It's a Dad's Life Adam BrophyThe younger child has been raising her head above the parapet in recent times. The Missus and I fret about her sporadically. We see that she doesn't receive the intense attention that the elder took for granted at the same age, and occasionally we feel guilty.
It's an irrational feeling; we know that any eldest child is bound to be the focus of a cyclone of emotion as new parents come to terms with new lives. We also know that hyper-focus isn't necessarily healthy for the child but, in most cases, it is unavoidable and natural. Eldest children, used to the spotlight, tend to struggle most with separation anxiety and, as they grow, are often afflicted with a desire to impress. The Missus and I are both first children, and both high maintenance in our own special ways.
When number two arrives, and all subsequent landings, they share an increasingly diminishing portion of the pie. In a way it's sad but, looking now at the younger, it's also important. In general, her development has mirrored that of her sister. She walked at about the same age, is beginning to speak in a familiar way and has similar spatial awareness skills. There are differences - the most troubling being the younger's indifference to TV, which proved such a talented, inanimate babysitter with the elder. But they are very alike. As a result, our reactions to her reaching milestones have been quite muted compared to the hysteria that greeted advancements first time round. When the elder took her first step, you would swear she was the first human to stand upright. The younger probably had a couple of 5k races under her belt before we noticed she wasn't in her cot.
How then has this wonderfully humorous, adventurous and individual person suddenly appeared in our midst? That's not to say the elder isn't all of the above, but the younger represents those attributes in a different way to her sister. These variations are sometimes obvious, other times subtle, nearly intangible.
After the first child passed through a couple of developmental stages, we, as parents, formed a somewhat set idea of what we produced both genetically and societally. She looked very like me and had a set of behaviours that, when examined to any depth, could be seen to be drawn from her parents' and extended family's collective mores. She seemed a progressive, logical piece of a large jigsaw. The younger, approaching two like a juggernaut, in learning the necessity to express her will has also demonstrated how very different she is. Physically, she looks nothing like me, but spat out of her mother. Where her sister in many ways is introvert, this one looks outward; her sister takes inventory, she takes chances. It throws mud in the eye of our theory of how our kids would develop, because again she seems obviously drawn from our collective gene pool. This time round the ingredients have been fused in an alternative manner, but the result is still glaringly one of ours.
Parenting has been a cyclical experience. On occasion, it is the role which fits me better than any other I have tried, but often it is something I attempt to escape. The mundane routine of responding to demands is what irks me most. The constant squalling for whatever is essential right at that moment, followed by rejection of your best efforts to attend that need before re-focusing on the next requirement - it can get me down. I have to consistently remind myself that I'm not building a robot. Then I notice that one of them has suddenly changed, learned a new trick, evolved overnight, and I'm amazed.
And a little sad for the baby that's gone, that I took for granted.
abrophy@irish-times.ie
