One of the joys (and there are many) of raising two boys relatively close in age is getting to watch how the younger differs in development, habits, temperament and the like, compared to his older brother at the same stage. If the gap between them had a few more years stuffed in, it might be difficult for fathers like me to remember what Number One did by the time Number Two passes the same milestones.
Tavish, for example, started walking earlier than Declan. We expected that. Dex was 15 and a half months before he toppled joyfully into my arms after wobbling away from his mother's. Tav accomplished the same at 14 months. Past 16 months now, he's nearly sprinting.
What's fun is that even though he can't (or doesn't) speak anything more comprehensible than gutteral exclamations of emotion (sometimes entire speeches) or valiant attempts at monosyllabic mimicry, Tavish can quite obviously understand some of what we say and responds in such a way that defies refuting the claim. He has the habit of handing his empty milk bottle to whichever parent is closest, as if to say, "Here, I'm done with this, you do something with it now." Amy, on a whim, told him one morning to go put his own empty bottle in the kitchen sink. And, from across the house, he did.
It bears noting here that Tavish has an absolutely wicked throwing arm. Not only better than Dex at the same age, but probably better than Dex now. Tavish can barely reach to push his bottle up onto the lip of the counter by the kitchen sink, where it frequently rolls right back off and frustrates the boy after two or three failed attempts. But what he can do almost unerringly is stand several paces back from the sink and lob the empty bottle up into the kitchen window so it bounces off and into last night's macaroni pot left to soak. His trundling gallop back to the living room with a grin of unabashed pride is nearly as awesome a sight as the throw.
It's become easier to put him to bed lately as well. Not all the time, but much more reliably at least. Amy or I can ask him (after bath and bottle and throw! and snuggle) if it's time for bed. He wobbles his head up and down like he knows what we're asking, grabs the nearest convenient finger, and hauls one of us to the spot on the kitchen floor where he knows his soother lies hidden above and points commandingly. Soother in place, he guides the parent to his room and expects a brief rock in the chair before being lowered into his crib. We're not too sure yet what to expect when we take the soother away. He's not going to like it.
Another variation that's interesting to note is the difference in reactions my wife and I have had when Tavish does something versus Dex having done that same thing at the same age. She and I both know from experience (me being an older brother, Amy being a younger sister) that the younger sibling almost always gets away with more because parents' fears of nearly anything out of the ordinary causing their child to DIE horribly and painfully are largely allayed by the time the second child is born and, wonder of wonders!, the first one is still alive and kicking.
We've known about this trend, and have had great intentions to be as non-partisan as possible in the liberties our boys take, but the sheer magnitude of this undertaking has been driven home many times already, and they're only aged three and one. Daunting is this undertaking indeed! From that point of view, their teen years terrify me.
To illustrate this difference in reactions, Amy calls me at work regularly, often just to give me updates on the domestic goings on, and also to hear another adult's voice for a few minutes. I enjoy the break from work and an occasional touch of home. Earlier this week, part of the conversation went sort of like:
"Hang on a sec, Si, I hear some sort of paper rustling sound."
"What is it?"
"Oh my."
"Oh? What is it?"
"It's Tavish. He's gotten into the kitchen garbage."
"OK. So?"
"Well you know that ham you cleaned off his tray last night after supper? Yeah, he's picking it out of the trash and eating it. ... And now he's spitting it on the floor."
"That's kinda gross."
"It is."
"One thing's for sure though, those boys are going to have killer immune systems."
