I had to be persuaded to try for #2. Persistently. By Steve. While he made the case that giving Bub a sibling would make him less of an asshole and that having two was easier than one because they would someday play together, all I could think about was the toll having a baby would take on my body and how hard our lives already were with just one kid. Steve insisted he would do all the nighttime feedings and sleep training. He promised me the time and space to work out and take care of myself after the second baby arrived. Despite Steve’s best intentions, I knew the reality would be very different.
Because the truth is, having children is and always will be harder on the woman than the man. It’s biological. Steve will never know what it’s like to get up and pee four times in the middle of the night because a baby is sitting on his bladder. He’ll never know what it’s like to work full-time while struggling through first trimester nausea or third trimester insomnia. When the baby arrives, he’ll sympathize with my clogged milk ducts and hormone imbalance but won’t know how to help me. Because, I won’t know how he can help me.
Somehow, the logical side of my brain was overtaken by Steve’s persuasiveness and I got pregnant a month later. Steve was ecstatic, practically shouting our news from the rooftop. Though I was excited too, I was a bit more subdued knowing what was in store for me. Sure enough, the nausea kicked in a week after we found out.
With Bub, I waited until I was 20 weeks pregnant to find out his gender. I didn’t want to wait with this one, so I took a blood test at week 7 and found out we were having a girl.
A girl. When I saw the explosion of pink confetti on my computer screen, I immediately started sobbing. I wanted a boy so badly. I wanted another Bub. I wanted to be an all boy mom.
After a period of grieving, I realized that my disappointment was rooted in trauma and fear. Having a daughter would force me to confront the hardest parts of my upbringing. The fat-shaming, the insecurities, the constant fear of being assaulted by the opposite sex. Aspects of my childhood I try to forget.
I’m afraid I’ll fail at raising a daughter. I’m afraid she’ll be shallow, superficial, self-conscious. I’m worried she’ll be a lot like me. I’m worried I’ll have a hard time connecting with her or loving her as much as I love Bub.
On top of my emotional confrontation, the actual pregnancy has been so much tougher this round than the first. I was nauseated more and for longer. I experienced musculoskeletal pain, intense brain fog, and swelling. I mainly craved sugar and carbs and as a result, gained 20 pounds more than when I was pregnant with Bub.
I grimace when I hear people try to convince young moms that the second time around “is so much easier because your body has done it before”. Utter BS. It’s a hundred times harder because I’m uncomfortably pregnant and trying to keep up with my first kid. The only thing easier about having a second kid is that I’ve mentally been through a pregnancy and a delivery already, so I know slightly more about what to expect. I know not to stress about eating deli meat, drinking caffeine, or taking a Tylenol. I did all of these things, some every day.
Over the past eight months, people have shared with me their joys about having daughters and I’ve gradually grown more excited about having one of my own. I know it’ll be challenging to shield her from societal pressures. At first, it’ll be the ones which push her to wear pink, to dress up, to obsess about being a damsel in distress. At some point, it’ll be the ones which encourage her to be gentle, quiet, passive - to be liked above all else.
At the same time, I’m looking forward to helping her navigate this world and to love herself first and foremost. I’m committed to breaking the cycle of generational, cultural, and societal trauma that I experienced. I’m not afraid of her knowing my fears. I hope she sees someday how hard I’ve worked to overcome them and that she realizes she played a big part in my ability to do so.
