Occasionally, in a fit of drama, the four-year-old will
accuse me of loving his sister more than I love him. When this happens, I
reassure him that I love him and his sister equally, but if he only knew…
I will admit that when I was pregnant this time around, I
had fleeting moments of self-doubt. How would I ever love another child with
the same intensity (some might say smothering affection) that I had loved my
first? From the moment they put him on my chest, I forgot that seconds before I
had accused him of trying to kill me.
I had never loved like that before. Let me explain, in case
my husband is reading, that I do, in fact love him (believe me, I am not the
type of woman who would launder the underwear of a man I didn’t love). This,
however, was in a completely different category altogether. After all, when I
met my husband, I did not instantaneously think, “If a train were barreling
toward you, I would jump onto the tracks without a moment’s hesitation.” This
feeling was so overwhelming that I had a hard time imaging I could feel it
about anyone else, but when they handed me my daughter, there it was again.
I love my children for different reasons, and it’s because
of their differences that I’m able to love them both. My son, despite looking
just like his father, inherited my, shall we say, intensity for life.
He speaks, plays, and moves with passion. He likes to get his own way (must be
his dad’s side coming out there), which sometimes causes us to butt heads. We are
alike in many ways, both unable to mask emotion on our faces. When something is
important to us and we love it, we go at it full-tilt. If it’s not, well, we’re
stubborn to the end. He will randomly say things like, “Mom, your heart will
always be in my heart” (where does a four-year-old come up with this stuff?) or
“I love you, Mom.” He is loyal and will stand up for himself and others. He’s
compassionate, always the first on the soccer field to rush over and see why
somebody’s on the ground. He got his dad’s sense of irony, and his humor is sometimes
wry and sometimes silly.
Our daughter is, of course, still developing her own
personality, but already she’s different from her brother. What R took out of
the genetic pool from my husband, K took from me. Our baby pictures are
interchangeable except for eye color. She is easy-going, playful, almost always
smiling. She has recently started diving for people’s noses with her mouth
open; then laughing hysterically at their reactions (usually fear, as she has just
grown four sharp new teeth). Whereas my son started getting impatient with
being held soon after he began crawling, she loves to snuggle. I have a feeling
that she may be what my grandparents used to refer to as, “a character.”
Those who know me know that I love dessert. When I’m offered
a choice between two different types of cake, I always want to try both. I love
the chocolate cake for its bold taste, and smooth texture, but I also love the
carrot cake because it has a hint of spice and some nuttiness. I appreciate
them because they each have their own distinct flavor.
So what I want to tell R when he accuses me of not loving
him and his sister the same is that he’s right. I don’t. Having more than one
kid is like having your choice of desserts, and more dessert is always a good
thing in my book.
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