Brothers

Babies are miraculous, if only for the fact that the same genes can combine over and over and produce something different every time. Clueless but Hopeful Mama was just talking about this. Here is my own proof:

The Boy, between three and four months

The Lad, three months

The Lad looks more like me and my family than The Boy ever has. He is a rectangle where The Boy is a square. He smiles more and coos more, which is a little shocking because The Boy is a social little chatterbox and I find it hard to imagine what The Lad will be like as an inquisitive toddler if he continues to be more verbal than his brother. No. Scratch that. I can imagine it: I will never have peace and quiet again.

The Lad rolls over in his crib, but only in his crib, and looks up at us when we come in to get him, like, "Hey! There you are!" He loves to get a reaction. Where The Boy would just hang onto the rings dangling from the octopus on our playmat, The Lad smacks Pulpo with a rattle or fist and laughs as he dances. He smiles as soon as he hears my voice when I pick him up from daycare, dimples digging holes in his cheeks. He giggles every time I nuzzle noses with him and shake my hair in his face.

The Lad gets bored in the carseat, even if it's out of the car. I could push The Boy around Target forever in his seat on the cart and never hear a peep. The Lad squawks his displeasure if I go more than 30 seconds without looking at or talking to him. Where The Boy transitioned slowly from one thing to another, The Lad is quick, as if he throws a switch to flip from one mode to another. Sometimes this is a blessing: He falls asleep faster than The Boy ever did. Other times, it's infuriating: One second he wants wants you and only you, the next he just wants to be left alone in his bouncy chair, and the next he wants picked up again -- NOW, DAMN IT!

The Boy made me a mother and taught me to trust my instincts. The Lad is making me realize I'll never be done learning how to mother.