When I walked in to see my gynae on Tuesday for my 39th week scan and he asked me for the 2nd consecutive week if I was ready for this to happen by chance of an induction or by means of breaking my water bag (he was pretty concerned that with the fast labour of under 6 hours with Liam the last time that this time round might be accelerated and wanted to ensure he could cover as many grounds as possible), I honestly wasn’t.
It wasn’t because I wasn’t ready to be a mum of two.
We did a scan anyway to see baby – bub was still one active happy chap – and my placenta was still not looking as great as mentioned during the previous visit. Doc decided to let me make the call on whether I wanted to go for it or just wait it out (since it was really just a week away from EDD) and while I was happy to continue being pregnant for as long as possible so that I could continue doing the things that I wanted to do with Liam and finishing up on whatever else was still nagging in my head; the Bo suggested that perhaps we should really consider doc’s suggestion of checking into the hospital based on his “placenta comment”. I trust my gynae and I know that if it was anything that needed to be called out, it would have been in the previous visit but I didn’t want to push my luck too far neither. We’ve came a long, long way to get pregnant with the first. Blessed to be pregnant with the second. And if we could reduce our odds of complications, we would.
Mum and Bo were in top gear for the rest of the evening, ensuring logistics were taken care of when it came to Liam and moving the rest of the stuff to the new place while I started to pack and check my hospital bag for the 2nd and final time. But deep inside, I was really sad at the fact that my last night staying at this home I’ve grown to love over the last 6 years had actually passed unknowingly. That once we left for the hospital, this home wasn’t ours to stay in anymore. The home that we spent the first 6 years of our marriage in, 1.5 years of trying to start a family and another 2.5 wonderful years being parents to our firstborn. The home that we created our first memories as a family and hosted our son’s first birthday party. The home that I couldn’t re-live my last night there because we were headed for the hospital.
It affected me so much that the Bo & mum could somehow sense that I was reluctant to head to the hospital and wanted to wait it out another day. I didn’t say anything though because I knew it would a home run with all those tears and emotions. Plus I didn’t want to worry them too much.
Our hospital of choice was a rather good distraction – our gynae had given us the option to go with Mount E Novena (which he highly commended after hearing about my less-than-plesant experience with TMC the last time) and we were blown by the service and ambience upon arrival. After checking-in with the concierge, we were shown to our room for the next 3 days to settle in and have some time alone before being wheeled into the labour ward the moment I got into active labour. The staff made us feel extremely welcomed and I felt like I was really taken care of with the extremely frequent checks the moment my contractions started kicking in. While waiting, it was also funny how I often thought that I would want to birth my kids in the same hospital only to realise that the change in hospitals this time round was definitely for the better. More on the birth story in another post.
It wasn’t till we got discharged and headed to our new place as a family of four that I got overwhelmed by all that was happening. No longer was it mulling and crying about the lack of milk being established (sure, that got to me a little but I got over it really quickly) but reminiscing how the Bo had made several trips to get a changing table and all that I needed when we first went home with Liam to the old home over 2 years ago. How we thought “ahh the next pregnancy would be better cuz we would have everything” only to realise this time round Bo had to make even more trips to & fro to get things from old home to new home. I cried when I saw how Liam became from an enthusiastic older brother, wanting to pat his younger brother, to one that started to keep his distance from me as he saw me nurse and carry his new sibling while still trying to make things seem like they were okay. I teared when I thought how I should have requested on doing confinement at the old place and how things might have been better for Liam with lots of familiarity and he being able to have the freedom to ride the bicycle in the garden, or play with the dog and not be affected with my divided attention; or even run down the slope to take a train ride cuz he felt like it. I broke down when I thought of all the inconvenience I could have saved the Bo from doing during my confinement. If only we weren’t so angered by the words said and our haste to move out. I felt the worst for Liam who didn’t even have a clue to what was going on. Sure, there were nights when he lost his right to have a room to himself but he sure had lots of happy memories there.
And while I really hope it’s my post-natal hormones and stinging stitches down under doing all the emotional talk here – because where we are right now isn’t too shabby either – I’m hoping that I recover from feeling this way as fast as I did from this 2nd labour.
I’ve been asking myself for the last 2 nights why was I so eager and hopeful to get pregnant again. Would all these not have happened if our 2nd pregnancy was delayed? Perhaps we could have settled in better with Liam if we weren’t in a hurry to try for a second child so soon? Or perhaps we would have felt even more miserable not knowing if we will ever able to become a family of four, despite staying on in our first family home.
I miss Liam running into my old room and asking if he can climb onto our bed just to hang. I miss my walk-in wardrobe. I miss the vast space and privacy I had even with a confinement nanny bunking in with me. I miss how the Bo & I had our first moments of star gazing and hanging out in that room which turned us from good friends to a couple.
But this birth of change has already happened. And as parents, we can only embrace and make the best out of it.