That's our family according to Phoebe (ha -- I actually typed "phamily" first). She loves to play the "Who's this?" game, naming each one of us in turn. When we point to her and say, "And who is this?" she smiles very sweetly and says, "Bee!"
It's strange, having a second child. Mallory only knew about six words by her second birthday (and I was beginning to be Officially Worried) -- obviously she caught up and now there are many times I wish she would just stop talking already (for example, yesterday, when she demanded, "Mommy, what's three plus?" and I said, "Three plus what?" and she shouted, "That's what I'm asking YOU!") -- and -- where was I going with this -- anyway, Phoebe is way ahead of where Mallory was, verbally, at this age. I have to remind myself that this doesn't necessarily mean that Phoebe is smarter than her older sister is. In fact I sometimes hope she isn't, because Mallory is already smart enough to flummox me on a regular basis.
I never worried about loving a second child as much as my first, when I got pregnant with Phoebe, but it did strike me one day that there may come a time when Mallory was not my favorite. And the thought made me so sad, that my first little girl, my darling ladybug, would ever come second in my affections. Now I realize that the beauty of having two is that there's another kid to BE your favorite when the other one is driving you nuts. So I have my sweet Phoebe when Mallory is being an absolute pill, and I have my funny, lovable Mallory when Phoebe is being clingy or whiny or otherwise exasperating. And of course there are times when I want to shut both of them up in a closet and run far far away, but in fact those times are pretty rare.
My brother once asked my mom which one of us was her favorite. She said we were all her favorites in different ways. At the time I thought that was a copout, but now I realize that not only was it the only tactful way to answer -- it was also completely true.
It's strange, having a second child. Mallory only knew about six words by her second birthday (and I was beginning to be Officially Worried) -- obviously she caught up and now there are many times I wish she would just stop talking already (for example, yesterday, when she demanded, "Mommy, what's three plus?" and I said, "Three plus what?" and she shouted, "That's what I'm asking YOU!") -- and -- where was I going with this -- anyway, Phoebe is way ahead of where Mallory was, verbally, at this age. I have to remind myself that this doesn't necessarily mean that Phoebe is smarter than her older sister is. In fact I sometimes hope she isn't, because Mallory is already smart enough to flummox me on a regular basis.
I never worried about loving a second child as much as my first, when I got pregnant with Phoebe, but it did strike me one day that there may come a time when Mallory was not my favorite. And the thought made me so sad, that my first little girl, my darling ladybug, would ever come second in my affections. Now I realize that the beauty of having two is that there's another kid to BE your favorite when the other one is driving you nuts. So I have my sweet Phoebe when Mallory is being an absolute pill, and I have my funny, lovable Mallory when Phoebe is being clingy or whiny or otherwise exasperating. And of course there are times when I want to shut both of them up in a closet and run far far away, but in fact those times are pretty rare.
My brother once asked my mom which one of us was her favorite. She said we were all her favorites in different ways. At the time I thought that was a copout, but now I realize that not only was it the only tactful way to answer -- it was also completely true.
Comments
I completely agree. Noah is my favorite when Rhett is being annoyingly curious and Rhett is my favorite when Noah is throwing one of his fits. They are both my favorites when they are asleep! :)
I always say, "You are my favorite Noah" or "You are my favorite Rhett" (notice no commas) because that is true. Rhett is my favorite Rhett and Noah is my favorite Noah. Well, you get the point.
Mom