People always say your firstborn gets your time, and your second gets your experience.
But what if that's not enough?
Last week, our nanny took a day off. Normally, I'd line up a babysitter without a second thought. But being on sabbatical right now gave me a rare opportunity - I decided to spend the day solo with my younger daughter. Just the two of us.
It wasn't anything extravagant. We went to her regular music class in the morning, and it was pure joy watching her in her element, clapping her hands and playing with the instruments. Afterward, we stopped at Whole Foods, came home to eat lunch, and I put her down for a nap.
She was calm, happy, cooperative. No meltdowns, no tantrums. And surprisingly, I wasn't as exhausted as I expected to be.
The whole day was beautifully ordinary. I wasn't rushing through it or trying to be productive in the margins. I was simply present. It reminded me of those early days of maternity leave, when time felt slower, quieter.
At the end of the day, I was reflecting to my husband how she was "easier" than usual. Diaper changes, getting dressed, putting on her sleep sack - things she normally resists, she did happily.
And now I can't help but wonder: Was she actually easier that day? Or was I just more gentle, more present, more attuned?
At 17 months, my younger daughter is already showing so much of who she is, and who I am, reflected back.
She's constantly in motion, full of fire, fearless. She gets hurt constantly, then bounces back like nothing happened. She's cheeky and mischievous, always pushing boundaries, always looking for fun.
But that day, without her big sister in the mix, I saw her differently.
For once, she wasn't competing for my attention. She wasn't being overshadowed or corrected. And I wasn't distracted or preoccupied.
I got to see her, really see her, as her own person. Not just "Sis," her nickname as the baby of the family. Not just the one who follows along.
Because she isn't very verbal yet, she doesn't always get to voice her needs. And when her older sister is around, it's easy to give more attention to the child who can actually ask for it.
So I end up noticing the little one mostly when she's acting out. When she's jumping on the bed or standing up in her high chair or eating a crayon. Lately, the thing I say to her most often is "No."
But that day, she didn't need to shout to be heard, she just needed space. And I needed to pay attention.
When I became a mom the first time, I gave my older daughter everything - my time, my energy, my focus. I over-gave, really. I was always available, trying to do it "right." She became deeply attached, my velcro baby, so attached that even now, she still usually prefers me over her fully loving and capable dad.
My second daughter didn't get that version of me. She was born into chaos.
In her newborn days, I was deep in postpartum depression - tired, angry, often resentful. I hated that I felt so depleted. And while I don't like admitting it, that resentment shaped our early days together.
Two kids stretched me in ways I wasn't prepared for. Something in me cracked, and what came through that crack was a fierceness about protecting myself. My time. My identity. I started holding tighter boundaries, reclaiming slivers of who I was before motherhood.
Now, I'm preparing to build something new professionally - something bold, something mine. I'm not letting motherhood run the entire show anymore. But that doesn't mean I don't feel the pull.
This day reminded me that I actually enjoy being a mom. Especially when I'm not overwhelmed. When I can give my presence fully, instead of dividing it endlessly.
Parenting two kids isn't just double the work, it's more than double the mental load. It's constant triage. I'm always clocking who's hungry, who's cranky, who hasn't had a moment with me yet. Even when I'm physically with both of them, I'm rarely mentally with either.
No wonder I'm tired all the time.
But that day, just the two of us, was different. With no second child to manage, no invisible juggling act in my head, I could meet one child's needs at a human pace. It felt easier. Lighter. More joyful.
People often talk about the challenge of balancing work and family. This idea that it's binary, career or kids. A false choice.
But what I’ve been thinking about lately, especially as an only child myself, is how hard it is to balance multiple children. Each with their own needs, their own developmental stages, their own way of asking for me.
It's not just my time that's limited. It's my energy, presence, patience. And sometimes the hardest part isn't choosing between work and home, it's choosing between two people you love equally.
That's what made this day so powerful. For once, I didn't have to choose. I was all in. And we both felt it.
This day reminded me that my second daughter was born into a harder season, but that doesn't mean the story is set. It's not too late to build a new rhythm between us. One that feels less reactive and more intentional.
Life won't always make space for slow mornings and solo music classes. But I can make space for moments like it. I want to protect that kind of connection, even in the chaos of real life.
Not every moment will be equal between my daughters. And that's okay. What matters is that I stay mindful of how I divide my energy - not just defaulting to the loudest voice, but making room for the quieter needs too. I want to be the kind of mother who notices, even when no one is asking. Especially then.
And maybe most of all, this day reminded me of something I've learned again and again in motherhood: you can do two things at once. You can love both kids deeply, even if they need you in totally different ways. You can grow your career and raise a family.
It's not impossible. It's just harder. But harder is still worth it.
Namaste,
Tamara
Loved this. Two things resonated:
- When we did potty training over a three day weekend, it was cool to have three full days at home as a family, doing activities together, that we hadn’t done since they were infants. Despite the accidents, it was actually a really nice weekend
- Going to that music class: we won’t always have this opportunity to do things together. I’ve heard when kids get to middle school, they’re spending much less time with parents and more time with their own friends.
Tamara,
This is beautiful. As a mom of two myself, it really resonated on so many levels. Thank you for sharing!