Tomorrow my boy will be two years old and I’ll be given my walking papers from the Two Under Two club.
I’ve only been a part of the club for two and a half months but I’ve learned a lot during this time. I’ve learned how to grocery shop with two (park right next to a cart corral, the rest is just details) and I’ve learned how to manipulate nap-times a little so I can get at least a ten minute overlap. I've learned how to care for a toddler while I'm breastfeeding his baby sister, how to feel torn and how to make sure both of my children feel loved. I’ve learned about postpartum depression, about how being sick and caring for a sick child is amplified exponentially when there are two of them, about the sickening sound of two babies crying for you at the same time. I’ve learned that I’m stronger than I thought, braver than I thought, more sensitive and sentimental than I thought. I’ve learned that your heart does indeed just magically grow even larger, that you somehow really do love the second as much as the first from the moment she’s placed in your arms. I’ve learned that a village of family and friends with babies around the same age is necessary, and that prayer is still my absolute best line of defense.
I’ve learned that this job is harder and better and messier and more beautiful than any other job out there.
I’m sure there are aspects that might have been easier if we’d waited until our son was two, three, four years old… but then we’d have missed the precious way he mispronounces her name, the way he reaches for her hand, the way he points out her “leeetle” feet. We wouldn't have gotten to enjoy how flabbergasted he was when we explained that newborns don’t eat pretzels or how frustrated he was when he brought her a book and she didn’t read it to him.
Adios, Two Under Two. I’m sad to see you go but I’m excited to see all that lies ahead.