Last fall, my partner and I decided to celebrate our love in a fun, laid-back way by renting out the cozy upstairs of the charming little café where we first met. Surrounded by just 11 close family members, we exchanged vows while my 4-year-old daughter, Lily, from my previous relationship, joyfully twirled around us.
Our wedding, with its DIY decorations, a Spotify playlist serving as our DJ, and our choice of comfy pants and sweaters, was a stark contrast to the grand, traditional ceremonies we had both experienced before. Yet, it felt special in its own right. Still, it was hard to shake the feeling of disappointment that lingered. Some folks even raised their eyebrows, asking why we didn’t just head to the courthouse.
Those who’ve had the big wedding and faced divorce know that size doesn’t dictate the quality of a marriage. Yet, I often found myself wishing we had done things differently. As a single mom at the time, I had never envisioned my partner seeing me in a wedding dress—an experience I longed for. I craved a raucous reception filled with laughter, music, and the warmth of loved ones celebrating our union together. I regret not capturing the moment with a photographer or at least designating someone to snap a few photos, leaving us with only a single blurry image as a keepsake.
Now, as we eagerly await the arrival of our baby girl, the differences in preparation between my first pregnancy and this one are striking. When I was pregnant with Lily, the nursery was a shrine of Pottery Barn Kids perfection, the car seat was securely installed, and I had all the baby gear meticulously set up. I indulged in maternity photos, enjoyed generous baby showers, and took every class available on newborn care. The anticipation was palpable.
Fast forward to now, and my partner and I are deep into our third trimester with our daughter, whom we jokingly refer to as “Bubbles” (a name suggested by Lily) since we’re still brainstorming for something more fitting. Our preparations consist of a few free sample diapers, a crib mattress snagged during a Black Friday sale, and a set of sonogram pictures tucked between bills and coupons.
Having been an only child, the idea that a second baby might receive less fanfare was strange to me, especially when I reflected on the differences in how my second marriage unfolded compared to my first. With experience comes an understanding of what to expect, but it often dulls the excitement and novelty of new beginnings. The joy of idealism gives way to the quieter wisdom of experience.
Yet, looking at that blurry wedding photo and the sonogram currently tucked away, I can still see the happiness radiating from our wedding day. This reassures me that our daughter, despite being the second, will be celebrated with just as much love and enthusiasm as her sister. She may be the “second child,” but she will be embraced for her individuality, even if we’re still figuring out her name while racing to the hospital. Plus, she benefits from parents who are wiser and stronger from their previous experiences, and that alone is worth celebrating.
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In summary, while the journey to welcoming my second child may not mirror the first, the joy, love, and excitement are just as real. Every moment is to be cherished and celebrated, regardless of how we prepare or the name we choose.