I’ve waited so long for this day: A place of (occasional) peace and (haphazard) rhythm as a mom of two! Somehow both of my girls are sleeping at THE SAME TIME and I miss writing so much it hurts, so naturally I’m going to pump out the most-thorough-possible update on having two kids. And I guess I just used the word “pump.” Someone’s been spending too much time with her Medela Pump In Style breast pump. As if there’s really a way to pump in style. I mean, let’s be real.
As a side note, I’m SO sad it’s been so long since I’ve written a post. The end of my pregnancy was just as fun as the beginning, which is to say, wow, what a thrill! Not only did my nausea return with a vengeance, but I also suffered from what my doctor called “extreme water retention,” resulting in “pregnancy carpal tunnel,” which barred me from typing without a brace. As sexy and fun as that sounded to this water-logged preggo, I decided to just shelf the writing for a few short months. But I’m back and it feels so good!
Two kids. Two kids! Four weeks in and where do I even start?! There was my lightning-fast labor… the birth… The choosing the name… The current craziness of my life… And everything else in between! So, here we go! A little update on the love and catastrophe that recently doubled in our home and my heart:
Labor Round 2: That Time I Blinked and a Baby Came Out—People tell you this and it’s true. Labor the second time around is generally way speedier than the first. I went into labor naturally around 4 a.m.—nine days before my due date! (Jesus loves me SO much.) But the contractions were sort of on-and-offish throughout the morning and early afternoon, like I wasn’t quite sure this was IT. So my mom and I went for a two-mile walk and then suddenly HOLY mother of contractions. The walking-speeds-labor thing: TRUE! My contractions progressed from 30 minutes apart to three minutes apart in less than an hour. Doug raced home from work and we arrived at the hospital by 2 p.m. I got my epidural at 5 p.m. Sweet Hadley came at 7:23 p.m. The whole ordeal unfolded in the ultimate, beautiful blur.
God Bless the Epidural—I have SO much respect for the women who do birth drug-free; I am simply not one of them. I’m the lady who walks in the door shouting, “GIVE ME THAT SHOT IN MY SPINE!” As sweetly as possible, of course, because I’m very serious about wanting my drugs. Especially this time; my contractions were WAY more intense than with Emerson, maybe because of the speed of it all or who knows. I was kind of dying with a pain level of 9 by the time I reached four little centimeters. At which point of course the anesthesiologist was tied up so I had to wait an entire hour. At which point praise God they offered me the pain medication Opana to ease my agony in the meantime.
Text to some friends during labor. Precisely why I love epidurals!
Listen: If you’re ever in the hospital and they offer you Opana, SAY YES! The nurse’s extremely professional medical description was: “This drug will go right to your head as if you just took 10 shots. You will feel very happy.” I was indeed very happy and I do not remember the pain. It was just what I needed to tide me over until the anesthesiologist arrived. I was still a little loopy from the Opana, so I definitely told him “I loved him so much” and that he was my “very best friend.” I did and in that moment he was.
Nursing—WHY did I forget how much nursing hurts?! Or at least how much it hurts me. My most precise account of breastfeeding in the first few weeks, both times, is: the sensation of searing-hot pliers twisting away at me mercilessly until I cried while a semi-truck ran over the whole scabbing mess. Hadley was an eating champ from the start, but still, after one bad latch, I suffered excruciating pain for the next two weeks. It by FAR hurt worse than my labor because they don’t have epidurals for breastfeeding. (Opportunity? Someday? Perhaps?) Only now is the soreness gone. I know some women love nursing more than anything and it comes so naturally right away, but not me. I see it more as a monumental investment, learned skill and selfless commitment that I endure for the love of my babies. And also, K fine, for the weight loss perks.
Naming Our Girl—For whatever reason, I just could not land on a name through my nine months of pregnancy. I started with maybe 20, which Doug vetoed one by one until we whittled our list down to two: Payton and Hadley. Payton was the first street we lived on in our very first apartment together, and I love how it sounds with Emerson. Hadley means “field of Heather,” and my younger sister’s name is Heather, so the meaning there makes me swoon. Also Ernest Hemingway’s first wife was named Hadley, and I obviously appreciate a good literary nod in a baby name. By the end, though, Doug was so set on Payton that I’d nearly given up on Hadley. We were even calling her Payton on labor day morning, though I refused to commit officially until I saw her cute face.
And I’m so glad I did!!!! The husband typically gets to see the baby before you do, which is equal parts completely unfair and adorably sweet. Much to my profound shock, Doug’s first comment upon seeing her was: “Whoa. This girl is NOT a Payton. She is for sure a… Hadley. Hadley Olivia Mack.” I wholly agreed and we cried a little. Olivia means “peace and fertility,” and God blessed me with both in all of the months leading up to that sacred moment. Plus, nothing felt more perfect in the whole wide world than naming Emerson’s sister after my own, who is currently living with us after her recent time living in Nashville. She is the essence of sunshine in our home right now and my best friend for the rest of my life. I will always remember this time she spent with our family, loving on my girls, helping around the house, binge-watching Bravo with me in my last trimester. My prayer is that Hadley will be every bit the little sister to Emerson that Heath is to me: a source of friendship, laughter and incomparable unconditional love.
Life with Two Kids—I’m sure I’ll have MUCH more to say on this topic in the weeks ahead. So far, I’d say that, just as in parenthood period—the highs are outrageously high and the lows are surprisingly low. One minute, I’m watching my two daughters together, Emerson reading to Hadley, or kissing her, or telling her she’s “so beautiful,” and I almost can’t breathe because of how blessed I feel. My soul surges with more pure joy and gratitude than I’ve ever experienced in my life and I think, This is the feeling of heaven. This is 
what heaven will feel like. I think of God’s loving hand on my life as I suffered a miscarriage, healed, wept, prayed, waited, wept some more, and then at last, held my perfect little angel of a babe in my awestruck arms while tears slipped down my cheeks and I whispered, “Thank you, God.” I see firsthand, with little pink skin on, that Jesus is real, and He loves us, so incredibly much.
But then: both kids are crying their heads off. Dinner is officially burning because I forgot I attempted to make something. My phone has 17 new text messages that won’t be read until a 2 a.m. nursing sesh. I AM SO FREAKING TIRED. And this body?! What is this body because it’s not even mine. Also, WTH am I wearing?! And WHY do all these small people need me so much and how is this only TWO kids?!
I wonder things like: Is it this hard for all moms? Am I doing a bad job? Did I do the right thing by giving up my career to stay home? Will I ever see my abs, the outdoors, or a movie in theaters again? Is it normal to feel this… lonely? What happened to all of my patience? Will I ever sleep again? WILL I??!!
I have a lot of incredible moms in my life who give me all kinds of great advice. But the most helpful thing I’ve heard in the last month was from my friend Jenn, whom I end up quoting a lot because she always has just the right words at the perfect time. She has a six-month-old boy and a four-year-old girl, so she’s just ahead of me in negotiating the two-kid madness. She recently brought me some Thai food and we chatted while our small babies slept and our older girls played. Unfortunately, the playing quickly turned to Emerson attacking her daughter in various fits of pushes and hits. Jenn is like family so it would’ve been way more awkward with any other kid, but still, I was sufficiently horrified. Hadley started fussing and Jenn’s son was hungry, so Jenn took one baby in each arm while consoling her four-year-old—so I could take Em in the other room for some one-on-one discipline. WHEW. Nothing like MOMentary insanity.
When I came back with Emerson, generally overwhelmed by my newly *enhanced* life, all I could say was, “Ugh! This is HARD!!!”
To which Jenn said, “You know, looking back on those really early weeks with a second baby, more than anything, I wish I would’ve given myself more grace. You’re doing so great, Steph. Give yourself tons of grace.”
It was the sweetest thing and just what I needed to hear. So my new mantra in the upcoming weeks is to “give 
myself grace.” Grace to mess up, grace to take breaks, grace to have breakdowns. Grace to be proud when I have a great mom moment and grace to push “play” on The Little Mermaid (again). Grace to lose the weight over time. Grace to ask all the hard questions and address them with hope and truth. Grace to say “yes” to the help and “no” to all the things that can wait. We all need a little more grace for ourselves. Moms of newborns need it like crazy.
Baby Weight—I’m going to save this topic for next time because the significance of my pregnancy weight gain is worthy of a post all its own. Holy goodness. Lord. have. mercy.
Well, friends, thank you SO much for reading my words! It truly means so much to me and I’m stoked to be blogging again. More posts coming soon… On baby weight; my new favorite baby products; amazing Trader Joe’s snacks for postpartum moms; and incredible ways to help out your friend with a newborn baby.
