Aubrey Hirsch’s previous Loco Parentis columns for The Butter can be found here.
Let me start by explaining that I have a bit of an empathy problem. I have a lot of it. Way too much. When I was a little kid, my sister pretended that my favorite doll had a broken leg and I felt sick to my stomach for a week. Once a stuffed animal I won at a carnival flew out of our car window and I made my dad drive up and down the highway three times looking for it. When we couldn’t find it, I cried at school every day for a week because I felt like I had abandoned it and that it was sad and lonely and cold. I was like 10.
So when I became pregnant with my son, it was no surprise that I started imagining emotions for my fetus almost immediately. When I felt his first, twitchy movements, I read that they were probably totally out of his control and felt overwhelmingly sad for him. They sounded so scary, those tiny seizures. He was the only living thing in his little world and he couldn’t even trust his own body.
But the worst of it came in the last month of my pregnancy. As I prepared to give birth, I would rub my distended belly and think about what a crazy thing it was that was about to happen to this baby. Sometimes I would talk to my husband about it.
“This baby has no idea what’s coming,” I’d say. “His whole entire universe is about to be completely ripped away from him and he has no idea. He probably thinks this is his life. Forever. I mean, can you imagine that?”
Obviously I’m speaking as an adult here, and the rational side of me does recognize that a fetus probably registers very little of its surroundings and likely doesn’t have the capacity to miss them when things shift. But just the idea of it, of your whole world disappearing and being replaced by something entirely new is so horrifying to me that it lingers.
And I knew, while I counted down the days to my delivery, that there was absolutely nothing I could do to prepare him, or make the transition easier, or let him know in any meaningful way what was coming for him.
Now that I’m pregnant again I feel the exact same way I did before. I feel it about this new fetus, yes, but also about my son.
Adding a new human to this family is a big deal—especially when that human is a newborn with so, so many needs. We’re trying to prepare our son as best we can with lots of talking and books and playing with “babies”, but the fact is, he’s only two. And there is, once again, simply no way to really prepare him for what’s coming.
Everything he thinks he knows about his life, his family, his routine, his place as the primary focus of our attention is about to totally evaporate. Even just thinking about it on his behalf feels scary.
But the same reassuring thoughts I had during those long nights before he came out into the world are working again to reassure me that everything will be okay. Back then, I could calm myself down by reminding myself that the world he was coming into was different, yes, and unimaginable to him. But that it was so much better. There’s beauty here and opportunity. There are colors and temperatures, smells and things to look at. There’s laughing and crying and things that make noise. There’s music and pain, friendship and sadness. It’s all just so goddamn amazing that it’s undoubtedly worth that tough transition on the way in.
The decision to have another baby is one my partner and I made with our son in mind. And this transition, too, is coming with amazing things for him. Companionship and learning, a chance to grow, opportunities to figure things out on his own. And all the amazing things that come with being a big brother: learning to share, to teach, to forgive.
The transition will be hard and it’s true that his world is never going to be the same. But, just as before, I am confident that it will be better. So much better that once he’s settled in his new life, he’ll never want to go back to that dark and lonely place he was before.
Tags: aubrey hirsch, loco parentis, parenting, pregnancy, the butter
I love these columns so much. I’m pregnant with my first and I have so many different inchoate fears and anxieties, so it’s really lovely to read you having gone through this already with such beauty.
Going from one child to two has been so hard for me. Maybe harder than it should have been. But seeing them together is so redemptive in a way that I never thought it would be. I am under no illusions about their friendship or bond, I know that is their choice and life is hard and siblings are complicated. But seeing how they balance one another and bring each other joy, it is so perfect. My baby is 19mo and my daughter is almost 4. So, I am just now beginning to really understand what it means to be a sibling through them.
I have two two years apart as well. I have worked on fostering a close bond between them from the start, because maybe like you, I assume that one day, they won’t have my husband and me, but they’ll have each other. I don’t want to sound like I’m giving advice, but I love to talk about the things we did at first to foster their relationship, because they’re some of the parenting calls I feel worked out best. My older son was not weaned when the older son was born. I decided not to wean the older one just because his brother had showed up. That sucked at first, but I held on because I didn’t want my big kid to blame his brother for the loss of the boob–when the little one was about 6 months old and they both had thrush, THEN I weaned the big guy. Whenever one child gets a treat, the other child always gets a smaller ‘solidarity’ treat, so they can share each others’ triumphs. I encouraged my older guy to find toys to distract his brother with when he was in that grabby toddler stage, and I intervened when that was clearly not working (I still intervene…but not all the time). I also encourage them to bring each other things. “Hey, kid, you want a slice of mango? Here’s two, go give one of your brother.” My fondest memory is of one Saturday when I was stubbornly trying to sleep through my son having woken up in hopes he’d pass back out (wishful thinking). I’d left a piece of almond joy bar on the kitchen table from the night before, and the little one was dozing next to me in bed, and his brother had been up a few min, and the first I remember of my almond joy is this little voice saying, “here, kid #2, here’s your piece.” My older kid had broken the chocolate in half to share with his brother, because That’s What You Do. I was very proud. They are only 4 and 2 now, I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I feel like I’ve laid a good foundation for them to get along into adulthood. I was always friends with my older brother, but he was 7 years older than me and had been present at my birth. I wanted my kids to have that easy relationship without having to live through a “high risk, late pregnancy.” (7 years between kids? No.) And as a parent I firmly believe every other decision I’ve made about my children has been terrible (I’m taking medication for that feeling, but I’m not joking) and that’s why I share.
I wish you the best. I found the first couple months to be a miserable slog far more than the sloggiest parts of having your first newborn, but the first day they play quietly together on the floor near you (a day that sneaks up on you because of all the slogging) you realize you had the right idea. Good luck to you. Enjoy all the little differences between them.
My oldest son was 4 when his brother was born, and he desperately wanted a brother. He was expecting more of a playmate than a baby though, so after a couple of weeks he asked me to ‘send the baby back.’ It was a bit of a tough adjustment after that… he had been the center of our world (at least in his eyes) for four years. But now, sixteen years later, they are best friends. My oldest is just bursting with pride over his brother’s accomplishments. And my younger son turns to him for advice first. And then there’s the baby, my girl, born nine years after my oldest son. What an amazing, confident, kick-ass girl she is with two brothers who worship her! I know they can’t imagine life without each other, and neither can I.
Aw, that’s really lovely. I hope my kids end up having such a loving relationship.
Your children are so lucky to have an empathetic mother.
I love this column. I hope it continues for a long time. Good work, Aubrey and Roxane.
Hi Aubrey! When you speak of your concern for your second baby experiencing the “whole world disappearing and being replaced by something entirely new,” and your anxiety that there is nothing you could do to make the transition easier, it reminded me of a story frequently told in my family about my own birth, and I think that maybe there is something that you can do to feel better about preparing your baby for the world.
When I was still developing (gestating?), my dad made a point of speaking to me every day. My mom would relax on the couch and he would sit next to her and speak directly to me: “Hello, baby, how was your day today? It was cold this afternoon, so your mom is wearing her big green sweater,” etc. He would just talk to me about nothing in particular for about ten minutes, every afternoon. Of course I have no memory of this.
When I was born, I screamed and screamed as the doctors held me up, weighed me, all of that. Angry, red-faced screams, and I would not stop until my father went over to me and said, “What’s the matter, baby? We are so happy to see you.” And then I was quiet. My mom and oldest sister swear that it was as though I recognized his voice, and realized that everything would be okay.
I don’t know if that’s what it was, but doing something like that might make you feel better about preparing your baby for the outside world.
It’s true that babies can recognize familiar voices from when they were in utero, so I tried to talk to mine and have my husband do the same throughout the later stages of pregnancy. I think that’s why they also recommend a lot of skin to skin contact and swaddling and warm, close spaces in the early days of infancy – to remind them of the feeling of being inside and the familiar heartbeat of the mother and help with the transition to the new, bigger world. They call the first three months the “fourth trimester” for a reason.
My older son definitely recognized both my voice and my husband’s voice in the delivery room. It is one of my all-time favorite memories. I had no idea that a brand new baby could have that “look of recognition” come into his eyes, but when we talked to him, he did. And about having two kids – yes, it can be a rough transition from one child to two, but it’s worthwhile. Our younger one is 18 months now, just starting to talk, and especially likes to say “I love you” to his big brother. It’s very sweet to see.