I’m pushing my two kids in the supermarket, mentally patting myself on the back for successfully making it to the produce section without any tears. My first born is correctly identifying items as we pass them and my second is sleeping peacefully. I step away to pick out some organic tomatoes and return to my oldest poking the youngest in the eye, while correctly identifying "eye". Madeleine is now awake and happily goes along with the "game". This embodies the essence of being the second born: No matter how much we mind our own business, we will always, somehow, both physically and metaphorically get poked in the eye (and then kindly offer the other eye!)
Milestones. Oh wow, Madeleine is smiling! When did Charlotte start smiling? Well I can tell you down to the minute because not only do I have it recorded on my phone, but I also wrote it in her baby journal. Did you document Madeleine’s? Yes, it happened on whatever day we put out the recycling.
That’s rough. Remember how you felt nervous about having your 19 year old cousin hold your newborn? Now, I stage pictures of my 22 month old snuggling her 2 month old sister alone on the couch, because how cute is that? Don’t forget to support her neck!
Sharing is caring! I remember sheltering Charlotte from sickness by using my body has a human shield from any coughing or snotty rugrats on the playground. Yesterday, Charlotte literally sneezed in Madeleine’s face and then for good measure wiped it on her tiny baby foot.
Hand-me-downs. Please ignore the poop stains on this onesie that we took a hundred pictures of your sister wearing, but won’t get any of you because I need both hands free at all times and because eww poop stains.
I am the second born and it wasn’t until I had my second that I realized just how much we get short changed. Of course the love is completely the same but I've made it my life's mission to attempt a fair and equal world for my girls, because as even the name suggests, being number 2 is total crap.