The Difference Between One and Two Is Tenfold

It really is amazing how dramatic the difference is between the first and second child... in EVERY way. I mean, obviously, their personalities are different but so is the way that they get treated.

With MRA, we were all in such a hurry for everything to happen. I read each chapter of "What to Expect the First Year" each month and spent the next four weeks ticking off the milestones in my mind. Or sometimes trying not to panic if the milestones hadn't been reached yet.

I couldn't wait for the first smile, laugh, or roll. Every next milestone we eagerly anticipated and encouraged in any way we could.

My parents would have force fed the poor kid rice cereal at eight weeks if I would have let them. And my Dad, my Dad was ready to give him ice cream at three months.

But with ASA, things are different. There is no rush. And although I find myself infinitely busier, I also find myself wanting to cherish the little moments a little longer. Of course some of this may be due to the fact that I had my tubes tied.

Actually, they were cut. No little eggs slipping through a loose knot for me. The nurse even showed me the sections they cut out. (Which, even in my heavily sedated haze, I could have lived happily for the rest of my life without seeing.)

So, yeah, just about zero chance of a third miracle in our lives. This is fine and also what we wanted but there is such a sense of finality to it that in some ways is... sad.

However, I also think that we are so much busier that we don't have the time to sit and oogle over every little move ASA makes. This, too, is kind of sad. And ASA is such a relaxed child, which, I suppose is good since he is often times left sitting alone while MRA demands a cookie, or a pillow, or his feet rubbed (thanks Nana for that one) or time on my lap.

But when I do get time with my little, scrumptious, gummy smiled marshmallow, I savor every second. I breathe deep his smell and try to hold on to the way his little hands feel when they hold my finger. I try to hold onto every wonderful, blissful second because, hoe lee shizzle - next week, my little pumpkin pie will be SIX MONTHS old!

My friends warned me this would happen if I fed him.