as mentioned above, there is significantly more peeing at me then with the previous baby. Last night involved two costume changes for both of us due to point-and-shoot urine events. Many people have recommended pee pee tee pees
or covering him with cloth diapers. Obviously their children don't break dance during their diaper changes like my B-Boy, because neither of those things would stay on him while I grab the diaper (hence the probability I'll have to repaint the wall behind the changing table at some point).
Then there's the old lady factor. Maybe I'm not that old in some circles, though I've certainly heard "advanced maternal age" enough for a lifetime, but I'm old enough that the actual care and feeding of this only 7 pound baby is a lot harder than last time. "Ugh, my back!" is probably shouted 3 to 5 times a day in my house. Scootching back to put on a breastfeeding tray, leaning over to pick him out of his magic go-sleepy-vibrating chair, bouncing out a reluctant burp, all elicit an up the back and out of body pain like I was a hecta-octiginarian with arthritis.
Perhaps waiting four years between children wasn't "the perfect spacing" my friends led me to believe. I just got used to sleeping through the night, or at least, sleeping through the crying. The husband and I went to at least 4 movies this year! In the theater! One of them was opening weekend! Plus, I'll be 58 when the boy is ready for college. Won't I want to be looking at retirement villages in Vegas just when he needs me to pay for college?
I'd probably panic, except, having been around the baby block before, I know that all this stuff goes as quickly as it comes. He'll eventually learn to pee on the floor near the potty, I'll find a chiropractor that takes my insurance, he won't rely on me for food and I'll be able to drink more wine. On top of which, this morning he rolled over on his own, indicating a highly advanced nature so I'm sure the Ivy Leagues will be offering him a myriad of scholarships. The line starts on the left - not so fast Dartmouth! I said Ivy League.