No matter how many books you read or how many classes you take.

I thought I was getting another chance with my second time.  I wanted to do things better, this go round. I was in a better position. I was married now and I had a job. It was going to be so much easier. How wrong was I? I cried a lot more nights and was tired a lot more days. Going back to work when my breast fed baby was 3 weeks old was the dumbest thing I ever did. When I finally got home he cried so much. It wasn’t enough time for him to bond with me. My own baby didn’t like me. With the first one I breast and bottle fed. He started sleeping through the night at months old and he was content with just hearing my voice. Yes, I spent nights crying when I was sleep deprived but we were good. Carrying my first son was easy, I still felt like me. My body had changed a lot when I was pregnant with my second son. The stretching and tearing, Oh God. The kicks to ribs so hard they were moved out of place. What was thinking wanting more kids after this? I took a million parenting classes with the first baby, with the second I read a million books. I was going to be the most loving, gentle parent. How cute was I? I have to leave the room daily for a break so I can stop yelling and get myself together. Being a parent is hard. Pregnancy is hard. Being a woman is hard. Kids change you and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to give them the love I think every child deserves. I get new chances everyday and i’m so grateful.

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