My Time in the “Hundred Acre Wood” (In Which a Mother of One Becomes Mother to Two” by Andrea Santo Felcone

Before I gave birth to my second son, I wondered if I would be able to treat two children fairly or love them with the same intensity. I had had my first son for a long time before my second came into the picture. We were a three-person family for almost seven years. Everything about that time felt precious. There was a lot of time for flashcards. Now, if a flashcard mistakenly found its way into my little one’s Pokémon deck; he’d shrug, figure he couldn’t get much for it on the open market, and toss it. But with my firstborn, we had countless flashcard hours.

Around that same time, I’d read an article about how parents generally see the differences between their children, and not the similarities. I promised myself that wouldn’t be my focus. In my ideal world, my children were going to love being brothers. They would respect their differences and delight in their common ground. I would work hard to ensure the best possible sibling relationship. After all, there were so many years between them—I didn’t want anything else coming between.

Well, now that I’m the Mom to two boys, I do find myself contemplating how different they are, more often than not. They have things in common of course, but you need to know them really well to see those things. On the surface one is curly-headed, one straight-haired, one sees the world through deep-brown eyes, the other through green-gray eyes that tend to change with the phases of the moon. One leans toward introverted, the other has a self-proclaimed “outgoing personality” that requires an endless stream of playdates. The older one is logical and questioning–he’s my “why?” child. The younger one–jumps in feet first—my “why not?” child. So, similarities can get lost in the shuffle.

Happily, I didn’t have to worry about my capacity to love both simultaneously and completely. That came without thought or effort. (This was fortunate, because sleep-deprivation left little energy for creating that ideal sibling relationship. Most days, I was lucky if I could create a sandwich).

Sometimes, though, the differences dominate and I’ve started to think we’re living in Winnie-the-Pooh’s “Hundred Acre Wood”. Not due to the size of my yard, (it’s more akin to a postage stamp), but because two of A.A. Milne’s characters so closely mirror my own children. On a scale of “Eeyore to Tigger”: my eldest skews more toward the “Eeyore” side of things, (with a healthy dose of whichever one is the shy intelligent type—Piglet?) and my youngest is most definitely a Tigger.

Eeyore: Friends used to comment on how mellow my first baby was. He was “the trick baby,” the baby who makes you want to keep having babies … until you realize he was to be the only mellow one. I’ll never forget the day he crawled off his blanket (he was much older than the other playgroup babies) and, I accidentally, said out loud: “What do I do now? He’s never left the blanket.” My friends: “Our kids have been swinging from chandeliers for months now…. My son crawled into the dryer last week…. Sorry, no sympathy.” And they were right. I had had a great run. He was sweet, mellow, and cautious—every nervous mother’s dream. My memory of him learning to walk is less “cruising” and more “clutching” the coffee table while muttering: “careful, careful”. He was reflecting back my anxieties. And in Eeyore fashion, he has inherited my “glass is half empty” outlook. We’re not negative, per se, just “cautiously optimistic.”  We don’t want to be greedy (half a glass is fine); or anxious (full glasses can spill).

Tigger: Then, nearly seven years later, “Tigger” sprung onto the scene. All those who wished a different kind of parenting experience on me…. “Wish granted.” As the saying goes: a bouncing baby boy. Yes, even in utero, I could tell this one would like trampolines. And he does. He likes to jump on every surface he can find. He has even found like-minded (like-bodied?) friends. Every single one of his friends owns a trampoline. Coincidence? Every birthday party is held at a Bouncy House. (Because, bouncing is “what Tiggers do best”.) My sunny Tigger believes if the glass isn’t “half full” that’s because it’s … “whole full”. (I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried). And, that is his life: whole, full, and bouncy.

So, after much difficulty to have a second child, this one arrived–my last reproductive “hurrah”. I imagine all my dusty old eggs, sitting around watching “The Price is Right,” oblivious, as the last remaining “zippy one” bounced right over them. And there he was. As sure of himself as I’m sure the couch springs will be exposed in record time.

Does this make for an interesting sibling dynamic in the “Hundred Acre Wood”? Absolutely. Do they fight? Of course. Eeyore knows what buttons to press to trigger Tigger, (a passionate nature can run fiery as well as bouncy), but he was also the first person to “translate” Tigger’s baby babble into something understandable. We often share a smile over something little Tigger does, and, in that moment, I am reminded of how much he loves his baby brother, a.k.a. “Whiny Pants” (his words, not mine). For his part, Tigger admires his “Big Old Fella” (again, not my words) as he hugs the stuffing out of him. Most days, Tigger is the driving force to motivate Eeyore to leave his “boggy place” and get out into the world.

So, yes, I focus on differences. I focus on how their differences make them uniquely qualified to balance eachother’s personalities. And when they grow up, when they each put down roots in their own “Hundred Acre Wood,” I hope my Eeyore and Tigger will link arms and happily bounce-walk-walk-bounce (O.K., skip) down the path together, enjoying all the honey-laden riches life can offer.