When I was about to give birth to my second daughter, I was filled with anxiety. I didn’t know what to expect and had so many questions, big and small, circling around in my head. What would my youngest be like? Would my older daughter adjust well? (Spoiler alert: she didn’t at first, but that story is for a different post.) How will I adjust to parenting with two? But possibly the most burdensome and secret question I held in my heart was this: would I be able to love my second as much as I love my first?
My girls are almost exactly 2.5 years apart, now 3.5 and 1. They’re slowly blossoming into their little selves and are surprisingly different in almost every way.
One brunette. One blonde.
One tan. One fair.
One watcher. One non-stop talker.
One is mama’s shadow. One is daddy’s girl.
One is daring and adventurous. One is careful and cautious.
One is sporty. One is our frilly little princess.
One has never met a stranger. One is bashful.
One cool cucumber. One drama queen.
One is sugar and one is spice.
This list could go on and on…
This isn’t to say they don’t have anything in common, like their equal love for Bluey, snacks, and snuggles. They are both silly and sweet, and have big blue eyes that melt my heart. They are even both lefties like their daddy. My girls share the same DNA. Same mama and daddy. They’re being raised the same way in the same environment, but they’re still so naturally different from each other.
If I could go back in time and tell my about-to-burst pregnant self anything to calm my anxious thoughts, I would say this: there is room in your heart for both. These girls were made just for you, and there’s no greater mama on this earth for them.
My opposites attract my equal love. Their differences make them so uniquely beautiful and I love them for who they are individually.
