Number Two.

In theworld of motherhood the phrase Number Two conjures up two main images I’m not sure which I prefer really...

The first is that wonderful delighted feeling you get when a whiff of faeces wafts your
way and you cry, in your most light, innocent voice, 'BABA, HAVE YOU DONE A
STINKY POO?'. Then, if like me, you are the mother of a tall for his age two
year old, after a few 'No’s, and laps round the living room which puff you out
and make you feel a slight twinge of guilt that you haven’t quite managed to kick your 4 delicious and cherished guilty pleasure smokes a day habit/been to the gym or yoga for a couple of months, you manage to heard Little Companion upstairs and the process of clearing up said number two commences.

At this point you may wonder if I aught really to be beginning to think about potty training - he is two after all, eating normal grown up food and therefore... Well, you get the point: it’s not exactly a pleasant thing, changing my beloved son's nappies. I remember when I was childless and my then, only mother friend would bring her son round who had a love for blueberries and would actually poo in blueberry (had a slightly purple tinge and tiny seeds throughout - fascinating), I would wrinkle my nose in a slightly disapproving manner, as she began the process of clearing up the soiled nappy. I would drop not so subtle hints and say things like 'should he still be in nappies??' and helpful things like, 'God, I don't know how you can do that...' if I could go back and slap my childless self I absolutely would -bitch that I was. I have since apologised for wearing my Judges Wig when I saw her all those times… She smiled wisely in that way that people who have older children than you do. (I’ve been practicing the smile on the two pregnants in my office. It's accompanied by my Knowing Hat, which looks rather like the wizard's hat from Fantasia’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.)


Blueberries!

In answer to the original question, Yes, I am thinking about potty training, and I have to say it fills me with dread, and completely exhausts me all at the same time. Having said that, it cheers me up that at some point Little Companion will most definitely go through the process of potty training - I mean we all learn at some point, don’t we?! And I will come out of the process with a few more of your wonderful English pounds in my pocket, with brilliant, really small and therefore cute, colourful and cartoon underpants to hang up, and a mood hat of smugness mixed in with relief and triumph. I believe this hat would look a little like the one that Napoleon used to wear. Joking aside (well, I say joking I really mean humorous truths aside) I will probably start potty training our little man in the spring and summer, so that he can run around naked - if he's anything like his dad this will bring joy unbounded, and we'll cross that bridge then. I will most probably talk more about this process when this bridge to the Napoleonic Smug Hat is in the processed of being trudged across...


Napoleonic Triumphant Smug Hat

The second Number Two I would like to address is the theoretical little person that is Baby Number Two. Baby Number Two is discussed almost from the point of the birth of your first child. People think it's funny/clever/a really good topic of conversation when two zombified parents of a 6 week old child, who can barely think past the next milk feed, who have perpetual bags under their eyes, manage to make it to the pub to see their friends. These friends have either made it through this phase already, or are yet to experience the prickly, fog inducing, low level exhaustion that only a new person in the world can bring its parents, and while stifling giggles, ask when exactly these new parents are planning to have the next one, nudge nudge, wink wink! The new parents tend to widen their eyes at the thought of it, smile weakly and mumble something about never again/not for a couple of years, while in your head, or at least in mine, anyway, you're really thinking, 'We're at it like rabbits bareback style already. Want to get pregnant again as quickly as possible. Think a 9 or 10 month age gap is perfect...'

In certain circles – one in particular that I had the pleasure of spending the intense 3 months before and 9 months after the birth of Little Companion with, where Mother Earth, natural birthing, (how bad it is to have) pain control during labour, breastfeeding, weaning, teat types, buggy types, baby massage, buggy fit, after pregnancy exercise, baby yoga, basically anything natural, expensive, guilt and paranoia inducing and baby orientatedis completely obsessed over and discussed to within an inch of its life, my experience is that these folks think they will accurately plan the age gap between Baby Number One and Baby Number two.  To be fair to them, most of them do, successfully. I however have a slightly different outlook. I tried for, and really wanted a natural birth, but Little Companion was breach, so the hospital decided for me - I was to have a C-section. I tried to breastfeed, managed and am proud of what I believe to be a whapping 11 weeks of almost exclusive  breastfeeding (with gallons of milk being expressed, eventually resulting in my milk supply depleting and causing me to have to do half breast, half powder, when I thought, what the hell kind of thing am I putting myself through here - You've had a very good run by lots of standards, so if you want to stop breastfeeding, give yourself a break, so I did) Little companion is healthy, happy and none the wiser that I didn’t make it to the (NCT members, look away now) 6 months breast feeding mark….

Little  Companion, while being an absolutely delightful, most loved, welcome and
awesome addition to our family, was not exactly a planned addition, which in
some ways makes him all the more wonderful in my eyes.


SURPRISE!

While I was trying to fit in with the group of Earth Mothers/Diamond Encrusted Women described above, who most definitely would never have a surprise baby like I did, I thought to
myself, I’ll have Baby Number Two when Little Companion is about two and a half
to three and a half. I am a (sort of chaotic, yet hugely control freaky) planner
– just ask my ‘It will be fine’ husband (argh!! How will it be fine?! SHOW
ME!!?), I like to know what’s going to happen, and to be able to control things.
But when it comes to Baby Number Two, my experiences seem to be, planning too
much only bring stress – things don’t seem to go to plan when conceiving and raising
children, and stress is most definitely not what you need when you have a
toddler, a newish full time job, have just moved house, had a pretty rocky
Christmas in terms of marriage, an ever red bank balance, lots of wonderful
friends and family members who you are desperate to see regularly, a husband
who you love deeply, but rarely get to see before eleven on week nights due to
his job.

So number two, faeces or intimate details about when you next plan to conceive... not
sure which I’d pick, so maybe I’ll be donning my 'sitting on a fence’ hat:
think white, with long dangly bits at the sides, like the Stuarts, or Mormons.