Second Babies

In anywhere between three and seven weeks' time, my wife will give birth to our second child, who, if the sonographer at Milton Keynes Hospital's view is to be believed, will be another little girl to complement our daughter Seren. This will round off our family in the way we always wanted, in other words to have two children reasonably early on (at least by today's standards - my mother was 25 when she had me), quite close together (there will be a 21-month gap between the two kids). Will there be a third? ‘Never say never’ they say; I say 'never'. But we reserve the right to deny that we ever said this should there be an accidental ('surprise') third child.

I haven't been a good father to my unborn daughter (we shall assume she was right). At least, I don't feel like I have been so far. With Seren I'd read her stories through my wife's tummy, I'd talk to her to acquaint her with her daddy's voice, and generally felt like I'd done a reasonable job of bonding with her unborn form. The books say this is a good thing to do, but I've done very little of that this time. I'd reason that our new baby has heard me talking to Seren and reading her stories, so I'd hope that my voice should by now be pretty familiar. But that hasn't stopped me feeling regretful of not providing her with a similar level of pre-birth bonding.

Depressingly, our second little girl has probably heard far too much from the hot-headed, argumentative sonofabitch that I seem to have spent much of her gestation being. This I regret immensely. My wife and I have spent far too long in the past eight months rowing, and we've had some of the most spectacular blow-outs we’ve had since the early, volatile days of our relationship's youth. For anyone who knows me that doesn't belong to my family, this might be a surprise as I'm considered a calm and measured individual. But that ability to dig a trench and fire volley after volley exists in me, and Michelle also. If I was especially mean, and if I wanted to have another blazing row, I'd blame the unstable hormone cocktail which someone hands to all newly-pregnant women in the early weeks after discovering they're having a child.

The real issue at the heart of these arguments has been my inability to effectively manage any sort of meaningful work / life balance. This has meant I've missed the majority of appointments Michelle's had at the doctors and midwife, whereas when she was carrying Seren I made as much effort as possible to get along to those important appointments to show my support to my wife; in my life I've tried to avoid settling for what I consider outdated male / female responsibilities, and so I considered it my duty as a husband and parent to show that commitment. Plus you get to hear your baby's heartbeat, which even through a Doppler that makes that noise more like an Aphex Twin track, is entirely wonderful. But I've barely been to any of these appointments because of work commitments, and naturally I regret that also.

Quite rightly, my wife has asserted that I haven't been as committed this time around, and that I have assumed, on account of her coping admirably whilst pregnant with Seren, that she doesn't actually require my support. Arguably, second time around, and with a toddler in tow, she probably needs more support, and for the record I'd like to blame it on circumstance rather than it being seen as some form of deliberate reticence on my part.

One of our nuclear disagreements last autumn was sparked by me saying that I hadn't got my head around the idea of having a second baby; I'd go further than that and say that I've had my head in the sand about it. It's come to a head in recent days as I've ploughed into decorating and furnishing baby's room as to just what's about to happen. There’s nothing quite like a baby due in a few weeks to give you a firm kick up the backside to get things ready for her arrival. In spite of insisting that we wouldn’t, we decided that we’d get Christmas and New Year out of the way before really getting stuck into preparations, giving us just eight weeks to turn a room from an office and treasure trove of horded clutter into a baby’s bedroom, which, bearing in mind that I don’t operate at speed when it comes to decorating (or anything, come to think of it) presented something of a brief timescale. We did the same before Seren was born, except there we had five months post New Year before her arrival.

Michelle asked me for assurances in the past few days that I wasn't going to have a massive freak-out like I did last time, referencing the tearful outburst I had in the car whilst chasing the ambulance to the hospital. Something about the way she looked at me and the tone in her voice adequately conveyed to me that she was actually telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I was not going to be doing that. Sadly, unbeknown to her I have the stirrings of a panic right now, exacerbated by the folder she produced a few days ago containing the notes from our National Childbirth Trust attendance two years back. I can't remember anything about labour positions, breathing methods or any of the helpful things I can do as the supportive birth partner. This scares me. I don’t like being unprepared.

'Having a second baby's easy,' said a wizened work colleague, 'and it'll be over before you know it.' Far from reassuring, this didn't help the rising nervousness at all. On a clear run I can get from work to home in an hour and a half, and that's at best! What if it all happens very quickly while I'm at work and I don't get back home in time for the birth, an event I promised I wouldn't miss. On top of already feeling like I haven't done enough for my wife or unborn daughter during this pregnancy, I think if I missed the birth the guilt would just about finish me off. Either that or my wife would.

I don't associate it with my slow acceptance of having a second baby, but I haven't told as many people at work about Michelle being pregnant again. Part of me, I suppose, has a natural tendency toward not making a fuss or drawing attention to myself, and perhaps I'd have been the same with Seren if people around me hadn't chosen to make a big song and dance about it. Part of me just assumes that people wouldn't be anywhere near as interested this time, and so there are still people sitting close to me who still don't know. It doesn't mean I'm not proud of becoming a dad for the second time, because I really am; I just don't expect them to have the same level of enthusiasm as I do, or indeed they had the last time.

An inevitable consequence of this being the second baby, and having the benefit of a modicum more experience, means that you tend to make decisions far quicker. Not this time have we compared the prices and quality of muslin cloths and other minute details; instead you realise they’re all pretty much the same and that they’re only going to get covered in sick or other similarly delightful substances, and grab the first one that comes along. In the same vein, we haven’t spent as long mulling over names for this child, and have decided pretty quickly. Maybe it’s just that we don’t have the time, with Seren to look after these days, to deliberate as much as we could last time.

Time has not been kind this pregnancy. I wouldn't say that time was especially forgiving last time, but I seem to recollect feeling that the experience seemed to go on forever, rendering us desperate at the very end for the baby to arrive. That isn't the case this time. It doesn't seem like five minutes ago that we took the test and found out what we'd suspected for a couple of weeks. Now, with a room half finished, all sorts of things left to purchase or claim back from Seren's cousin, and a whole lot of mental preparation besides, we feel like we could do with another couple of months to prepare. Actually, perhaps that's just me, as Michelle's rapidly getting to the point where she just wants it over, to get her figure back and to start seeing the fruits, literally, of her labours.