Now that I have two little children, I feel like I’m finally understanding all of my friends that grew up with siblings close in age, and who are used to fighting about things being equal. My boss tells stories of his siblings and him fighting all out wars to reach the kitchen every night before bed, in order to have first pick at their evening drink of juice (even though his mom had painstakingly poured them all equally). Or I understand why my two older sisters had so many duplicate toys – buy one for one of them, and you better buy one for the other.
I haven’t exactly reached the stage where I believe everything needs to be equal, but I’ve at least witnessed the jealousy, and I understand it now.
I’m also realizing that raising a second child is very different than the first. Mostly because with the first child, it takes years for them to work up to big things like climbing the outside of the staircase, or to discover your desk drawers and decide to empty them. The second child, though? It takes only five minutes after the old child did it until they’re copying it. If E does something, you can bet that G will be right there behind him, copying him.
All this to say, we have a new saying in our house: Monkey see, monkey jealous.
It pretty much sums up our life with two toddlers right now. It may be a toy that has been abandoned for months, that neither of them have any interest in, but the minute one of them touches it, the other wants it. It becomes the most coveted thing in our house. Monkey see, monkey jealous.
Maybe you just fed both children a full meal, three snacks, and a bagel on top of that. Maybe you haven’t eaten in six hours and are desperate for something to fend off the starvation. You have a free minute and make yourself a piece of toast with jelly. You’re safe, because a certain toddler hates jelly right now. Doesn’t matter. Monkey see, monkey jealous. You’re not getting that toast.
It's become Tom and my inside joke. Whenever there’s tears or whining over something silly, we just repeat the phrase, and it reminds us that’s just where we are right now.
And honestly, I kind of love where we are. Watching them play together (even when it leads to fights) is so much fun. They’re all squishy and cuddly and I can still scoop them up. The things that come out of their mouths are equal parts adorable and hilarious.
One thing I’ve been loving about quarantine lately is watching E discover books. He’s never really been super interested in them before, but lately he’s obsessed. He’s been “Reading” to us, and tells us to put on our listening ears and looking eyes, and then tells us not to talk while he reads, but he usually messes that up and says “Don’t LISTEN!” Or sometimes he does say “Don’t talk” which means let him read the page, but then he’ll say “No talk” which means, “No, go ahead and please read this page for me.” It’s hilarious because Tom and I are always shooting looks back and forth, afraid to be the one to disobey his wishes.
He’s also started talking to G more frequently. He often calls his name repeatedly until he gets his attention, and wants to show him whatever treasure he has in his hands (which of course G immediately wants). It’s fun to watch him go from seeing him as “the baby” to seeing him as his companion. I’ve also noticed an uptick in him saying “I’m your big brother!” Adorable.
And every day when we’re putting G down for bedtime or a nap, E gives him a pep talk. “I love you, okay. No wake up bloody or screaming. Have quiet time until person comes to get you, okay? No bloody. No screaming.” So it might not be the cutest pep talk (although I think it is), but I can explain. One morning some time ago (I honestly can’t remember if it was last week or two months ago), G woke up with a bloody nose. Or more specifically, he’d gotten a bloody nose at some point during the night. By the time I went in his room to wake him up in the morning, with his big brother close behind me, there was blood everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
His mattress, his stuffed animals, the crib was bloody. His sleep sack, his PJs, and his entire face. I’m pretty sure he rubbed his face with his sleeve at some point, so there was blood in his hair, on his forehead, all the way to his cheeks. I’m pretty sure I screamed when I came in the room. It was hard to tell if he was actively bleeding, where it came from, or if he was hurt.
He was totally fine, not bleeding, and cleaned up fine. E, however, seems like he’s never going to forget the image of finding his brother covered in blood that day, so he’ll continue to tell him not to wake up bloody again.
