Joe Hildebrand reveals the terror of having a second baby

THERE is nothing in the world more terrifying than having your first baby. Except, of course, having your second.

Joe Hildebrand says the impending birth of his second child is more daunting than the birth of his first. Picture: Nigel Lough.

THERE is nothing in the world more terrifying than having your first baby. Except, of course, having your second.

The truth is that for all the white-knuckled horror of the first time, at least it’s a new experience. Your first baby, like Chuck Norris, has the element of surprise.

Sure, there are the hitherto undiscovered levels of sleep deprivation which leave you with both the physical and mental characteristics of a half-deflated balloon.

And sure, you are so strung out that if they accidentally brush their hand against the grain of your hardwood coffee table you call Triple Zero.

And sure, you discover bodily functions that you never knew a human being was capable of, let alone capable of cleaning up after.

But while it may be torturous, it is at least interesting. You’re never quite sure what will happen next.

The second, however, combines both physical and psychological torture. It’s one thing not to sleep at night. It’s quite another to know that you’re not going to sleep for the next 365.

Indeed, the first year of child-rearing is much like the first season of Game of Thrones. When you watch it the first time, you’re consumed in equal parts by anxiety and wonderment. When you watch it the second time, you’re basically just waiting for Ned Stark to die.

And that is the cruellest part of child number two: you know what’s coming, and you know there’s nothing you can do to avoid it.

He may be half the size, but Hildebrand’s son and unborn baby will require twice the space of himself and his wife. Picture: Nigel Lough.

This is perhaps best described as “the second second trimester”, the period in which a couple goes from shouting to each other with great joy, “Oh my god! We’re having another baby!” to shouting to each other with great horror, “Oh my god! We’re having another baby!”

In this sense, the second child starts torturing you before it’s even left the womb. It’s as though teenage girls have learnt to travel backwards through time.

And then there are the material concerns. First, you have to go to the shed to dig out all the things you bought for your first baby, like the Simulated White Noise Baby Sleep-O-Matic and the Ultra-Kleen Sanitary Diaper Eezy-Squeeze System. Then you have to go back to the shed and bury them again because you remember they were all built on a web of lies.

Which brings us to real estate. When you’re a newly married couple buying your first house, you tend to forget a few things — and not just contraception.

And so it wasn’t until we learnt we were having another child that I realised our house only had two bedrooms. It’s fair to say that when it comes to maths I’m not exactly Stephen Hawking.

Besides, I have always found it rather strange that when two grown-ups get together the first thing they want to do is share a room, but when you try it with kids it’s suddenly impossible. I mean, seriously, THEY ARE HALF OUR SIZE!

If I had my way I’d cram 20 of them in there, but while that’s fine if you do it in a hospital, if you do it at home someone calls the Department of Immigration.

Now my wife keeps saying we need to move house and I keep saying we need Stephen Hawking, primarily to explain to her we don’t have a million dollars.

And then maybe he can tell us why the sum of all our happiness always seems to equal the sum of all our fears.

Joe co-hosts Studio 10, 8.30am weekdays, on Network Ten.

Originally published as Joe Hildebrand reveals the terror of having a second baby