As Maggie reaches the age that Hannah was when I got pregnant with Maggie, (did you follow that? because there was also a train that left the station one hour before that going North at 60 mph) I find myself wondering, what was I thinking? Not really. Only kind of.
Having two so close in age is sometimes really amazing. Like when Hannah gives Maggie hugs and kisses. Or starts rough housing with her and before I can warn her that Maggie is just a fragile little baby, Maggie starts laughing that infectious little belly laugh of hers (reminding me, my baby is not so small and fragile anymore! WAH!). Or when we go on baby-bjorn-wearing, waggon-pulling walks and it is a nice day and everyone is happy to be outside.
Sometimes though, I find myself declaring my intent to surgically remove my own ovaries with Hannah’s Elmo spoon and fork. (But hey! Who doesn’t? No? Just me?) Hannah has a serious case of the “no”s. She will tell you, “no!” to the thing she just asked for. Then will scream another, “no!” when you turn around to put it back. I took a little solace in this study that says the more your kid says no, the better a parent you are. Or something along those lines. Meanwhile, Maggie alternates between being super clingy (she wants her mommy and she wants her now) and being super adventurous (preferring to climb on things that roll or swivel or have sharp edges; ideally, all of the above). It can be exhausting. I sometimes fantasize about hiring a third parent.
But would I change a thing? Never. I love my crazy kids and our loud and messy life. I love that Hannah is becoming her own person. I love that Maggie is so squooshy and kissable. I love that my girls can be in the same dance class one day, can play on the same soccer team, and ride the same rides at future amusement park trips. I love that their daddy is a playing-on-the-floor, bedtime-Jedi-master kinda guy. If I could figure out the third parent thing though…well, I might change that.