• Donné Restom

I think I want another baby (so I can get it right this time)

Surely I'm not alone here, am I?


This article originally appeared on Kidspot.



I know, I'm pretty sure I've completely lost my mind. But I think I want another baby.


It's not because my womb is in longing, and I have no overwhelming desire to broaden the gene pool. I'm not bothered by having a small family, nor do I think my son will suffer too deeply by being an only child. I just think that maybe I can do it better next time.


Yes, I am one of those freaky perfectionists that cannot bear to see a strand out of place. Yes, I took an insanely long time time to get through university because I only accepted HDs and would rather Fail than receive a Credit. And yes, these traits should automatically disqualify me for the job title of Parent, but there's this niggling inside that just won't quit.


I'm sure I could do it better next time


Pregnancy wasn't my friend, but despite the misery, I pretty much nailed it. I mean, if I'd planned it I would be happy as Larry, right? All those moments spent sobbing, "Oh god, my life is RUINED" into the ice cream; what a waste! I could have simply been rejoicing in the fact that nobody was telling me to put the spoon down.


Next time I would make sure not to spend my first three months vomiting in a jungle in Mexico, I would put a cap on the amount of aeroplanes involved in the whole situation and I would stick to just one house, one city and one country. Yes, if I managed to live in just one house, I could High Distinct the crap out of pregnancy.


It wouldn't take much to perfect the birth bit - I'm certain


My birth story may go by the name of, We're never doing THAT again, but the more I think about it, the surer I become that I can have a perfect birth next time. I mean, just because I loathed every minute of getting that baby out doesn't mean I wasn't good at it. My body can be a birthing machine, my mind control is superb and the strength of my pelvic floor is enough to make those Jade Eggs cry. I've got this. I know which boxes to tick. So long as I don't bleed to death, I'll be in the top ten percentile, for sure.


I'm a full-blown expert at The Baby Stage


Now this is the bit that I'm sure I can do right. I buggered it up a lot last time, but you can't say I wouldn't learn from my mistakes. Baby books: out the door! Rockers/cots/accessories and flim flams: to the curb! I've got this baby thing sussed, I know now. Just strap that little bugger on tight from the minute it emerges. Don't do the nap thing, just wear it ALL THE TIME. Don't pant and struggle doing twenty blocks in the rattly pram, just suck it up, strap it on and be done with it.


Sound an awful lot like masochism? Hell yeah. But babies are just an insidious form of torture anyways, so why struggle? All that tiny zombie worm wants is to be back inside you, so enough with the resistance! Give it the closest it's gonna get: inside your shirt.


But in order to get it right next time...


I should be having another baby, I'd get Distinctions all 'round, I'm sure. I just need to go through with it.


Go through with it...


The pregnancy, birth, the giant underpants. The endless awakes and milk everywhere all the time. No wine, no coffee, gluten or sugar. The bitter resentment of your partner as you watch him sleep, loathingly. The restoration of your body that doesn't take six weeks (what were they thinking?!) it takes years. The constant struggle to not think too far ahead because, teenager (gah!)...


Actually, you know what? I think I'm OK with Credits - and just one impossible miracle - for now.

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