Around this time last year, I became pregnant with our second child.

"Does it feel different?" friends would ask, especially after they discovered we were expecting a boy, since our first is a girl.

The morning sickness felt nearly identical. I'd be nauseated after catching a whiff of forgotten foodstuffs in the refrigerator, and lean over the sink watching my just-consumed meal hit the porcelain.

The way I carried the baby also appeared the same to me, although many a passer-by claimed that my belly's profile would be different for a boy. What exactly that shape looked like was a mystery to me, as nearly equal numbers of complete strangers would approach me, point to my burgeoning belly, and proclaim confidently, "Girl, right?" or "It's a boy!"

Even our baby's kicks and swirls seemed similar to what I experienced in my first pregnancy, despite my hunch that a boy would be more vigorous than a girl.

What did make this pregnancy stand out from the first, however, was caring for our toddler at the same time. Between diaper changes and feedings, our daughter was not much more than a baby herself. Sixteen months old when I became pregnant, she still needed to be lifted into her crib, restrained when headed toward danger and carried when her little legs got tired. Her consistent rising with the sun made catching up on my rest difficult.

These physical demands meant that gaining weight was not as easy this time around for me (although some would call this a blessing in disguise). Finding time to prepare and eat nutritious meals was difficult, and even when I could, our curious toddler would end up pointing to the various items on my plate and a goodly portion of them would end up in her stomach. Eventually, I kept a regular stock of ice cream in our freezer, which caused a non-dietitian-approved rise to the appropriate weight gain.

A sense of loss also overcame me as I realized there was precious little time left to spend one-on-one with my firstborn. My husband and I were looking forward to multiple children so this came as a surprise. Perhaps this emotion was due to my daughter being my almost constant sidekick since she was born. Or maybe it was facing the reality that after our newborn arrived, our time and attention would be split.

Whatever it was, this feeling led me to squeeze in as many one-on-one experiences with our firstborn as possible before the birth.

Add to this a mentality that, despite all of the above, life's other demands should be met the same as before, and the stress finally caught up with me. Almost two months before the due date, I entered the hospital with contractions and bleeding.

"You're in pre-term labor!" the doctor exclaimed.

With this wake-up call, I slowed wa-a-ay down, and learned that subsequent pregnancies are definitely not the same as the first. I needed to take better care of myself if I was to take good care of my expanding family.

Just like the pre-takeoff airplane safety films instruct: "Place your own mask on first, then your child's."

A good lesson indeed, for this parenthood flight is going to last at least another 18 years.

Monica Quock Chan is a freelance writer who lives in Honolulu with her husband and children.