Two

When you have two children, it's easy to get into binary thinking, assigning each child a role that is opposite the other's, even when the differences are not as stark as black and white. At least, this is true for me. Simply by virtue of their individuality, Allison Clare and Gillian are different, and it sometimes takes effort not to consider all of their distinctions in extreme terms.

Allison Clare has always been a very determined little person. I think I knew this about her before she was born. Her name had come to us on its own without research, but when I looked it up to confirm that it didn't mean anything bizarre, I read that it meant "Of noble birth" and "True." I felt, somehow, that this meaning suited the little person whose presence I really only sensed in a spiritual way at that time (except for the waves of nausea, but whatever). Anyway, I had this sense that she was going to be someone with a strong sense of right and wrong, someone who would rely on her own interior judgment. I pictured her clear-eyed, virtuous--the kind of child who would defend a smaller kid against a bully, the teenager who would scorn a proffered beer, a woman who would make her own decisions proudly and happily.

Whether for lack of experience or imagination, I did not imagine that this immoveable interior judgment, in the toddler years, would extend to such issues as clothing, and the rejection of it, or the need (if carried against her will up the stairs) to return to the bottom of the stairs and walk back up on her own recognizance. It never occurred to me that if I asked such a person to do something, and if she actually obeyed, she would--every single time--then turn to me and say archly, "Don't say thank you." (Back when she was two and had just started saying this, I asked her why she didn't want me to thank her when she did what I asked, and she said, "Because I need to do it all by myself.")

That thudding you hear? It's my head banging against the wall.

Gillian, on the other hand, little Gillian Rose. Her name means young girl, little rose. My rosebud. She's been more easily soothed, patient, adaptable, since birth. We'd put Allison Clare to bed as an infant and she'd sob off and on while falling asleep for 45 minutes--even as a toddler, she'll still yell out periodically for up to an hour and a half in the hopes that we'll come and clear up this big misunderstanding about a purported "bedtime" (this, of course, has never happened, but she persists in hoping). At bedtime, Gillian sits on my lap for a hug, smiles, says "brush" and opens her mouth to have her teeth brushed, which she loves. Leans in for another hug, then leans back to signal she's ready to be laid in her crib. Smiles and snuggles in her blanket. The only sound heard from her room is usually just an occasional giggle to herself as she falls asleep.

But under that generally affable nature, she is a pretty tough little cookie, I think. Over the past month, Sam and I have noticed more toddler-like behavior--the occasional tossing of something aside with a frustrated "Uunhh," and some tears over disappointments or sadness when a desired object is placed out of reach. She frequently gets the best of her big sister because she's a fearless, ruthless fighter. If Allison Clare is in her way, she'll simply clamber over her, impassive as a little Humvee over uneven ground. We have this hysterical video of her sitting on a toy motorized four-wheeler, pushing the button to make it drive forward. She couldn't even reliably sit up on it herself and her cousin was holding her around the waist, but she'd focus intently on the button, stab it with her tiny finger, and jerk the thing forward. Then, in the video, you hear Allison Clare say, "I better get outta the way" and you see a blur as she runs past, and then Gillian vrooms into the foreground.

So our Gillian isn't passive where Allison Clare is strong-willed. Rather, she seems to be her own kind of independent. She teaches herself new words almost every day, which I find almost alarming because it suggests this awareness, like a reminder out of the blue: someone is watching. And might start talking about what she's seeing. She comes out with odd first words for a kid; it's startling when your 14-month-old suddenly points to your face and says, "eyebrow." Eyelash. Toothpaste. Toothbrush. You're trying to feed her some chicken, and she looks bored and then stares at you and says clearly and distinctly, and you believe possibly for the first time: "Apple." Or you're looking out the open window and she notes the wind, if onomatopoetically: "Fffft." It feels like her vocabulary is growing less intentionally (on our part) than Allison Clare's, whom we coached and coaxed all the time. Part of me feels like this is some kind of neglect, like she's been left just to do it all on her own, and another part loves the sheer surprise of it. Anyway, you know how it is with roses--they're prettiest when they open on their own time.