THE VIEW FROM HERE

And I thought it was supposed to get easier with each consecutive birth!
At least, that's what I'd heard; generally, babies come faster and easier after the first. I guess I'm an exception to that rule. Not only was my second daughter slightly over a pound larger than the first, the labor took an extra two hours (no coincidence, I’m sure). But although the process seemed excruciating at the time, I feel fortunate in knowing that I now have a second healthy, happy daughter, seeing the world for the first time cuddled close to my heart nearly all the time.
I feel fortunate, too, in knowing that the process of getting her here could have been worse. As I rested afterwards, my sister, consoling me as I tried desperately to keep my eyes open, told me of her friend's recent 31-hour labor - a devastating comparison to my 10. And my 9 lb., 2 oz. baby doesn't seem so big when I hear that other mothers have born over 11 lb. babies - naturally, no less!
I simply can't imagine.
So now, my husband is the sole male in a house of strong-minded women (lucky guy!) and feels fairly certain that he'll have reached the end of his rope by the time we get these two through high school. It's no secret that times are a changin', and mere thoughts of his high school days, not so long ago, has him fearing the inevitable arrival of young men hoping to court our daughters one day. What's a parent to do? We’ve got a few years to figure it out, anyway.
But for now, we're busy learning how to coordinate care for and time with two very active young girls, each with their own needs, interests, personalities and feelings.
And that's what makes our lives both interesting and challenging. How can two children born of the same parents be so unique? Unique in their temperaments. Unique in their appearances. Unique even as newborns, at a time when people marvel of tiny fingers and toes and awkward faces, unable to see the less apparent, but nonetheless definite personality that began to form the very moment the child entered this world, and likely even before that.
While one child is fair skinned with light blue eyes, like mom, the other inherited the genes of her father, dark hair, skin and eyes. While the older was born somewhat smaller, she has without doubt demonstrated her strength, both physically and intellectually. Slightly more independent than her father and I would like at the age of a mere two-and-a-half, she is unafraid to be daring, voice her ideas and learn, learn, learn.
For example, my oldest is already better versed that I in the ways of farming, knowledge she has gained through days and evenings at her grandparent's farm, helping to feed the baby calves their grain and milk and watching closely as her grandparents carry out their daily chores. Her spare time is spent running up and down the knoll next to her grandparent’s house in pursuit of "fuzzy kitty," who often takes retreat in a lilac bush that my daughter has claimed as her personal treehouse. By day’s end, our daughter, a carbon copy of her grandmother with a bright scarf tied neatly round her head, is spent, barely able to endure the car ride home to her bed.
Our youngest, now slightly over one week old, is, like I said before, very different in appearance. Not only is her coloring that of her father's, but she is long and slender. Though she weighed more at birth, she appears to be of a more fragile build with a smaller, yet unmistakably adamant, voice or cry. Her personal interests, likes and dislikes, we've yet to learn, but there is no mistaking her individuality, even in her newness. How exciting it will be to watch her grow!
And despite their differences, what is most satisfying is the bond these two young girls have established, even in their first week together. Rather than reacting with jealousy to this new addition to the family, my oldest has been by my side constantly, ready to help in any way she can. And each night, baby sister falls asleep, comforted with love, as Alex kisses her forehead and gently rubs the thin, soft patch of hair that covers her head. She awakes to the same love each morning.
I was fortunate to grow up in a family of five children, counting myself. I've always sworn that I, too, would have several children so that my kids could experience the camaraderie that only sisters and brothers share. I've yet to experience a closeness like that of family, and it's a comforting thought to know that my children will grow up with the sense of security that family provides. And one day, when my husband and I are old and gray, we'll still hear the pitter-patter of lots of little feet - that of grandchildren to keep us young at heart.