The Difficult Second Child

Before I start, I really want to emphasise the point that in no way do I believe my second child to be ‘difficult’. If my son reads this one day: I love you. You know that. Maybe one day you will have children of your own and maybe one day you will then understand the title yourself. You are not difficult. IT was difficult.

I am liking the use of the word ‘was’… but that is a direct comment to my son, who at this moment is only ten months old. At this moment, he is sleeping gently in his bed, probably dreaming of his toys, his sister, maybe mummy, probably daddy… maybe anything else that his small world allows. ‘Was’ isn’t a word I can use just yet… it’s not the past yet, it’s now. And now is, at times, difficult. And to my son once more: I’m writing this because I need to remember and I need to explain. I don’t want to forget this intensely important time in our lives… I want to learn from this. Maybe already you understand?

So. He’s not difficult, as such. I mean, he is a more spirited baby than his sister was- and that was certainly a surprise, given her spirited nature! Unfortunately, things that happened when my son was born- and maybe even before he was born or even conceived- eventually conspired against us and left us reeling a little bit. This is the story of what happened and what we did. In light of this rather confused explanation:

My son is not difficult but having him was, in so many ways.


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