Pediatricians compare your kid to The Average on height, weight, head size, number of spoken words, and ability to sleep, sit, stand, play peek-a-boo, roll over, and play fetch. Parents constantly (and obnoxiously) swap stats on the age at which their kid rode his bike without training wheels, or started to read on her own, or learned to wipe his own butt. And when you're being publicly shamed at the park by a flock of birds eating forgotten Cheerios from the crevices of your stroller, it's impossible not to compare yourself to that Other Mom whose stroller is somehow immaculate and whose children are effortlessly managing red popsicles in their white Polo shirts.
Of course, comparisons are not limited to interfamily dynamics; as soon as Number Two comes out, it's impossible not to assess your own kids' similarities and differences. People always ask how Owen and Eliza compare, what's different this time around. And I'd be lying if I told you I didn't have a running list in my head about all the ways they're unalike...
...Eliza is (and always has been) much more laidback than Owen; where he came out screaming and flailing, she came out quiet and pensive. Where he excelled at nighttime sleeping and refused daytime naps, she was the exact opposite, much preferring to do her socializing nocturnally and doze in the day. There are only a few foods Owen likes; there are only a few foods Eliza doesn't like. He is smiley but shy; she tried to kiss two strangers at the doctor's office this morning. He loves reading books; she loves eating books. He was a super early walker, but spent 2 months merrily running into walls with a perma-bruise in the center of his forehead; she walked 2 months later, but is painstakingly deliberate in her stride and goes to great lengths not to tumble. The first gesture he learned was shaking his head "no"; Eliza only knows how to nod "yes."
In many ways, I don't think the comparisons can be helped. When you truly have no idea what's supposed to be happening--when you don't get reviews or grades or really any kind of (positive, constructive) feedback--the only way to gauge your performance is to A) confirm that your kid has a pulse, is reasonably happy, and meets a minimum standard of hygiene, and B) compare yourself to the benchmark, whether it's against The Average, That Other Mom's Kid, or The Sibling.
But the question that has been nagging me lately is: to what end? Why compare? What use does it serve? There have been a million viral blog posts by moms-who-judge-moms, be it about the way they interact with their kids, their choices to work a paid office job or an unpaid home job, or their decisions about nutrition, or discipline, or how exactly one should "attach." But at its heart, I think all the judging is really just about insecure comparing, and that seems fruitless. ["Hold up. What are you doing that's different than what I'm doing? Well shit, if you're doing That, should I be doing That, too? But I don't want to do That; I want to do This. But the only way I can be confident doing This is if I know that That is not right. Ergo, That sucks.]
But this is why it's so fascinating to have two children: you realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that there's no comparison. "The Difference Between Owen and Eliza" is an amusing and easy go-to conversation topic while debriefing over a glass of wine at the end of a long day; it's definitely not an assessment of who's better or what trait you like more or who's going to score higher on their SATs. It's only entertaining to discuss because it's so crazy that two children with the exact same parents, living the exact same life, could be so different, right from the very start. And it's humbling (and frankly, a relief) to realize how very little you had to do with any of it -- how well they slept or socialized, what foods they ate or at what pace they developed. It shouldn't be surprising, but somehow it is: they are their own people. Just like all of us. And once you realize that -- our innate and quirky differences, our lack of control in making it any other way-- it makes all comparisons seem a little different. Less judgy, more thought-provoking. Because you realize how very many ways there are to get from Point A to Point B, none necessarily better than the next. And you accept the fact that it's totally cool to be the Dirty Mom Whose Stroller Attracts Wild Animals, because after all, birds gotta eat, too.
Friday, June 20, 2014: And just like that, another year has gone by. One more turn around the sun, and Eliza Jane somehow turned one. Our tiny newborn is now a sassy little girl who loves trains and eating sand and carrying around other people's shoes. We can't imagine this life without her in it.
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| Eliza at one week |
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| Eliza at one year |
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| I mean, really. |
