The second time around isn't always easier

A few weeks ago, I blogged about my first daughter turning ten years old ("10 years down, the rest of her life to go" from September 18, 2013).  Today is daughter #2's birthday.  She is eight years old today, going on 25.  When I learned I was having a second daughter, I was thrilled.  I already had a ton of baby girl clothes from my first pregnancy.  We had the infant car seat, the crib, a pediatrician, and the infant-stage was still fresh in my mind.  There was no doubt that all the lessons learned from daughter #1 would make #2 a breeze.  What started as a breeze turned into a whirlwind.

From the moment my doctor gave me the look...the look that told me the delivery of my baby was not going to happen as planned, I knew she was going to be different.  I had to have an unscheduled C-section under general anesthesia after a full-face presentation and two failed epidurals.  They put the mask on me, I sucked in the gas, and fell asleep.  While floating around in the silent, painless void of happy gas, I heard a voice calling my name.  My eyes slowly started opening, and just like when someone awakens from sleep in a movie, the blurry light started to brighten and my vision began to focus.  "Amy, I've got your baby!"  The shape of my doctor became more and more clear.  She was still wearing the surgical mask over her mouth, but her eyes were smiling at me.  Next to her face was my new baby girl.  She was wrapped up in a blanket and her long hair was hanging out from the edges of her newborn hat.  I asked, "Is she alright?"  My doc said, "She's fine!"  I said, "Good," and fell back to sleep.  Not exactly how I was going to greet my daughter into the world, but there was nothing I could do about it.  My next meeting with her was in the post-operative recovery area.  I had no idea how much time had passed because I was still cruising through Happy Gas-town.  There was this baby fussing - not really crying, just fussing.  Then I realized that was my baby fussing.  I halfway open my eyes.  Sitting next to my bed was my husband holding our baby girl.  He was smiling and rocking her.  She was yapping at him.  "If she's hungry, give her a bottle," was the first thing out of my mouth.  There were so many narcotics pumping through me I could barely talk, but I still knew what my girl needed.  She drank two infant bottles before we were even moved to my postpartum room.  The girl could eat!  And, she still can.  I've often said that my Riley has not changed her eating habits since she was born:  she still needs to eat every two to four hours or she gets cranky.

What I learned over the next few weeks and months and years is there were lots of things easier about girl #2.  This baby was sleeping through the night by three weeks old.  There was never that volcano of formula getting spit up all over a brand new outfit.  She did not drool even when she was teething.  She did not put weird things in her mouth or nose or ears.  Potty training was done by four years of age (that includes waking up dry).  Everything happened easier and faster and I thought I was really getting the hang of motherhood.  I have never seen a child this smart and funny.  The level she operates on is higher than most kids her age.  She is not perfect:  she whines, fights with her sister, and hates to wake up in the morning.  But, I can say with confidence that this girl is going to be a force to be reckoned with one day.

I love my daughters the same amount, but I have learned to love them in different ways.  What is a reward to one is not very important to the other.  As I have discovered their differences, they have shown me how to parent.  There are basic rules that apply to everyone, but there are times when individual circumstances have to be evaluated and handled accordingly.  Daughter #2 is not as snuggly, she is a total daddy's girl, and I am often the butt of her jokes.  I am pretty sure she never cried when getting dropped off at daycare or school.  She has told me she wants to go to a bording schol and just come home on holidays.  I don't love her more.  I just love her different.  I give her more space.  I know when something is really important or really difficult or really hurting her because she will ask me for help.  She is an amazing kid that in some ways is already a little adult.

"I call him Mini-Me."  Happy birthday, Roo.