Every baby is different.
This was my mantra when I had my first child. The sentence I would cling to when my gorgeous baby daughter refused to sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time. The sentence I used to bat away unhelpful advice from well-meaning relatives, who genuinely believed a tot of brandy in a baby bottle was the way to go. The sentence I repeated to myself when I saw other babies running while mine was only just sitting up.
So why was I so shocked when I had my second baby and she was completely different to the first?
They were different from the start. My first beautiful daughter was an IVF baby, conceived at the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital after my husband and I parted with an eye-watering sum of money. My second equally bewitching daughter was conceived spontaneously, just in time to restrain what would have been an ouzo-soaked holiday in Crete.
The major battle ground with my first daughter was sleep. When she was four months old, I was so tired and frazzled, I avoided driving in the day and pretended to watch TV at night, unable to follow even the most plodding murder mystery. By the time I was pregnant again I had learned so many sleep techniques I felt confident I could whisper even the most wideawake tot. No need - my second daughter slept like the proverbial baby.
My first daughter was 10lbs, 9ozs, my second was almost two pounds lighter at 8lbs, 10ozs. Both good birth weights but while my eldest breastfed for upwards of five hours in every 24 and maintains her spot on the 98th percentile to this day, my younger daughter suffered badly with reflux and immediately plummeted from the 91st percentile to the 9th, alarming everyone. Then lockdown hit, health visitors disappeared, hospital appointments were cancelled, and we were left to figure it out alone.
Confident I knew all about weaning after my first daughter demolished everything from vegetable curry to fish pie, I longed for my second child to be six months old so I could give her real food. Armed with a powerful stick blender, I plotted to lace all her purees with double cream, cheese and lashings of butter.
To compound their individuality their experiences of the world around them have been vastly different.
However, when weaning came, baby number two gagged on everything and cried hysterically if she even saw a spoon. Instead, she insisted on feeding herself, slowly. She gnawed tiny holes in breadsticks, sucked broccoli and hurled melty puffs away in disgust. Slowly we found a small list of bizarre things she liked: beef and horseradish crisps, peas, and, to my shame, anything from McDonalds. Desperate to get vitamins into her, I started making homemade chocolate mousse with avocados, yoghurt and cocoa powder. It worked. Her first word was “choc”.
She might have been tiny, but baby two was mighty. At just six months old and still wearing 0-3-month babygrows, she started pulling herself up and standing at the coffee table. My first daughter hadn’t stood alone until she was 13 months old, taking her first independent steps at 16 months. A couple of weeks later, baby number two was crawling and by 10 months old she was walking alone. I took her to buy shoes but her feet were smaller than the smallest pair of ‘first walkers’.
Their temperaments are also different. While my first daughter just wants to be cuddled day and night, my second is the very essence of independence, running off to explore anything and everything without even a backwards glance to check I’m following.
Even the way they are learning to talk is different. Baby number one loved reading with me and would repeat the words I was saying back to me. Baby number two has big demands and bigger ideas.
To compound their individuality their experiences of the world around them have been vastly different. When I had my first daughter the world was normal. We lurched from Baby Sensory, to brunch via soft play with friends. We went to art galleries, petting zoos, museums and even on planes. My second daughter has lived most of her life locked down and has only met my mum twice. She hates high chairs and frankly, I’m scared to take her to a restaurant when they do reopen. On the flip side, her daddy has been home nearly every day of her short life and even a trip to Tesco blows her mind.
Looking back, I’m shocked at my naivety. I knew, better than anyone, that every baby was different but for some reason I spend my second pregnancy foolishly thinking I knew it all. But that was no bad thing. I have been a different mother this time too. I have been calmer, more relaxed and have enjoyed watching my little girls grow into their big personalities. While there have been new problems, the solutions have been the same: cuddles, time and above all, patience.
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