For the next 10 months we once again have evenly spaced children. Spring is a bit disjointed in our house with birthdays popping up like daffodils from the winter ground. Sierra (and her grandmother) begin the cycle in March – as in, “Beware the Ides of…” Mike and I have cornered the end of April, and Aidan and Caitlin lay claim to the 23rd and 24th of May. So, beginning today, listing the ages of our children is once again easy 6, 9, and 12. The ‘almost’ can be dropped. The appeal of symmetry is peculiar. I hate the two months of saying “6, almost 9, and almost 12,” but I can’t bring myself to say 6, 8, and 11. It seems as though once one child rounds the age corner, the other two must be somehow brought along in the interest of fairness.
Every parent of siblings knows the drill – same item, different colors. If one child gets a red ball, the next needs a blue ball – not a jump rope, a ball. The impulse toward equity becomes a compulsion, and one that is unsustainable. Life is not fair. We do not all get the same toys, opportunities, skills, or benefits. Yet we train ourselves to equate fairness with love. “I love you all the same.” “Look: you each got 5 presents. Look: I list your ages the same. Look: you each have one cookie.” Who do we think we are kidding?
It’s the love that gets us, especially those of us who had siblings of our own. Layered beneath the strata of adult confidence and neuroses hides the child who believed him or herself less loved. My sister is 6 years younger than I. Our parents did everything humanly possible to maintain the illusion of equity, attempting to treat two temperamentally opposite children the same. Catch either of us in a weak moment, or apply the correct chemicals, and she and I will both confess the certainty that the other was “loved best.”
“Separate but equal” is a phrase with reprehensible social connotations. Yet, in matters of love, the heart performs its own form of segregation whether we can admit it or not. I love all three of my children. I do not love them the same. How could I? They aren’t the same person. There was no cosmic cookie cutter that stamped gingerbread people from our DNA. Each of them is a unique chromosome scramble. Do I love them equally? Sometimes.
Oh, come on, admit it. There are moments when the heart pulls more strongly toward one child than the other. Moments where one child may seem impossibly beautiful while another just seems impossible. We have flashes of connection with our children; spots where only two of us get the cosmic joke. And we have the episodes that are the flip side of love – the tearing, burning rage of disconnect, the periods in which it seems impossible that we could possibly have contributed to the creation of this incomprehensible, infuriating creature, moments in which our beloved offspring seem the embodiment of evil. Those are the moments we don’t talk about, and the ones that fester.
The problem with reality is that it so rarely bends to our ideals. My children aren’t products that Mike and I produced on an assembly line. They are complex bundles of traits, strengths, weaknesses, and experiences. I love Caitlin’s independence and sharp wit. Her ‘good enough’ attitude toward work wakes the violence of fear within me. Aidan’s sweet smile, warm hugs, and desire to achieve make me want to cuddle him forever. His temper and insecurities drive me over the edge. Sierra’s boundless sense of play and vivid imagination make it seem as though a fairy has taken over our house. Her willful disobedience and princess attitude push me from rational parent to screaming shrew in a heartbeat if I’m not careful.
Do I love them all? Yes. Do I love them the same? No. That would be unfair to the unique people that they are. They can’t each have a ball: ball for one, jump rope for one; blocks for another; that’s just how it goes. Do I love them equally? Minute to minute – no. Over the long term? Yes. It all evens out in the end. The sun rotates the earth, and over the course of the year, they become evenly spaced. Happy Birthdays, my children, Mommy loves you.
