Since the kids have been born, I get a lot of “Oh, my brother and I are close. We’re 15 months apart” Or 18 months, or 20. Strangers like to think that this is the same experience that I’m living. I’m here to say that it’s not effing close. And you, with your 20 months between kids, stop pretending that we have something in common! My kids are 10 months apart. TEN.
My oldest knows how to say three words: “Uh oh,” “Daddy,” and his brother’s name (notice there’s no “Momma” on that list. I try not to be bitter). You can’t reason with him yet, and you can’t ask him to “be a good big brother” or ask him to hand you a diaper for the baby. In fact, I still find him, with regularity, eating kibble from the dog’s dish if I’ve forgotten to put it up.
Parents who have kids 15 or 18 months apart don’t have these problems. Until they’ve had to get two non-walkers and a dog on Prozac into a car in under 10 minutes by themselves, they can pipe down. I would even argue that at this stage, it’s harder to have this than to have twins. Here’s my logic: when I go out with the boys, I have to carry the newborn AND my older son. But I can’t carry them both in my arms at the same time because the older one tries to pick at the newborn’s face. And because my arms are full of baby, I don’t have a third hand to stop him from maiming his brother. Twins are the same size and stage–one is never big enough to do serious damage to the other. (Parents of twins, feel free to chime in.)
For those of you who are wondering about my logic puzzle on how to load and unload the car, it goes like this. Each step represents a trip from the front door to the car and back for the next passenger. Note that I don’t have a garage or driveway.
- Oldest son
- Oldest son
(If I’m feeling spunky, I can bring the Oldest and the dog in simultaneously. For some reason this math does not work when loading the car.)