Last week I had the most perfect morning with my son, the kind of morning you can only have with one child.
I slept in a little, then worked in my pyjamas for a while before taking Finn down to the park. The sun was shining, the playground was bully-free and while there I ran into another mother I knew from Finn’s music class.
We had a chat while the kids chased each other around the playground, then headed to the local cafe for a snack and to feed the kids milkshakes.
Once sated, I cruised on over to the local op-shop, where I picked up an enormous bag of Duplo and some great baby clothes for the girl child.
I then headed home and put Finn to sleep before basking in the glow of my own parental perfection.
Unfortunately made the mistake of boasting about my morning to other mothers, who quickly reminded me that things would not be so easy with two children.
Just getting out of the house will require double the co-ordination, then there’ll be double nap-times to consider and feeding schedules to work around. I may spend a good portion of the first few months covered in vomit and rocking a little 4kg bundle from side to side.
All week the fear has been building. Am I mad? Is it too late to turn back (umm, yes.) I wonder if the babysitting offers will dry up once there are two little munchkins to feed and put to bed.
Holiday accommodation will get a whole lot more expensive as we can no longer just book a studio and pop up a port-a-cot. I can expect fights over who wants the green cup and what DVD to play. Everything suddenly seems… so much more complicated.
But something struck me while watching the rather strange Michael Jackson memorial today. Looking at Paris, Prince and Blanket (well, they are their names) I felt desperately sorry for these poor children, who never knew their mother and had now lost their father. Hidden behind masks until now, then thrust into the spotlight at their father’s funeral of all places, I don’t think these kids are in for an easy ride.
At least they have each other though, and that’s why we do it, right? I’m throwing my son a lifejacket and hoping it helps keep his head above water.
Pregnancy update: Baby is head down and threatening to engage. Starting to feel the downwards pressure – only seven weeks to go!
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