Baby 1 versus Baby 3

With number 1, I spent nursing time watching hours of movies, reading parenting books and novels, and talking on the phone. With number 3, I read “Captain Raptor and the Space Pirates.”

Number 1 took most of his naps on my lap or lying beside me. Number 3 takes his in a crib or a car seat.

With number 1, I resisted letting him cry until 9 months, when all other possibilities had been exhausted. We discussed it for a week before we tried it, and I spent every moment of his wailing in a locked-shoulder agony of guilt and empathetic pain. With number 3, I walked out and shut the door on my way to get scrapbooking set up.

With number 1, I returned to comfort him every few minutes and sang and cooed and whispered. With number 3, my first and last words in the room were addressed to his sister: “I’m sorry you have to put up with this, honey, but he’ll go to sleep soon.”

With number 1, I meticulously recorded every variation on every tenth of a developmental milestone. With number 3, I try to approximate it a week after the fact (and that’s a good week).

With number 1, both Daddy and Mommy went to baby swim lessons twice a week beginning at five months. With number 3, we haven’t bothered to start.

Number 1 spent most of his first few months snuggled up against Mommy in the sling, who made dinners, washed dishes, and vacuumed with a little growth on her front. Number 3 has never seen the sling. He just sits on the floor and howls at me while I run around taking care of the house and Children 1 and 2’s various messes and crises.

Poor #3. He’s really got the raw end of the deal, doesn’t he?

Or does he?

Baby 1 had to stare at Mommy all day, until he learned to entertain himself. Baby 3 has two big siblings devoted to keeping him laughing and occupied.

Baby 1 fell off the bed at four months, down the stairs at six, and banged his head on the concrete stairs at eight. Baby 3 rolled off the changing table into the drawer (which I had left open against just that possibility) at six months, and off his big brother’s bed shortly thereafter (onto a convenient cushion of blankets).

Baby 1 was watched with anxiety for any sign of atypical development. Baby 3 is given PT, OT, and speech by proxy, benefiting from Baby 2’s abundant experience with all three.

Baby 1 was not allowed to so much as blink an eye at a television or computer screen until he was two years old. Baby 3 gets to sit on Daddy’s lap while Daddy watches CSI (versions NY, Miami, L.V., and Timbuktu), NCIS, and Mentalist.

Baby 1 had a mommy who freaked out about ev-er-y-thing. (Not to mention a Daddy.) Baby 3 has a mommy who shrugs and lets him chew apart papers and rustle plastic bags, as long as she’s right beside him.

So maybe in the end, it all equals out.