LIZZY COMES LAST

You can spot a first time mommy a mile away. They’re fussing and rearranging the baby’s bib, the baby has matched booties and hat, and not so much as a hiccup passes mom’s ears without inspection.
It’s a good thing for mom’s nerves that by round two she is pretty sure that the little bundles really can survive. A mom can be seen carting them off in nothing but diapers (which she no longer changes every half-hour but only when imperative.
I well remember sitting in my pediatrician’s office with my first, Jenny. “How old is she?” another mom politely asked.
“She’s six and one-half months – well, actually more like three quarters. You see, she was born so close to midnight. Actually, at 11:20 on the eleventh month and the twentieth day. But her exact birthday is November 20, 1981. She is a little small. Well, you probably asked since she’s so advanced for her age…” and on and on.
When people asked about my second, Elizabeth, instead of saying “eighteen months” or “twenty months”, I’d say, “Ah, one.”
Jenny’s feet had to be chauffeured to the finest children’s shoe stores for exact fittings. Heaven forbid I should cause her a permanent limp! K-Mart is too good for Liz. After all, they’re both girls and what Jenny outgrows fits nicely onto baby’s foot. True, I have had to stuff three pairs of socks on her to improve the fit (and to keep it from falling off) but at two she wasn’t fashion-conscious.
Birthday money sent by grandparents for the second child can be used for new shoes for the oldest. After all, she’ll get them eventually, I tell my guilty conscience. And at two and three they think a tootsie pop is a big gift from granny. Have you ever tried to photograph a two-year old in a size four jacket? It helps to use disposable diapers on both arms, chest and back and the stick tabs keep them in the right place for photos. But won’t granny be surprised on her next visit to see all the weight Liz has lost.
And the toys! All those flashcards, all those computer programs, all those ‘fit the shapes in’. I stuck Lizzy in front of the TV wrestling programs and handed her puzzle pieces to teeth on while I continued to pursue Jenny’s refinement.
If Jenny, in her toddlerhood, would say, “Tree is gween,” I’d smile acceptingly and look directly into her eyes saying, “Yes, Jenny, THE tree is GREEN. GREEN GREEN, GRRRRREEn tree. What a nice GREEN tree.”
She’d smile acceptingly and say, “Don’t weepeat yourself.”
My second, poor Liz, once said, “Give me a gagin.” This was her first attempt for “napkin”. I thought it was wonderful and have never spoken the word ‘napkin’ since. Now Jenny has stopped saying ‘napkin’ and so have my (then) husband and all the kids in the neighborhood. The same story is true of ‘lell’ for ‘yell’, ‘lello’ for ‘yellow’, ‘is you’ for ‘are you’, and on and on. I don’t believe she’s ever heard these correctly pronounced yet – except maybe on her wrestling shows.
But if it’s true that love is more beautiful the second time around, then that goes double for babies. No longer do I have to prove to every passerby that my baby is a budding Einstein, more likeable than Will Rogers, more talented than Shirley Temple or more coordinated than Nadia Comanceci. I can WELAX. I can dare to buy an occasional bag of cookies without my previous guilt and fear of causing my children tooth decay.
The moral of this story is, whenever possible, always have your second baby first. Save the first baby to have as a caboose. Maybe he or she will have older sisters and/or brothers (who are, technically, younger sisters and/or brothers) from which to find normality. Then maybe mom can find some sanity.