The Big Baby Gap

I’ve noticed a bit of a trend lately, or maybe it was always around and I just never noticed until I became someone who was inadvertently following it. It doesn’t seem to be a passing phase, I remember a couple of other mothers doing it when I was in late primary school, but it’s prevalence seems to be increasing, making me question the sanity of my fellow mothers-in-arms. Its the big baby gap, the having of babies when your current babies are well and truly beyond the baby stage, popping another little one out to add to the joy and chaos of already hectic lives with kids in full time school, sports, friendships and semi-grownup lives.

Now I know there are a thousand reasons for a large age gap between children. New relationships, fertility problems, financial issues and the simple fear of doing it all again are just some of the contributing factors as to why we choose to get one child (or two or three) through the baby/infant/toddler/preschooler formative years  before we embark on attempting to manouver another one through them. But in my case it was none of the above, and the culmination of ineffective birth control and prescription antibiotics resulted in our fourth child being born 12 years after the first and 6 years after the last.

Starting again when you’ve packed away all the baby gear and knowledge is hard. I really didn’t think it would be. Having four kids is freaking hard, but rewinding back to old habits and brushing off the cobwebs of old ‘tricks of the trade’ is not just unexpectedly frustrating; it’s boring and infuriating and wonderful and liberating all at the same time. It really is just like riding a bike; you never forget how to swaddle or fold a cloth nappy, how to burp, breastfeed or bath a newborn. It comes as second nature, like roller blading or the lyrics of your favourite 1985 chart topper, stored away in the recesses of your mind even if you’d convinced yourself you’d never need it again. And it usually comes crashing back, a slap in the face reminding you “whoa, I remember this!”. Chaffed nipples, vomity shirts, the smell of a leaking nappy, the realisation that you can no longer leave ANYTHING on the floor anymore in case you trip over it with the baby, the baby picks it up when they start crawling, or the baby puts it into their mouth when they start walking.  The older kids can no longer leave their miniature action figures, jewellery beads or anything they don’t want sucked on the floor. You can no longer get in and out of the car in a matter of seconds and everywhere you go you are accompanied by a large nappy bag and a small person. And it’s annoying, because you’d long ago trained the other ones not to dribble on the tiles and crawl through it or wake up in the middle of the night to shit their pants, and now you have to do it ALL OVER AGAIN.

But there are some pluses to having the big baby gap. I have been able to go to the toilet alone and occasionally have a shower without dragging the baby bouncer into the bathroom. The older ones initially eagerly volunteered to change, feed and dress the baby at every opportunity, and although this enthusiasm has waned slightly due to the volume and stench of her nappies and her capacity to spit food long distances, I can ask them to perform these duties if I am desperately pressed for time and/or patience. And once the morning rush is over and I’ve deposited 75% of my offspring at school, I’m transformed into the Mum of just a baby, which is lovely and (usually) quite calm and quiet….for now.

Ask me on a good day and I’ll say I had sex and got lucky, that I’m blessed to have my four beautiful, healthy children and that I love them unconditionally. But that is usually the politically correct response I generate when anyone asks me what it’s like to have such a large age gap between my first, second, third and last child. On any normal day I will tell you that it’s batshit crazy in our house roughly 16 out of 24 hours of the day and that I would gladly leave one (or two) of them on a street curb and sell them for a dollar. Hell, I’d probably even pay you a dollar to take them.

But then I’ll get a snuggly cuddle that only 10 year old boys can give their Mums, or a snotty, formula vomit open mouthed kiss from the baby. I’ll be treated to an impromptu twerking, booty slapping display from my 6 year old drama queen and be privvy to a secret from my hormonal pre-teen about a boy she likes, and it’s all worthwhile. I’m getting a dose of everything, and somehow the big baby gap is not so bad after all.