If you’ve been here a while, you’ll know I’ve mostly been writing about small business lately. This piece is a little different—more motherhood, less business. If you’re only here for one or the other, you can update your preferences here so you only get the emails you actually want to read.
When I was preparing to have my daughter, I obsessed over a spreadsheet a friend had passed on that itemised all the things we would need for a new baby. It gave me some sense of control over the impending change that was coming. Something to focus on as my body grew and shifted.
I worked methodically through the list, researching each item and deciding whether or not we needed it, then trawling Facebook Marketplace to find it second-hand. I went to a birth class, while also convincing my partner we needed to watch online birth classes too. I read birthing books. I borrowed a TENS machine. We painted a chest of drawers and bought nursery artwork for our non-existent nursery (we were living in a one-bedroom flat). But for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to read a book about parenting a newborn. Or maybe I didn’t even think to. The birth seemed like the biggest hurdle. I actually couldn’t imagine what would happen after that.
I don’t know if it was fear, lack of representation or just complete denial about what was coming our way. Or had I somehow absorbed the dumb narrative that once you become a mother, you’ll just instinctively know what to do?
Within 24 hours of Lyra being born, I downloaded a book on newborns to my Kindle. And read it as fast as I could, because I suddenly realised how much I didn’t know. The birth was over and I suddenly realised how much there was actually do to.
The first year of Lyra’s life was an endless Google search. How long should a newborn be awake for? Is it okay for them to sleep in a light room? Should we introduce a dummy? How do you encourage tummy time? How do you calm a screaming baby while driving? There were just so many things to learn. So many decisions that felt like they’d shape the rest of our lives - and I knew nothing. Of course, I look back now and realise how inconsequential most of it was. Parenting is just endless decision-making. You try to make the best call, but also stay open to being wrong - and course correct, often.
I’m now pregnant with our second child, and the things I’m thinking about are completely different. Mostly because I’ve done it before. I’ve done the googling (and learned that most of it doesn’t matter). I’ve read the tips, tried the gadgets...
This time, I’m thinking about how to strengthen the relationship between me and my partner. We’re having the hard conversations - talking about what worked last time and what didn’t. I’m articulating what I need to feel cared for and secure in the postpartum period. We’re discussing how to prepare our three-year-old for the change, while also knowing no blog post or parenting podcast will fully prepare any of us for what’s coming. We’re both working on our mental health and resilience - seeing our psychologists, trying to build habits now that we can return to when things get messy.
I’m also thinking more practically about what I’ll need to do this again. I naively assumed last time that we were a modern, equal couple and everything would be shared. It wasn’t. I chose to breastfeed, so the lion’s share of the work fell to me. We tried bottles - she refused. Tried dummies - she spat them out. Even when I got a break, she still just wanted me. That made it hard for all three of us: me, because I was burnt out; my daughter, because she couldn’t understand why I couldn’t do everything; and my partner, who felt rejected and often useless. It was so far from the future we’d pictured when we used to walk and talk about starting a family.
This is something I’m thinking about differently this time. Yes, I’ll try to introduce a bottle early. But I’ll also be better at accepting that it’s biologically normal for babies to want their mothers. I’ll lean into the closeness, knowing it’s not forever. I’ll be kinder to myself as I plan for next year, expecting this baby might also not let anyone else hold them for long. And if they do? That’s a bonus. I’ll lean into what works without questioning it - feeding on demand, contact naps, cosleeping. Whatever works as “they” say.
I’m also slowly reshaping my business to suit the life stage I’m in. I’ve finally accepted that running a business like I don’t have a child makes me feel like a crap mum and a crap business owner. So instead of filling every hour, there’s finally now room. Room for sick kids, for sleepless nights, wavering energy levels and just for when things don’t go to plan. Having a child has made me sharper about my priorities and boundaries. I also think it’s made me better at business.
It’s a relief to no longer feel like I have to do it all, all at once. That same shift in mindset is showing up elsewhere too - in how I connect with others, and the kinds of conversations I’m seeking out.
I like being among others who are on a similar path, so I joined a Facebook group for mums expecting babies the same month as me. It’s comforting to read about others feeling what I’m feeling - the nausea, the reflux, the discomfort (all the things I didn’t expect last time but knew were coming this time). The waiting for test results. But I sometimes feel like I’m the only one not obsessing over nursery colours and what cot to buy. It all feels so... beside the point. The bigger parts of me are shifting now.
Instead of obsessing over the spreadsheet, I’ve been journaling. Reflective prompts each week help keep me grounded - especially when the voices of others or the nesting hormones start to rise. There’s a quiet confidence now. I wish I could pass it on to the first-time mums in the group, but I also know it’s something you can only gain by going through it.
You could have tried to pry that spreadsheet out of my hands last time and I wouldn’t have listened. I wouldn’t have believed you when you said I didn’t need all that stuff. I wouldn’t have stopped fussing over how to organise the drawers or what I “desperately needed” in my hospital bag. The spreadsheet hasn’t been opened this time, and while I know I’ll eventually need it, I’ll look at it knowing babies don’t need much. And the shops will still be open when this baby is born.
As I walk into this a second time, there’s peace in knowing that everything is temporary. I remember seeing mothers in my early days - second or third timers - and just knowing they weren’t first timers, even if their other kids weren’t with them. They had a calmness about them. A quiet acceptance that nothing lasts too long. They will sleep one day. They’ll feed themselves. They won’t need you for every little thing forever. I didn’t think I’d also have the privilege of this mindset so soon.
The thought of starting again feels strangely liberating. I won’t be shackled to a dark room for the first six months. I won’t track every nap and feed. I’ll trust that I can figure it out with my baby, instead of looking for advice from people who aren’t raising this baby. And I’ll also remember that no amount of planning will shape the kind of kid that arrives. They will be who they are, and it’s my job to figure it out. They’ll probably be nothing like my first - and I’ll have to let go of my assumptions, again.
But I’ll look back on that first-time mum with so much love. She gave it everything. She showed up endlessly for that little potato, who’s now a chatting, dancing, kind, funny (and often stubborn) three-year-old. I’ll be kinder to myself this time. Whatever happens, I’ll be doing my best. I know that now.
I’ll try not to be a martyr, although it comes far too naturally to me. I’ll try to ask for help. I’ll try to accept that I can’t do it all - at least some of the time. Other times, you’ll probably find me with a baby on one arm, a toddler at my feet, trying to do the online grocery order while making a cup of tea. Old habits die hard.
Lovely news Emily, may the calmness and confidence guide you through those roller-coaster days!
Congratulations