New Mummy Blog: The Differences Between Baby Number One And Two That Every Parent Will Recognise

It started with pregnancy. When I was expecting my first child, pregnancy was a blissful bubble. I basked in the warm glow of other people’s happiness for us.

Every day was spent thinking about the baby, talking about the baby, eating for the baby, tracking the baby’s development on pregnancy apps. I knew what fruit or veg corresponded with my baby’s size at any given time.

Fast forward to pregnancy number two and it was a different story.

People didn’t shower me with warmth and goodwill. They asked me if I was mad to have two so close together. Some even asked if it was a mistake (it wasn’t).

There was no time to nap, my morning sickness was witnessed by a curious toddler, and I was lucky if I found time to eat at all.

Pregnancy was a sign of things to come. When my first child was born, my days were filled with reading baby books, charting the baby’s developmental milestones, taking hundreds of pictures of the baby, napping with the baby, drinking coffee with other mums, playgroups, baby yoga, baby signing, baby swimming.

And now I have two I wonder how I ever thought I was busy with just one.

I’m at least three weeks behind with the baby book, every time I try to take a picture of the baby the toddler photobombs him, napping is something exotic that I once did in a former life and I can’t remember the last time I drank a cup of coffee while it was still hot.

And even if I had found an activity suitable for both a baby and a toddler, it takes so long to get both children ready and out the door we would have missed the class.

With baby number one, I still had time to do housework. I actually chose to make extra housework.

Everything the baby wore was washed (twice) in eco-friendly, sensitive detergent prior to being put against her precious, delicate skin. And the slightest bit of spit on her clothes and she’d get a full change of clothes.

Baby number two gets dressed in whatever’s quickest to put on, or on some days whatever’s clean. When desperate I try to dress him in his sister’s hand-me-downs but my husband vetoes them for being too girly.

If stains and spills smell or can’t be covered by a bib, then I’ll change him (if I’ve remembered to pack a spare outfit in his nappy bag, which I probably haven’t).

As well as clean clothes, baby number one was wrapped up in cotton wool for the first year of her life. I feared her getting ill and avoided coughs and colds like the plague. When she got croup, I felt like I’d failed as a mother.

Baby number two has no hope. His big sister comes home from nursery laden with germs and as much as I’d like to quarantine her from her little brother it’s just not practical. He’s already had coughs, colds, conjunctivitis. And right now I’m trying to keep him clear of her highly contagious impetigo.

While number one was treated like a little china doll, so delicate and breakable, poor Henry has no such luck. He’s pushed and pulled around by his big sister, her fingers in his eyes, up his nose, in his mouth.

Or if it’s not her fingers, she’s trying to forcefeed him water from her beaker, or suffocate him with his blanket as she tucks him in, head and all.

Honor had our undivided attention. Henry clearly does not, as the beaker incident demonstrates. Even when she was asleep, we wouldn’t be able to resist creeping into her room to check she was still breathing and to watch her sleep. She was never left to cry, and wanted for nothing.

And now we have two, she still gets the attention. The problem is that when you’ve got a toddler and a baby and both start playing up, you can only go to one of them.

And the toddler wins every time because the toddler can do more damage. At least the baby can’t move across the room yet. When he can, then I’ll really be in trouble.

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