I am an idiot, it turns out. I knew for a long time that I was having a baby. A whole nine 1/2 months. And during my pregnancy, I kept imagining having a baby and how that was going to be tough with a newborn and juggling sleep and feeding and all that stuff. Somehow in my head, though, I kind of imagined that after a while, she and Andy would just be the same age and be able to do the same stuff. I somehow didn't factor in, strangely, that she would always be three years and two weeks younger. Does that seem weird somehow?
With Andy, by the time he was one year old I was just in awe of the whole thing. I had MADE it. I had survived the long nights and we were finally getting to where it was good. He could smile and play and I was just enraptured with the whole thing. With Meg, she has come so, so far. Every day she does something new and interesting, like her recently figuring out how to open cabinets and climb stairs. But while I cheer that success, he who is louder and more dexterous demands my attention to complete a puzzle, wipe his bottom, get something else out of the refrigerator or pour more milk -- something. So I find myself sometimes looking at her thinking, "What, you're not three already?"
On the one hand, I have really had a chance to savor some of the baby moments because I'm more confident than I was with Andy (or at least I knew what to look for). But on the other hand, I worry I'm short-changing her. And to complete the cycle of neuroses, I wonder if I'm missing some of his cool moments because I've got her to attend to. And this is before I get to the other people in my life I care about, like Bjorn and my family, not to mention obligations like work.
Those of you with older kids, how do you balance it all? And is this what creates all that sibling rivalry?