I am currently days away from having my second child and, I admit, I am not ready. In any way, shape, or form. I don’t know how I will take care of an infant and a four year old. I don’t know how I will keep up with Bea. I don’t know how or if I’ll be capable of breastfeeding. I don’t know how we’ll afford this. And I definitely don’t know if I have “enough love” for both kids. This, I realize, is a very common fear for a lot of parents when they move on to having a second (or third, or more, I guess), but knowing that doesn’t make me feel any better. 

We’re officially relocated back to Indianapolis. The only thing that has kept me from feeling too much depression over this move (and the various jobs I’ve given up) has been the pregnancy and the move, itself. To a certain extent, I think part of what has helped is moving back to the exact same area we lived for five years. In a way, it seems like the past two years almost didn’t happen. Did we live in Chicago? Did I teach that class and take all those others? Did I just get a masters degree? It all feels very surreal.

Bea isn’t handling the changes as well as I’d hoped, either. She’s accustomed to a structured day with lots of other kids and she really needs that social interaction. Taking her to the park in the mornings doesn’t quite cut it. I can’t go an hour without fearing I might pee my pants and she has a hard time getting other kids to play with her. I love how outgoing she is, but a lot of the children don’t seem accustomed to dealing with a spunky preschooler who wants to talk their ears off. She has also given me the impression that she’s worried about the baby replacing her and she’s sick of me being pregnant.

Tell me about it. It’s been almost a year. My doctor here has said the same thing as the one I had in Chicago; if I want to, I can schedule an induction at 39 weeks, which starts the day of Bea’s fourth birthday party so, you know, that’s probably not going to happen. I don’t know much about induction and pitocin and all that stuff, but I was under the impression that it increases your risks for a c-section. The OB said this probably isn’t the case for me, having had a spontaneous birth with Bea, but that doesn’t stop me from hesitating and, of course, worrying. But I know one thing. I don’t think I can handle being pregnant for another two or three weeks. I can barely make it up the stairs to go to the bathroom.  

I can’t even imagine polishing up my resume and applying for jobs in the near future, but I know it’s something I’m going to have to do.