My biggest fear when pregnant with my second child wasn’t that I’d agreed to *yet again* allow an entire person to exit through a hatch clearly designed for entrance only. Surprisingly, it also wasn’t that I’d agreed to *yet again* subject my favorite body parts to essentially being raked across a cheese grater every two hours while breastfeeding that rogue traveler. In retrospect I should have been afraid of my ability to make sound decisions, but instead I spent ten long months worrying that I wouldn’t be able to love this new child as much as I loved the first.
My second pregnancy started when the first human being I had grown was a few months from being anointed into the mythical order of the Terrible Twos, and ended before we were ushered into the Shittastic Threes. For those not initiated, the Shitastic Threes, which I’ve been duly warned are not as bad as the Fucking Fours, are far more treacherous than the year spent dealing with the slightly cantankerous behavior of a two-year-old. Two is a hyperbolic myth perpetuated by parents who have yet to look a three-year-old in the eye and speak to them. About anything. At all.
A little more after having gone to man-to-man defense in our family, I realize that my fear of not being able to love one as much of the other is in a very contracted, microcosm-of-our-daily-life way, true. See, when wizened parents told me that I would love each kid differently, I think they meant to say, “Sometimes you will like one more, and sometimes you will like the other one more.”
My children have a rotating schedule for who is going to be an asshole each week, with one taking time out as the other acts like a balls to the wall lunatic. Naturally, how that schedule changes follows a logic that can only be ascribed to Glenn Beck, much like the crocodile tears they shed when I look at them for too long.
Pregnant ladies always ask me if it is really that difficult going from one to two children. As sage as a monk on a hillside, I reply, “Do you miss your perky breasts and slender hips?” And when I am talking to other battle scarred mothers of two or more, with a knowing smile I ask, “So which kid is your favorite today?”
Kinda liking the dog more than both of them right now,