Written by #RebelMama Contributor: Ama Palla. 

I thought for my inaugural post, I would tell you a little bit about what happened when I became the mom of two incredible little gems who give me the most unbelievable experiences. And by unbelievable, I mean, I can’t believe this shit actually happens.

When I was pregnant with my second, we spent a lot of time trying to prepare our eldest for the arrival of our 4th and FINAL family member. She was so happy, so excited, so proud.

So when she flipped her shit over Thing 2, I was at a complete loss. All that trying, turned into a comedy of errors. Here are some things my (at the time) four-year-old said, the month I had the baby:

“Is she seriously staying? When do I have to start getting used to her?”

“You should have NOT had her in the summer, then I could be at school and wouldn’t have to see her everyday.”

“You should put her back up your vagina, I liked her better that way”.

It was so damn hard to tell a four-year-old – who speaks like a twenty-year-old – why having a sister is a great thing. I kept coming back to this idea that maybe, just maybe, having kids closer together in age is a far better option. That if she was younger and couldn’t articulate that baby D should just scoot back up my vagina, perhaps it would make the craziness of two more tolerable.

I can safely say she hated her and me for the longest time. It made her physically uncomfortable to be around her. She couldn’t accept this little baby who every one said “is soooo much calmer than A ever was”. She couldn’t accept this new addition, when she was used to being the only grandchild. She couldn’t accept that her baba and I had another child to love.

All of this was hard to hear and see. But there was a reason for the great divide. A reason we waited so long to have the second.

Baby one: The Dark Ages. Crying all day, every day, for three months (*this era also sparked my hatred for people who tell you what’s best for your baby when you, in fact, KNOW in your gut what is right). We couldn’t fathom going through the process again, knowing it was entirely possible we would spawn another creature from Medieval Times.

For this, I kind of wish I had them closer together. And those who have this circumstance may think the opposite, but let me give you my logic:

If you are going to be tired, you better just be fucking exhausted for a saturated period of time. You know what sucks? Learning to go out for drinks and then having to cease and desist again because you are sleep training another little one. The Dark Ages do end; I don’t know why I thought it was a great idea to live them twice.

If you are going to be wiping shit (and I know this lasts a life time), then the diaper mania needs to be shoved into a finite period of time. Diapers suck. Paying for diapers suck. Leaking diapers suck. Packing little swimmers that don’t work fucking sucks. And most definitely, having the immense satisfaction of being done with them, only to start again is a pain in my fat ass.

You really don’t need the talking back. Honestly, fuck.

I can’t change my choices, and truthfully, there are so many reasons why things happen the way they do. So, ladies, the lesson…you need a wolf pack. You need a village, and you need to know the other side may seem greener, but it’s not your reality.

So, here’s the good thing about having a little talker when the second arrives. If you speak to your kid like a real person with feelings, this child will amaze you with explaining how she really feels. After all the fighting and getting angry, and thinking “what the fuck have I done? ” The big child, who I once thought just needed to get used to it, told me:

“I know I am jealous. I can’t control it, mama. And I really don’t know how not to be jealous. I don’t want to not like baby D, I don’t want to be angry, but I am…and you are just going to have to wait for me.”

And there you have it. The only thing that will get you through is listening to that first child. The one who never ate off the floor, the one who always, always, always, ate organic, the one who made you think that you knew everything. That child will tell you what she needs. She’ll show you. Listen.

It does work itself out. She now thinks of her sister first, loves her sister most (I’m a solid third after D and baba), and is the best big sister. She is also the one who avers, our family is complete with D, “like, what would we do without her, right? Just don’t have any more.” Don’t worry, kid. We’re done.

Connect with Ama Palla on instagram

Photos by fellow Toronto #RebelMama Mahsa Mani

This is an excerpt from the article FOUR-YEAR-OLDS DON’T LIKE BABIES (WHO KNEW?) which originally appeared on The Rebel Mama.