Second Child Syndrome?

From the moment the FTM and I first found out that she was pregnant, we fawned over the FTS.

During her pregnancy, the FTM and I paid constant attention to the FTS. We read him books, sang him songs, explained the mysteries of life. We spent every waking moment, and I suspect most sleeping moments, thinking about the FTS. What will he be like? What will our life be like? I joined the FTM at virtually every OBGYN appointment. I read three parenting books. And I subscribed to multiple parenting email newsletters. I was like a doctoral candidate preparing for my oral exam on how to be a dad. And this was all before the little guy left the womb.

With the STS (Second Time Son), we’ve done none of this. We don’t read him books, don’t sing him songs. I’ve only been to two doctor appointments, and haven’t touched a parenting book in years. Most days I barely remember that the STS there. Only the look of tortured agony on the face of the FTM reminds me that there’s something brewing in that belly.

At this point, it’s water under the bridge. The kid will be here in less than 50 hours, so it’s time to focus on the future. What kind of parents will we be once he’s born?

In the last two and a half years, we have made the FTS the center of our universe. Not because we’re overprotective or because we feel obligated, but because we genuinely like the kid. He has a well-developed sense of humor, a finely honed sense of play, and he’s a really nice guy. If I were a toddler, I want the FTS to be my wing man. Strike that. I’d want to be his wing man.

What if we don’t like the STS? What if we’ve used up all of our parental love on the first one? The boy-to-be is, I fear, a victim of SCS – Second Child Syndrome.

The FTS had the advantage of being a first mover. He was the prodigal son. All that worry, all that relief, all those feelings of wonder and newness and love, were unique to him and him alone. Whatever I wind up feeling with the STS, I don’t see how it could possibly be the same. It would almost be an insult to the FTS, wouldn’t it?

The truth is, the STS has seemed more like a logistical problem to be solved than anything else. Have we cleaned the baby swing? Has the car seat been re-installed? Do we have a plan of attack for sleeping and eating?

Now, I know what you’re going to say. “Hey, FTF, lots of people have more than one kid. And they seem to love all of their children equally.”

Yeah, but what if it’s all one big conspiracy? Think about it. Who would actually admit that they loved their second kid less? I’m the youngest of three, and really, by the time I came along my parents were so worn down that they just gave up. Don’t get me wrong, I feel as loved as the next sibling, but what if it’s all a sort of ruse? It’s no coincidence that the power in a monarchy passes to the eldest male offspring. The King and Queen just aren’t as gaga over number two.

I guess I won't know how I feel until I meet the kid, but I tell you, I'm nervous as hell about it!

Of course, there is one thing that the STS will have that the FTS did not. The STS will have a big brother.

The FTS talks to, kisses, or pats his Mommy’s belly, and talks about his baby brother all the time. He goes out of his way to help the FTM because he knows she’s incapacitated in these final days of her pregnancy – he brings her water, brings her a pillow, he helps her up, all without being asked. It’s like he’s trying to prove to us, and to the new baby, what a good guy he really is.

Whatever shortcomings I might have with regard to the new baby the FTS is going to love the STS enough for both of us, and vice verse. That, I have to believe, will make up for everything. And then some.

Next up – We meet the STS.