My second born daughter.

The funny thing about parenting is how much you always hear that the first child will change your life, the first child will be the one you take all the photos of, any subsequent kids will just get lost in the fog like the poor Duggar kids (yes I do pity them...honestly how can you have intimate relationships with that many children? Sure... have five kids... but 25?)...The first child is the Glory child. The sun shines out of the first child's delicate little derriere... And believe me the sun shone directly out of Firsty's perfect little behind... And for four and a half glorious years she was the be all and end all of mother dearests affection... Until mother dearests affection was actually not divided... but multiplied with the birth of another daughter (maybe the Duggar people think their love is also multiplied and not divided... totally other point to ponder... but not right here and not right now)...

I expected, from what everybody had said about having another child, for the first everything's, first smile, first giggle, first time she recognised me etc, first tooth, first pony tail, first Christmas, first everything to be just a little bit lack luster compared to the glorious First child's first... And I have to say that honestly it wasn't... The second time around every little milestone and every little step in the right direction was equally as precious as the first time... Yet totally, 180 degrees in the opposite direction, different.

You can argue the difference is because its a different child, born 4 and a half years apart, in my case, two separate c-sections on two totally different continents... They have different personalities, different temperaments, different everything therefore the experience should be totally different. Right? But I just keep feeling the reason that 'it' (the whole experience) was different was because I was so totally different. And I have another nagging feeling that poor First Child got the total short end of the stick. Where as lucky languishing Second Child got the full benefit of an experienced and less anxious parent who had at least known that she had a 1 for 1 score going for 4 and a half years before the second kiddo came... so she had to be doing something right. Its like a house plant. If you can keep one alive, the second one is easy, right?

My adorable First was born to an unwed 24 year old mom... who had to borrow money for bottles and formula when her milk didnt come in. I tried desperately to breast feed for 3 days. Day three, the pediatrician said this kiddo needs some formula. I had cracked and bloody nipples, no milk, so Firsty got a bottle of Nestle Nan and we never looked back. Firsty didnt have a crib. For the first six weeks of her life she slept in a carry cot that my aunt so kindly loaned to me. Firsty was lucky enough to have a car seat as the hospital gave her one... and her maternal grandmother bought her clothing from Debenhams and Mothercare... and her paternal grandmother bought her diapers and wipes. Mother just smiled and pretended she knew what she was doing. But she was clueless. Babies were supposed to hear their mothers' heartbeats and just calm the hell down (correct?) like puppies do if you put a clock in their basket... No... I found this out the hard way.

Father found out the hard way that maternal grandmothers little dog would eat his sandwich the second he had to deal with a screaming two week old...leaving him foaming and spitting at the mouth... Of course there was no food in the house. We were broke and we had a newborn. he he he. WORST combination.

When Firsty was six weeks old we boarded a plane and came to the USA. Father was gloriously happy to be back home but Mother was 100% lost ... But it all kinda happened so fast... Only about two years into it was I able to say boy that was difficult. For about the first two years I was only concerned with faking it until I made it...

So my dear First. Was I the parent, or were you? Because it seems that we grew together. I tell her that now a lot you know... I'm so grateful for her... and grateful to her. And she is a little bit cocky and has a little bit of an attitude... And I think I let her because you know like all of this around us, all that we are, the family etc, we became that, we made that, BEFORE Secondy came along... In the beginning it was just Her and I... She was at times all that I had.

Now the Second child... Wow... She was born into an already established Marriage. Mother and Father had been tied to each other for four years by then. We had met in 03, and she was born in 09. Plenty of time to get to know each other, to buy cars, and houses, and paint nurseries... and go to Michael's and buy Noah's ark decals for her room... And to buy a crib and assemble it... And get the Peg Perego stroller that mother wanted... (and still loves to this day)... Secondy had a stockpile of diapers set aside just for her. She even had a wipe warmer bought for her by the paternal grandfather... Her name was put on the wall in four inch tall cut out whitewashed wooden letters... and her car seat was installed in the car... C-section booked, Father booked time off of work...

So I got to have the parenthood experience happen all over again. Completely different this time. Totally planned. I knew what choices I could make. I chose to bottle feed again (to keep it even steven even though I could have breast fed this time...)... And in some ways it was totally harder, just the double work of two totally different age groups... but in other ways the baby days were really easy. And I guiltily say I perhaps enjoyed them more because I could relax more. I was at home more. I wasn't living in a crack town apartment. I could hold the baby and then watch my eldest ride her bike in our perfect little cul de sac... I mean like the epitome of suburban Americana... Red white and blue flags outside of the houses. White little mail boxes. Neighbours waving to each other and visiting each others houses.

So my 'baby' now will be three in almost exactly two months time. She has a slight case of malaise tonight... I just went in to check on her. Shes sleeping soundly underneath a delicately embroidered comforter that her paternal great grand mother made for my First born... She saw her bed tonight and told me "mommy it is boo-ti-fool"... And I am just touched by how endearing she is at this age... and how special this is that I got to do it twice.

So come to think of it... Maybe I answered my own doubts about the Duggars... If each and every single child they had is as important and unique to them as my two are to me... then who is to say how many they should have in the first place. Just I myself have had to put a cap on how many bio kids I am going to have... And that limit was two.....

Although we are looking to adopt a brother if anyone has a spare brother that they are willing to part with :)

The love of a sister.

For me, the word sister means "Your first true BFF and the ultimate confidante"... The older I become, the more meaningful and special the word becomes as I now have an almost 29 year relationship with my God-Given and thus ultimate BFF.

My BFF doesn't even live in the same country as I. But she has a solid relationship with not only myself, but my spouse (he adores her)... and now my two daughters. Furthermore her significant other is such a shining light into our lives. We totally see him as an extension of her... And he, like her are just lovely in so many complex and even at times, simple ways.

It is totally conceited to say that I have the best sister in the whole world, but I am going ahead to say it anyways. From the time we were little, she was with me, sometimes super glued to my side in what I could only have then called an unwanted closeness. I was the glorified older sister, and she was the baby. I think I spent a lot of time tormenting her, annoying her, and my favourite past time, making her cry. I wholeheartedly admit that I was a cruel and conniving elder sibling who could not tolerate sharing my mommmmeeeeee with anyone.

I was like the coyote constantly setting up the traps for the road runner. I framed her at every opportunity for my evil doings, one thing that gave me great satisfaction (at like the age of 7 or 8, I base this off of the house we lived in then) was the moment she got into trouble and I got to be the "good child who is just being delightful"... (I do believe I did have horns under my hair)...

Regardless of how antagonizing I was as an elder sister, my sister grew into a decent little person. She was funny and kind, and she was the best company although I was loathe to admit it. She was very different from I. At Easter I would eat all my chocolate bunnies in a day... then want more .... where as she could save hers for months on end... And often take pity on me and share hers with me. Same would go for pocket money. As kids she saved every penny she got. I spent all of mine in a heartbeat.

I rode my BMX with training wheels until I was far beyond the acceptable age.... Where as she could fly around on the sharp bricked drive way on her little bike, legs churning and whirring when she was only bite sized herself... I couldn't climb a tree to save my life...where as my sister was always up one, often times wearing her patent leather ballet pumps... just monkeying around.

When we went to school I suddenly realized she was smaller than I. When she got picked on, I was surprised at how quickly I reacted. I strangled the school secretaries little brother, David, with his tie for picking on her....

Things that came easily for me, were harder for her. Like reading and writing. She had to struggle through it and work a lot harder for the things that I simply understood without even trying. Yet she was far more social than I and far more lovely. So I was always watching, observing, comparing, weighing up what was more fair, what was more work. And I do believe she had a lot more work to go through, but I believe it had a total end in sight which has blessed her to this day. She is a conscientious, methodical and thorough worker... Where as I am slap dash, harried and sloppy.

As a teen she was always bailing me out. She was 2 1/2 years younger than I, but she was the more mature one. When we interviewed for waitressing jobs, the managers would always assume she was the elder sister. She always looked professional, put together, capable, dependable and rock solid. And all of those qualities are true. She knew most of my secrets (I don't even think I knew the truth in everything 100% of the times)... and she was my often times reluctant friend. She didn't dabble in nonsense or shenanigans. She was fun, daring, entertaining, but she was sensible. She had limits and restrictions of what she would or wouldn't do. I don't know where she got her sensibilities from... I can only assume it is from my mom.

My mother raised us that even though at times we could be each others opponents... that we were not to let unforgiveness or mistrust rule our hearts. She would force us to hug and to apologize. And whilst through out our lives together (especially in our teens) I would be the one normally grovelling and begging for forgiveness... my sisters Elvis lip would often curl up in a smile and she would cave. Shes just like that. Shes a far bigger person than I...

I still can't believe that we almost lost her. I still can't believe she almost failed to continue to exist. With that thought juxtaposed against all the pleasant and glorious and fond memories, and the planning for our memories for this year (her visit to Tanzania.... and then later on this summer to the beach with us on the Georgia Coast)... as well as with all of her (their) plans for the future... and all the sensibilities and thoughtfulness that goes into her every single moment and every single movement... I can only be brought to a place of humbleness and gratitude for the blessing and radiant joy at having her for my sister.

Closer than a brother....

Yesterday we said goodbye to my uncle Bo. He was heading off to Miami with his girlfriend Sandy after spending a blissful ten days in Atlanta with us. Logically we know he has his life in his own country with his own family and his own children and his own responsibilities, baggage, siblings, exes and spiel. But emotionally what washed over us was an almost tidal wave of devastation at the once again tangible loss for the life we once knew.  The distance between our lives now continues to ebb and flow in painful sodden pools.

When I grew up, Uncle Bo lived about 10kms away from our house with his then wife, and his two daughters. That was when things were right in the world. The phone rang early every morning, it was Bobo calling to speak to my dad. Often times we would intercept the phone call and make my dad wait to speak to Bo. I think Bobo may have been one of the first people who actually took the time to talk to us, as stumbling and bumbling kids are annoying on the phone, as conversation, as you know, is both an acquired art and a learned skill.

Prior to him living away from us, he actually lived in our caravan in our garden for a while.This was a perfectly normal experience for me. For Uncle Bo was also there on those times we took the caravan to Happy Wanderers caravan park, and then he, and my father, passed out in stretchers from sheer exhaustion after completing the Comrades Marathon together...I do not really have memories that separate them from that time in my life.

From the time I was old enough to walk around without my mother holding me, and old enough to have my own memories, I remember my own dad having a duality that encompassed not only his personality and his thought process and his emotions, but also physically and ever present here in this solid universe built of matter, gasses, liquid, etc... That in the human embodiments of the soul there were TWO of "him" walking around. Clones. Almost exact replicas of a single person. And one was called Garth aka Uncle Bobo... and the other was called Stirling, aka Daddy.

I speak of course from one daughters' selfish perspective of one of them... I know my cousins when they were very little and they would spend time at our house when their mom and dad were away, were only comforted at bed time, by my dad stepping in and pretending to be their father.... So abundantly evident that all of us, all five cousins, felt this same uncanny duality.

Beyond the normal and natural bond of monozygotic twins raised together, what lead to their even deeper fusion of their dependency on each other were a series of seemingly random and normal life time events. The boys were sent to boarding school a long long way from home from a very early age. I think growing up in the 50's, there is a certain harshness or even if you would like, brutality, that disassociated parents exerted onto their younglings.... especially when you were baby number five and baby number six (surprise!!) born to a 45 year old Catholic mom. You can imagine by that time... parents were aging, tired, and frazzled to have to endure the constant antics of four children. Then add in a surprise two. And well yes I am sure a good Catholic boarding school, full of discipline, old school values, sports and Latin  seemed like the best idea for the twins.

But in my opinion I believe even though they had a love and respect for their parents, they lost out on the intimacy that other children who are brought up close to their parents get to revel in. As a result, they bonded closer together, perhaps even closer together than they did in utero.Also featuring closely to them, fervently burned into the fibers of their beings were their siblings, three elder sisters and an elder brother. Remarkably close and cohesive, yet so incredibly random, each of them so dissimilarly similar...

An unfortunate military accident in Rhodesia later on left Bobo injured and sightless. This further solidified the twin bond of not only duty and devotion, but also of dependence and interpretation. Hes not only my brother, but I am his eyes.And yes of course not everything was happy like Tom and Nancy on their honeymoon, with such closeness and familiarity there comes a lot of friction, heat, contempt, and bickering. Constant arguing, shouting, incessant almost humorous swearing. But there is the underlying principle. We do not know what it feels like to be "them".

We are not even privy to half of the themness of them.  They almost do not make sense without each other. They share a common sense of humour, they find each others jokes or nuances the funniest. They pick and tease each other over minutia... yet their personal tastes are on the opposite spectrum. My uncle Bo was chastised heavily by my father this past week for choosing a jersey that contained polyester. My dad was almost hysterical at the thought of a polyester fibre touching his body. Yet my uncle calmly stood his ground and said he loved his new jersey.... My uncle would not keep quiet about his new favourite band the Alabama Shakes....Yet my dad couldn't wait to turn that crap off... But when my dad found  my hair in his ice cream bowl and came shooting up my stairs like a poisoned rabbit, complaining and performing loudly, my uncles girlfriend Sandy said "Wow Garth does EXACTLY the same thing!!!!!!!!"...


Ask which one is the kindest, and they will point fingers at each other. Ask which one is the better twin, and again the same will happen. They have given each other the clothing, literally off their backs. I don't know who was the dominant one, who lead and who followed. I think perhaps at different stages they alternated.

What was just amazing again to witness was their cohesiveness. When they are together it is like everything is sane and normal and noisy again in the universe. Yet their fates are to temporarily parted. For a reason beyond which we understand. But we know that He always has a perfect plan.