You aggravate more but you joy more as well.
There’s nothing quite like the rage I felt in those first few months, when he was a wee babe, when she refused to climb the stairs. He was wailing (or sleeping), she was balking (or being loud).
It reminds you of what more than one person shared while we were pregnant with #2: ‘John Paul II said that a sibling is the best gift you can give your child’. I understand better, and am more comfortable with, mortality since having a child. It’s inexpressibly comforting to know that they will have each other once we’re gone.
There’s nothing quite like the smile she has for her older brother. It’s a smile that’s just for him. And she reads often to herself. Then I catch her reading to him. Except she doesn’t want me to see her doing it. It’s just between them.
Then there are the times he giggles for no apparent reason, but she knows and they laugh together. And the way they can converse without discernible phrases. It’s rather caveman like (lots of grunts and squeals), but charming none the less.
You aggravate more but you joy more as well. And the joy is stronger.
And it’s rather ironic. I went from an engaged 30 year old my-biological-clock-is-ticking-like-a-big-loud-bass-drum to, very surprisingly, being in no particular hurry to have kids once we were married, to suddenly having two from out of nowhere, to feelings of whiplash, to watching the two of them. And suddenly, I deeply wanted another. (This is not a pregnancy announcement!) It’s simply sharing a movement of the heart concerning what it’s like with two.
Miss Mary Clare