Mischief with Max: What My Second Baby Taught Me About Motherhood

Have you heard?

I hated being pregnant.

Now, I know we teach our kids “hate is a strong word,” & we usually downgrade to “didn’t like,” but let’s call it what it was…

I hated being pregnant.

The so-called glow? That was rage-sweat. The movement grossed me out. The hiccups were weird. The actual pain was, well… painful. Between peeing myself, insomnia, & charlie horse cramping, I was ready to tap out early.

So when Max tried to make his debut two months early, I thanked him. Of course, I had no idea the toll it would take. The doctors gave me beta blockers to stop labor—literally putting him back in—buying us just a few more weeks before he arrived one month early.

NICU Baby Blues

The birth was fast (11minutes).

The pain was intense.

The recovery was brutal.

But the part that hurt most? I didn’t even get to meet Max right away. He was whisked into the NICU, covered in wires, with his tiny lungs. I stared through plastic at this fragile being who had entered the world before I was ready to hold him.

The days I spent going between the mother ward & NICU were some of the hardest of my life—on par with the grief of miscarriage.

& it didn’t help when I reached out to my employer, to explain my sudden maternity leave, my (very male) boss told me, “Wow, you can’t grow them right.”

Yep. That comment stayed with me. It stirred up an old grief I thought I’d buried—like my body had failed me again.

So did his later refusals around accommodations & formula-related sexism, which eventually pushed me to quit that job.

Yes, Max’s arrival was messy. & I braced for the postpartum depression storm I feared would follow.

But the clouds didn’t come

Shockingly, they didn’t roll in this time.

When we finally brought Max home & Alma met him, it was like she became a sunshine shield.

(please don’t misunderstand—I would never put emotional labor on a child. I grew up parentified & work actively not to recreate that dynamic.)

It’s just…this time, I wasn’t alone.

I had learned boundaries from round one:

• When nursing felt like too much, I had formula pre-stocked—money spent, permission granted.
  
• When I felt overwhelmed or isolated, I had a Mom squad built from my time with Alma.
  
• When I felt disconnected, Alma would say, “Max is mine,” and somehow, that grounded me.

& this time, I had a way to talk about the hard parts—with Alma, through the cloud.

Two Different Babies, Two Different Worlds

Max was not Alma. He cuddled more. Slept more. Smiled earlier. Giggled faster. He adored his sister—& the feeling was mutual. Their bond bloomed from day one, & I marveled (& occasionally envied) their natural rhythm together. Alma was meant to be a big sister. Max? He felt like hers first—& because of that, he was ours.

& yet, I still carried guilt.

Max didn’t get the same “first baby” treatment. No weekly library classes. No milestone checklists. No meticulously tracked naps or scheduled playdates. Instead, he came along for the ride—swimming in Alma’s world, her routines, her chaos.

It forced me to let go of the checklists and lean into presence instead. Without the structure, his magic showed up.

I worried I didn’t take enough photos, do enough special things, mark enough “firsts.” But when my husband pulled together Max’s year-one video, we had 34 minutes of footage—a highlight reel of joy I didn’t even realize we’d captured.

Now He’s Two: A Wild Thing of His Own

Max turns two soon. Compared to Alma at this age? He’s not stringing long sentences or potty trained. He hasn’t declared a favorite hobby (unless eating counts).

But what he is, is pure Max. Loud. Expressive. Mischievous. Joyful. & fully himself.

So when people ask the age-old parenting question:
“What’s the difference between a boy & girl?”
or
“What’s it like going from one kid to two?”

I don’t have a parenting magic answer. I just know this:
Let it happen.
Watch the magic unfold.
It won’t look the same—but it will be just as real.