One thing I’m learning about parenting the under two set: there are a lot of things that don’t end well. Like this picture, for example. When the 20 month old who is just learning to “uhmp” (jump) stands over the 6 week old and starts crowing?
Not going to end well.
Actually photo shoots in general could probably go into that category. Most of the snaps I think are cute and possible in the moment end up looking more like a lopsided sumo match when I finally load them into Photoshop.
But if there are a lot of things that don’t end well [see: stairs, crackers, bedtime, bath, “no,” and showers], looking through these photos reminds me of the good stuff of my own childhood. Talk about fate, karma, or destiny—my brothers WERE my childhood in a lot of ways. The fact that we were homeschooled and tended to live at the end of long dirt roads probably exaggerated the phenomenon, but I bet if you grew up with siblings your childhood memories have a similar color.
Seeing Iris and Ollie interact—even with the limited vocab of babyhood—makes me so curious to see what they’ll be like together in three or thirty years.
Curious and also super happy for them. I know plenty of people who have had rough patches with their sibs, but I don’t know any who don’t also love each other with a kind of casual world-without-end that you don’t see anywhere else in life.
Iris and Oliver won’t remember these early moments, obviously, but I wonder what fun and happy ones they will have stored away by the time they’re off living their own lives?
I remember snow so deep we could tunnel through the yard in it; the smell of lake mud and pond edges black with the wriggle of tadpoles we were trying to catch in jars (later, at a different house, we would glide through the swamp in a canoe with nets, trying to catch turtles). I remember when we could still quote every single line of The Little Mermaid. I remember drawing maps of our fantasy worlds—and inventing NEW fantasy worlds when we wanted to exclude one of our sibs. I remember being cast—fearfully, as it happens—in my older brothers’ home movie when I was four or five, and I remember forcing my younger brothers to act out a string of plays I wrote when I was thirteen or fourteen with a similar disregard for whether or not Dan really wanted to dress in drag and play the queen.
Mostly I remember being friends.