Which is harder: parenting one or two? In the first week home, two is harder. But I can, honestly see that will change.
Which is harder: labor or parenting? Hands down, parenting is harder. Labor is on my terms, in my head, and following my rhythms. Parenting is a clusterf*&# on someone else’s schedule, hostage to their demands, and in the service of exactly the opposite of what I want and am good at. Plus, labor was 47 hours. Parenting is 47 years.
Which was rougher: C-section or VBAC? The surgery. Scary and debilitating. Healing is a toss up, only because of the 5 hours of pushing a 14 1/2 inch head wedged under a pubic bone and resulting vacuum. But surgery much less my cup of tea than the VBAC, even with aforementioned 47-hour protracted vacation from parenting.
Which wears on you more: sleep deprivation or four-year old tantrums? The former went on for three years with Peanut, so tired is old news. The tantrums are legendary—nay, cataclysmic—and much more draining.
Who’s cuter? Gasp. How could you ask that? Of COURSE the one who is not screaming at any given moment is the cutest.
Which came first, chicken or egg? Egg, clearly. Some not-quite-chicken lays slightly mutated egg that gives rise to actual chicken. Yes, mama was necessary, but egg was first at being chicken.
When will you posts be interesting again? Not any time soon, sad to say.