Transition to Two

I meant to do this post to celebrate my daughter turning one.  She's now sixteen months old, and it's occurred to me that if I don't actually sit down and write it, she'll be sixteen years old and I'll be fretting about the transition back to one again....

Ahem!  So what was it like going from one to two?  For me anyway, since everybody's different--and I'm sure the age gap is a big factor here: ours is two years, two months.  Some people feel that going from one to two is harder than zero to one; for me it was the other way around.  The culture shock of life with a baby eclipsed the shock of juggling two children by a long shot.  But I really did struggle for the first few months of my son's life, so perhaps that's not surprising. 

It certainly had nothing to do with the babies themselves, since technically speaking, my son was much easier than my daughter.  I think, for me, a lot of it depended on knowing that these difficult stages really do pass.  I mean, I knew they would with my son, but having experienced the improvement firsthand made it a lot easier to tolerate the bad times with my daughter.  There's also the fact that I knew what I had found hard the first time around and took what steps I could to mitigate those factors the second time.

What I Didn't Expect

The biggest thing that went against my expectations was that instead of the first child getting neglected for the second, the second gets neglected for the first.  Other mothers I've spoken to have confirmed this, so, without having conducted an extensive survey, I believe this is the norm rather than the exception.  Perhaps if your older child is much older it's different, but if you have a baby and a toddler, expect the toddler to come first.

Obviously the baby requires more actual care than the toddler, but the toddler's needs are always more immediate.  The baby might be hungry, but the toddler has got himself stuck while trying to climb the stepstool in the kitchen.  The baby's soiled her nappy, but the toddler has wet himself.  The baby wants a cuddle, but the toddler is throwing toys at the television.  And while I could arrange my day around my son's napping and feeding routine, my daughter's routine had to be scheduled around her brother's school run.

Even more guilt-inducing, you don't quite relive the magic of the first child.  I remember how much I loved watching my son's personality blossom during the first two years of his life.  I never felt the same way with my daughter.  A lot of it is because I have less time to sit back and watch her, as I did with my son.  Part of it is just because the novelty has worn off.  "Oh, there's another tooth.  Hey, did you hear your brother count to twelve?"

So if there's one thing I've learned, it's not to compare the babyhood of your first with your second, nor to strive to relive it.  With my son's birth, the most fondly-remembered part for me was when they lifted him out of me and laid him on my tummy, all in one smooth, soft-focus moment.  My daughter's was a more difficult birth and on delivery she was whisked ten feet away for a hasty check, and I was briefly devastated to lose that moment.

Less than two minutes later, she was placed on my chest, screaming her head off.  Her eyes found mine, and she stopped crying.  That's the abiding memory of my daughter's birth that I cherish, and it's not one she has in common with her brother.

That's the key: different, not worse, and most certainly not less.  My son had the benefit of my attention maybe, but my daughter has the benefit of my experience.  I had all the time in the world to lavish on my son, but my daughter has the extra stimulation of her brother's company.  And now, of course, she's reached the age where my son was getting carted around to various doctor's appointments as we embarked upon this whole second child thing.  She gets none of that, because she's the second and last.

A Niche Delight

Having our family be complete (we always envisioned having two children, and we still felt two was the magic number after either birth) felt great.  Surprisingly great.  I remember for the first few weeks of my daughter's life, I couldn't stop revelling over the fact that we had our two children, and used the phrase 'family of four' at every available opportunity.

This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I'd had to deal with the concept that we might not have any children at all; I had certainly stopped taking the idea of having two children for granted.  To actually have our two "take-home babies" seemed like an overwhelming blessing.

But also there was a certain relief in knowing that this was the last time we ever had to do the sleepless nights, the hysterical crying for no obvious reason, the painful breasts, etc, etc.  Knowing that all that difficult baby stuff would be over and done with after my daughter made it much easier--yeah, with my son, I spent far too much time in irrational despair that every hard part was hopefully to be repeated with a not-yet-conceived second child.

Clearly, there's a lot of sadness in knowing that certain baby things will never happen again (like carrying my tiny baby against my chest, feeling her grab a lock of hair in each fist).  But I have to acknowledge that not having killer sleep deprivation or sour milk regurgitated down my cleavage is a pretty good silver lining.  Plus, as I already learned, you can't relive any child's babyhood simply by having another.

The Sibling's Point of View 

I remember that I didn't want to enforce any sort of relationship on my son, so I didn't talk much to him about becoming a big brother, and since we didn't know the new baby's sex in advance, we never talked in terms of having a little brother or sister either.  I wanted him to decide for himself what the new baby would be towards him.

I was never entirely sure if he understood what I meant when I told him we were going to have a baby.  He went to all my ultrasounds, and got to the point when as soon as the grey blobs showed up on screen, he'd declare: "Baby!"  I had him feel my tummy when the baby kicked and had hiccups, which didn't seem to interest him at all.

I felt that, considering the toddler's natural disposition to egocentricity, the best way to prepare him was to relate it back to his own babyhood.  And considering my natural disposition towards books, the best way to show him was to make a book about him as a baby.  So I scoured the photo archive, pulled up MS Publisher and knocked off a book: "When [my son] was a Baby."

The 'story' ran along the lines of: "He grew inside Mummy's tummy.  When he was big enough, Mummy and Daddy went to the hospital so he could be born.  He drank special milk from Mummy's breast..."  Basically, I tried to cover all the things that he'd see the new baby doing, so it wouldn't be too strange to him.

I don't know how well it worked, but he loved the book--still does (I suppose at some point, I'll have to make one for his sister as well)!  I do think that having actual photographs of our own personal baby equipment helped, not to mention of the hospital where he came to visit his sister for the first time.  And we never seemed to have a rejection of his sister (though we definitely had the novelty wear off).

It should be noted though, that for all our talk of the baby coming out, he was still absolutely gobsmacked when he came to visit me in hospital and saw an actual baby in the bassinet next to me.  All he could say for about ten minutes was: "Out!  It came out!"  But he was happy about it.  When we were discharged a couple of days later, he was so excited to hear that the baby could come home that he grabbed hold of her carseat and said: "Bye, Mummy!" apparently uninterested in the irrelevant detail that I was coming too.

Once she was home, he grew pretty ambivalent towards her.  As I've already said, she ended up getting neglected in favour of his needs anyway, so he would show brief episodes of interest in her before getting on with his own activities.  His behaviour did deteriorate, but that was as much because I could no longer be so on the spot with him as because of jealousy.  I fretted over this for awhile, but I discovered that once I had the freedom to target his behaviour once more, he responded fairly well.  He always has been more difficult, but that's probably what would have happened with age anyway.

I don't know whether it was his age or her age that was the trigger, but she was about seven months and he was almost three when he suddenly started playing with her.  It might have been part of his switch from wanting attention from adults to wanting to play with children, or it might have been the fact that she could sit up and was thus easier to interact with.  But it was earlier than I expected, and one of the most insane joys of having two children has definitely been (and still is!) watching them play together.

Tactical Advice

As I said earlier, one of the big advantages of the second child is knowing what you found hard with the first and preparing accordingly.  For example, I knew that I craved adult conversation during the hard times, so we staggered family visits with my husband's paternity leave (inasmuch as we could plan transatlantic flights when we could only guess the birthdate).  First my husband was home for two weeks, then my parents came out for two weeks, then his mother, then his sister with her family...  I had a few days or so between each of them where I was on my own, but thanks to this plan, I only had a few days alone at a time for the first three months of my daughter's life.

Sleep deprivation is always a killer, and the trouble with the second child is that the first one isn't taking as many naps as you would like to take.  "Sleep when the baby sleeps" is no longer feasible (not that this ever worked for me anyway; thanks, daytime insomnia).  Best tip I received for this, hands down, is to have a soft place where you can lie next to your playing toddler.  It doesn't have to be elaborate: I found a single cushion on the floor worked wonders, because at least I could put my head down even if I couldn't sleep.  Having toys on my nightstand worked too, so I could have the children playing on the bed while I rested.

NB I went through a stage where I didn't dare drive, because I was so drowsy all the time.  Be prepared for home-based activities.

One of the best things I did, starting in late pregnancy when I was trying to keep my feet up as much as possible, was to set up (and cycle through) a number of toys/activities that could be done on a lap-tray.  I kept the tray by the sofa, and the activities on the shelves where my son could reach them.  He would carry them over to me, we would play with them together and then he'd put them away again (I was very firm on that latter; refusing to move onto the next activity until the first had been put away).

It's fairly easy to find toddler toys that fit on a tray: we had a Russian doll, stacking/nesting barrels, those Melissa and Doug jigsaw puzzles in a box, plus others I've forgotten (and don't forget a basket of books as well).  It would generally take us twenty minutes to go through them all: twenty minutes in which my feet would be up; twenty minutes in which my daughter could nurse while I played with my son one-handed; twenty invaluable minutes where my son was happily occupied even though I never moved from the sofa.

It should be noted that the order of that set-up has long since been lost (right around the time my daughter could get to the shelves herself).  But it was my lifeline for at least six months.


Clearly this is all just my experience, and life with a newborn and a one year old or a newborn and an older child would be very different again.  Still, it's definitely a topic that was preying on my mind before my daughter was born, something that I consulted with my friends about and something that I get consulted on.  So for whatever it's worth, it's now written down before it gets too stale in my mind.

From baby to toddler

So, a month back, I posted about how my daughter had taken her first step.  Remembering my son's steady progression from that first step to walking all over the place in two or three weeks, I eagerly anticipated a similar burst of determination from my daughter.

Not so much.  Although she's always been more ambitious than her laid back brother, she has never been pushing to walk.  Simply discovering the ability to take independent steps was not enough to inspire her.

After giving the matter some thought, I came to the conclusion that the big difference in circumstances for the second child is that I wasn't going at her pace.  With her brother, I could arrange my whole day around him, taking things as slowly as I like and letting him crawl alongside me or stagger around holding my hand.  With the second child, I'm rushing to get things done in between the school runs or trying to keep up with the toddler instead of slowing down for the baby.  I've been carrying her a lot more, and she has had absolutely no objection to that.

So starting Monday, I changed my habits, remembering to slow down wherever possible and to do handheld walking as much as possible.  On Thursday, something clicked and she started walking.  Not exclusively, but she's gone from crawling as the default mode to walking (until she falls over) as the default mode.  The change was dramatic enough that my husband noticed the difference between when he left for work in the morning and when he came home that night.

I've also rediscovered just how much of a jump in interaction walking makes--and how much better I am at toddlers than babies.  Also on Thursday, she knocked over her brother's glass of orange juice.  I gave her a paper towel to clean up the mess, and she promptly started wiping at it (with remarkable effectiveness).  I then asked her to throw the used paper towel in the bin and (after a couple of repetitions) she toddled to the kitchen and did so, giving me frequent looks for confirmation and a big grin when she realised she understood what I meant.

One of my mild concerns is that I've not done much in the way of giving directions to her, so I am genuinely delighted she understood me.  And lest anybody think I've got some sort of miracle child, I did have to clean up most of the spill myself--she just did a better job with her paper towel than her brother did at that age.

Speaking of spills, she's recently got the hang of drinking out of her doidy cup so I've started giving her a glass for occasional drinks, in true Montessori style.  I found one at a thrift store a few months ago, that was small but surprisingly heavy.  I'm hoping this means that it can survive a trip to the hardwood floor (so far untested), but the weight encourages her to use both hands to lift it and focus a little more on what she's doing with it.  She's a lot more inclined to just knock things over for fun than her brother ever was, so this is something very intermittent.

But I've moved their table to the window, where it's a little closer to the shelves for carrying practice.  I think I'm going to try and have them eat there more often when we're not having a family meal (i.e.  snacks and lunch).  She's not mastered the art of getting on and off the stools yet, but it'll be a step closer to independence when she does.

Basically, I'm in a wild burst of enthusiasm for having a toddler again, especially since my son's left that behind for the mentally draining 3 year old stage.  For the first time, she's easier than he is!  Yet of course, as much as I've been waiting for this, there's that bittersweet thought: "No more babies, soon she won't crawl around at all...."  I don't do well with babies, and I'm tired of how all her leggings are grey and dingy at the knees, but.... still.  She's been a very cute baby.

Also, she cut three teeth almost simultaneously: two molars and a canine.  That explains the grumpy mood towards the end of our holiday.  I am still waiting on the other canine to poke through, but she's got tired of me poking into her mouth, so for all I know it's there already.

Dampening my burst of wild enthusiasm is the sick day my son's had today.  After a complete lapse in behaviour yesterday, he threw up twice overnight and then again after lunch today.  So far he's kept dinner down, so fingers crossed.  At least he's been much more cheerful today, and I was able to keep him occupied by building a gigantic train track all across the living room rug during his sister's morning nap. 

I probably love that train set more than he does.  I am not looking forward to when they outgrow it....

It's not walking, it's falling with style

My daughter (thirteen and a half months) is on the verge of walking.  Then again, she has been since Christmas, so we're cautious about getting our hopes up.  Cruising, walking while her hands are held, standing unassisted... all those she can do.  She can even walk with just one hand being held, although she tends to start grabbing for the other hand if this keeps up for more than a few steps.

For the past two weeks, she's been faking us out.  She will stand, unassisted, and stare at her destination, poised to take that first step... and then she'll drop down to all fours and crawl.  Alternatively, she will might be just out of reach of her desired support, so she will dive towards it, and as she falls she takes a step to propel herself closer.  Since she's making no attempt to keep her balance, I don't think that counts!

My son walked at fourteen months, which is late-ish, but not remarkably late.  At the time, it seemed like an eternity, because I had a number of friends who had babies within a month of his birth, and all of them were walking by ten months.  I used to joke that he was thrown off-balance by his disproportionately large head... perhaps this is true for my daughter as well!  Her doctor seems to think that her old hip issues might delay her a little, which isn't something I'd thought about.  I forget she ever had hip dysplasia most of the time.

For the most part though, the beauty of the second time around is that I'm less fussed by the wait for those first steps.  She'll get there.  I'm getting impatient, because she weighs over twenty pounds and that's a lot to carry, but on the plus side, I am stronger than I've ever been!  Still, with the warmer weather arriving, it would be great if she could run around and join in the outdoor activities more fully.  And there's a part of me that frets that she might take after me and not walk until she's almost two!

It does, however, look like she's beaten both me and her brother.  Today, she turned away from me and took a definite step towards him.  She then pitched herself forward onto the stair we were sitting on, but she held her balance while taking that step. 

As far as I'm concerned, that counts.  She's not quite a walker yet, but we've had the first step.

Spring Cleaning and Growing Up

I've been quiet on the posting front lately, because I'm spring-cleaning.... taking my valuable kid-free time, and instead of idling/typing furiously on the computer, I'm clearing out boxes and boxes of stuff, trying to cut down on all those things we've accumulated and put by for when they come in handy.

Truth to tell, there's not much cleaning going on, but there's a lot going out.  Including the baby stuff.

Now that my daughter's a year old, and we have no plans for more children, it's time to say goodbye to the baby equipment.  She's weaned from the bottle, she's out of the infant carrier and into the convertible, she was never in a crib anyway, and I can't remember the last time I put her in the Exersaucer.  The stroller, changing pad, nappies and highchair are likely to stick around a bit longer, but everything else?  That can go.

I vaguely remember how dramatic it seemed as we gradually acquired all the baby paraphernalia at the end of 2008 when my son was born.  This influx of equipment taking over the house, and even after he outgrew it, we carefully put it to one side, hoping we'd get the chance to use it again.  Now it's gradually exiting the house via Craigslist.

Perhaps the biggest surprise is that I don't feel many pangs as it leaves.  Since we're ever in danger of becoming hoarders, I always feel a sense of triumph when we get rid of things anyway, but this is saying goodbye to a whole phase of our lives: the baby phase.

Then again, I've never been a baby person, and neither has my husband.  I was talking with another mother recently who has a son the same age as mine, and she said her favourite part so far was from 0-1; I replied that my favourite part was 1-2.  I'm toddler-centric.  I never felt sad about my son growing up until he reached 3, and since then I've often had little flashes of baseless fear that he's going to grow into somebody I don't like or just the overwhelming comprehension that someday he's going to be bigger than me, and that very soon, I'm not going to be somebody he wants to cuddle up to.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I discouraged my son from being carried, knowing that the baby would take over my arms soon.  Now that both the children are a little older, I'm carrying my son more again, knowing that I won't have much longer to do it.  He occasionally likes to pretend that he's the baby, which I'm sure is a normal older sibling reaction.  I've no idea whether that sort of behaviour should be permitted or discouraged, but I'm indulging him, because I still can!

So I've no regrets about my daughter turning one, and saying farewell to such infant staples as our co-sleeper bassinet or the boppy pillow, but I think when she's three, it will be a very different story....

Birthday Guilt

My daughter's birthday did not start well.  For me, at least.  She thought everything was just brilliant.  I, however, was afflicted with a chronic case of maternal guilt, comparing her birthday to her brother's, and feeling we weren't as excited this time, there weren't as many toys, less party guests....

But in the end, I don't really see what else we could have done.  Her birthday was on a Wednesday, so inviting people would, in many cases, mean asking them to take the day off--I could have had the party on the weekend, for all the difference she would have known, but precisely because she didn't know what was so special about the day, I felt we had to celebrate on the day.... if that makes any sense?  Besides, I don't really believe in having large parties for one year olds anyway: too much stimulation.

As far as toys went, she already has all the toys that her brother had at that age, and more.  I don't want to buy her toys just for the sake of buying toys, nor do I want to clutter up the house with a dozen more baby/toddler toys that both children will have grown out of in a year.  So we had a few toys on the wishlist, but we also asked people to buy her clothes, and we deliberately didn't get her a 'big' present, since we'll only end up buying them more stuff over the summer anyway.

Finally, there's our own enthusiasm.  OK, I can't do anything about the fact that her birthday came after we'd all been sick for two weeks and most of us were on antibiotics.  But still... shouldn't this be more fun?  A friend of mine today admitted that she wasn't looking forward to doing the whole first birthday party thing again, and I felt so relieved to know that I wasn't the only one.  It's not that I feel the occasion is any less special...  but the shine of planning the celebrations has turned into the stress of organising the day's events. 

Then there's the stress of having to make it comparable to her brother's first birthday.  True, for all she cared, she would be over the moon if I spent eight hours reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? to her.  The problem is that we have all these pictures of her brother's birthday and the festivities surrounding it.  I even put together a video of the day.  And yesterday morning, all I could think of was my daughter in ten years time going: "How come there aren't as many pictures of my first birthday?  Where's my video?  You love him more!"

These are the perils of living in the digital age.

Still, despite these morning doubts, the actual birthday panned out very well, and even the party was good fun.  She might not have had as many toys and guests, but I did improvise a play feature, to distinguish this from any other gathering.  We have half a dozen cheap dancing scarves in the primary and secondary colours.  I strung some yarn across the living room and pegged the scarves up to make a 'rainbow' for her to crawl through.  She loved it, and so did our cat.

That'll be something else for the rainy day ideas list!

It also bothered me more than I expected that she was turning one.  When I put her to bed last night, I couldn't quite get past the fact that it was our last interaction while she was still a baby, less than a year old... (actually, our last interaction was me putting her back to sleep at 11pm).

For the most part though, I'm just deeply grateful for all that I have, and so proud of my one year old girl for how far she's come.