My body has been through some things. It has carried pregnancies and lost them. I have experienced two miscarriages. It has been through two laparoscopic surgeries to remove endometriosis. It carried my daughter for 29 weeks and four days before an emergency C-section brought her into the world far earlier than any of us expected. It has healed from surgery while I sat beside an isolette. It has pumped milk, carried stress, learned medical language, and figured out how to mother in circumstances I never could have anticipated.
So I suppose I thought I knew something about pregnancy and motherhood. Yet, here I am in the final few weeks of my pregnancy with my second child, realizing that I am in completely uncharted territory for my being as a whole. I don’t hear many people talking about this particular place.
The difference between understanding and knowing
My partner, Adem, talks about the difference between understanding something and knowing it. I think about that distinction a lot.
We can understand things intellectually. We can listen to other people’s stories. We can read books and articles. We can watch friends and family move through an experience. We can prepare ourselves as much as possible.
But knowing requires something different. Knowing requires lived experience. Knowing is earned. And sometimes knowing comes with battle scars.
I understood that every pregnancy was different. I understood that this baby might feel different inside my body because he is positioned differently than his sister was. I understood that adding another child to our family would undoubtedly bring a complicated mixture of joy, anticipation, fear, guilt, excitement, and uncertainty.
I understood that late pregnancy came with aches and pains and sleepless nights. But I didn’t know any of those things.
Not really.
Now, as I write this at 3:50 in the morning because pregnancy insomnia has me completely wide awake, I know.
I know what it feels like to have a baby stretch and push against parts of my body my daughter never had the opportunity to reach.
I know what it feels like to wonder how our family will stretch to make room for another person—not because I question whether we will love him, but because I now understand just how enormous the love for a child can become.
I know what it feels like to be deeply grateful to still be pregnant and, simultaneously, deeply uncomfortable being pregnant. I know what it feels like to approach a birth after having had a birth that didn’t go remotely according to plan. And perhaps most unexpectedly, I know what it feels like to be doing something for the second time while simultaneously doing it for the first.
A second pregnancy filled with firsts
We talk so much about first-time mothers. First pregnancies.First births. First newborn days. First milestones.
And of course we should. There is something extraordinary about entering parenthood for the first time.
But I’m beginning to wonder why we don’t talk more about the firsts that happen the second or third time around?
Because technically, I have done this before. I have been pregnant, given birth, brought a baby home, changed diapers and survived the sleepless nights. I have worried about breathing and feeding and developmental milestones.
But I have never been this pregnant before. I have not experienced sleepless nights due to pregnancy insomnia. I have never had the fortune of scheduling a birth. I have never needed so many pillows to find just the right angle to fall asleep in just to wake up what feels like moments later to go to the bathroom.
I have never had the strange experience of looking at one child I love beyond measure while trying to imagine another child occupying an equally enormous place in our family. And I have never brought home a newborn while already being someone’s mother.
These are all firsts.
Especially after prematurity, an extended NICU stay and countless hours of follow up appointments and care.
I think there is another layer to this for parents in the preemie and NICU community.
When you’ve had a premature baby, people often assume that you’ve already been through pregnancy, birth, and the newborn stage. Technically, you have. But sometimes you haven’t. Not in the ways people imagine.
My first pregnancy ended early and abruptly without a plan other than needing to save both of our lives. There were whole chapters of pregnancy I simply never experienced.
There was no slow progression toward the end. No wondering whether every twinge meant labor might be approaching. No giant third-trimester belly. No final weeks of waddling around, unable to sleep because there is simply no comfortable position left. Instead, there was an emergency. My entrance into motherhood happened in a completely different way than I had hoped for. It happened in a way no one hopes for.
So now, even though this is my second child, there are moments when I feel strangely like a first-timer. This makes sense because in many ways, I am.
I often write about how we can hold multiple truths at once. This is another one of those moments. There is an interesting humility in realizing how much we can understand without yet knowing.
I knew pregnancy could be uncomfortable. I didn’t know how my body would feel with this pregnancy.
I knew having another baby would bring up complicated emotions. I didn’t know these emotions.
I knew what it meant to love a child. I don’t yet know what it means to love two.
I knew what it meant to survive a difficult birth and a NICU stay. I don’t yet know what it means to have a different birth story.
Maybe that is what I am learning in these final weeks. Experience doesn’t necessarily make us experts in what comes next. Sometimes it simply gives us a deeper appreciation for how much we still don’t know. I am becoming aware that I need to make more room for that conversation.
For those who are pregnant again and discovering pieces of pregnancy they never reached the first time. Or for the parents preparing to bring a baby home who realize they have never actually brought a newborn directly home from the hospital. Or the people who have given birth before but have never experienced labor. Or those whose second baby makes them feel strangely, unexpectedly new at this again.
There can be tremendous wisdom in lived experience. There can also be tremendous vulnerability in realizing that our lived experience doesn’t cover everything.
Both can be true.
I am an experienced mother. I am also standing at the edge of something I have never done before.
I understand some of what is coming, but there are parts I cannot know yet. Those I will have to earn and, thankfully, maybe not all of them need to come with battle scars.
I’d love to hear from you.
If you’re a family and you are experiencing your own first second-time experience, I’d love to connect.
Reply to this email or leave a comment below. I read every message personally and respond to every one.
With gratitude,
Shayna
Founder, Prepare To Bloom | Beyond the NICU
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