Chickie, my 24 y/o daughter, was the perfect baby. She never cried. She had a wide eyed curiosity and the firm conviction that anyone in her immediate vicinity must surely adore her. She never met a stranger and giggled for anyone that paid her attention. She was beautiful with huge blue eyes and golden curls. She was an absolute ANGEL.
Buddy, my 22 y/o son, was a demon child. He was born crying and didn't stop till he was about three. In retrospect, I'm sure he had reflux, but that kind of thing didn't get diagnosed in babies back then. The pediatrician just told me he was colicky. He was ill tempered, aggressive, and hostile. I adored him, but it was hard to find a babysitter or anyone else to watch him. Of course, he made up for it later by being so darned charming, but the early years were ROUGH.
So, if there were balance in the universe, Chickie would have angel children and Buddy would get a taste of his own medicine.
Two years ago Chickie had a little girl who is sweet, loving, active, curious, and adored. So far this balance thing is working out. But Wednesday I went to the doctor with Chickie for her ob check up. It took a while to find her son's heart beat because he was moving around so much. He kicks her really hard in the back whenever she tries to rest. At 29 weeks he's still in the breach position and may turn out to have a difficult birth. He isn't even here yet and already he's a wild man. Oh no. Uncle Buddy better practice babysitting.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment