On trying not to let a second child’s accomplishments go without fanfare

Poor, poor Isaac.

Every day was a new experience with Sierra. Every single day, every single noise and movement and milestone was fresh. Uncharted and unknown; an unfilled captain’s log, we learned to figure things up as we go.

And as we scribbled in notes and made adjustments on the fly, like coaches throwing everything we could at an undefeated team, we couldn’t help but stand back and marvel at the growth – that this child had not only completely taken over the game, but had also improved from quarter to quarter, beating our psyche into submission, forcing us to let go of the assumptions we had brought in.

Sierra didn’t learn how to be a person as much as she taught us how to be parents. To let things happen. To reach only when reaching seemed productive.

Sierra got all of the attention. And even now, as the first of our children to grow older, always poised to be the first child to break through each checkpoint, she still commands most of it.

Isaac is eight months old. And it doesn’t feel like he’s even been around that long. His milestones come and go. We notice them. We celebrate them. But they don’t last as long.

There’s no time to dwell.

To be honest, there never was. Much of it is perspective. Isaac grows just as Sierra grew. We react just as we did the first time around. But the reaction isn’t as drawn out, not as noteworthy. It’s just as special. It’s simply not as singular.

But I still feel bad for the little guy sometimes. I guess if Sierra taught us to calm down and let life happen, Isaac’s furthering the lesson by reminding us not to let it happen too fast.

Poor, poor Isaac.

This was lovingly handwritten on February 21st, 2010