Year of two

Marking my baby’s first birthday - and a year of being a mother of two

One year of him. One year of us as four.

I had planned a more fashion-focused post for this week, but since my Thursday publishing day falls on my baby’s birthday, it didn’t feel right to ignore the moment.

One year ago today, I was holding a newborn - a small bundle of needs, with pink skin, tiny coos, and involuntary smiles. This morning, he was reaching for his brother’s backpack, convinced he was big enough to follow him out the door. I can't believe how time has flown, but it’s already been a year of this small person with a big personality - and a whole year of me as a parent of two.

The shift from one child to two was not smooth for me.

You could argue that the biggest, life-altering transitions were already behind me: becoming a parent (something no amount of reading can prepare you for), lifestyle changes (goodbye spontaneity), and personal change (farewell to the old you, and good luck to the new, emerging one).

Going from one to two is far less earth-shattering in the sense that you already know how to care for a baby, and you already know how quickly the newborn stage passes. You have tools in your belt, you’re more skilled, more confident - you have experience.

And that’s all true. It made caring for my second much easier in many ways. But the exponential increase in needs - charged with the intensity of two little ones requiring attention, the constant splitting of focus, the sheer logistics and time management… For me, as an only child, the hardest part was the quiet anticipation and growing expectation for them to bond. That hope for closeness between them - and the fear it might not come - colored a lot of the interactions, sometimes making them harder than they needed to be.

Of course, there was also the day-to-day shift: with one child, I measured my days in nap schedules and baby milestones. My life was forever changed - holding and caring for a newborn is overwhelming - but if he was napping, I could rest. If he was content, I had a break. With two, the space between needs is smaller, the urgency more intense. When both cry at once or both need me in the same breath, I wonder how others manage, and whether I’m somehow getting it wrong.

Around nine months, when the baby became much more mobile - always reaching for his big brother’s toys (never the safe, age‑appropriate ones <sigh>) - another challenge appeared: my unrealistic expectation for my toddler to “understand” he was older and simply let his baby brother have them.

It’s easy to forget, when you’re holding a baby, that your toddler is still so young. I expected him to defer, to give in. But my “big” boy is still very small.

I sensed something was off, but it wasn’t until a friend said, “If the baby isn’t upset, don’t intervene - he’ll move on to the next thing. It’s hard being a big brother,” that I understood. He still needs me to meet him at his level - with fewer expectations and more patience. And often, it was me expecting my toddler to perform, rather than the baby truly needing anything from my older son.

Motherhood to two reminds me that everything in life is a journey, and that things change constantly. It also makes me aware of how much of who we are is shaped by the way we were raised. That perspective can make some moments more challenging, but it can also offer a point of view others might not have, and so I own it.

Growing up without siblings, I never learned to share - my toys, my space, my parents’ attention. Now I watch my boys share by default: a room, their parents, their space. So when the need occurs, I protect the little territory they each claim - a toy gripped tight in a small fist, a moment of one-on-one attention, because I know how it feels to want something all to yourself.

Motherhood with two has also reshaped my sense of self. With one, I could still find stretches of “me” in the day. With two, those moments are rare, but I realize that’s the new reality, the new me - and I’m okay with that. I feel less like someone losing her identity and more like someone settling into a new, expanded one. It’s like when I’m making dinner for my toddler and my baby refuses to be entertained by anyone else - he marches over, waving his hands, until he’s clutching my legs. I get flustered (it’s hard to cook like this), but there’s a smile I can’t quite hide. My husband says, “You love it.” I want to argue - but he’s right. I do.

It's a daily practice for me now to let go of the expectations, to just be in the moment. And of course, wonderful things happen when you are just in the present - they no longer ignore one another; now they laugh, they chase, they play with the dog. It’s a joy to watch that shift.

They’re still far from what I once imagined as “companionship,” but something is forming - a growing awareness, a pull toward each other - that feels like the prologue to a bond I hope lasts their whole lives.

This year has been made of everyday acts of care: holding one while helping the other, finding a way to soothe two sets of tears at once, reassuring my toddler again and again: I’m here for you. I’m still your mommy. I see you. You’re not any less important to me. And working on myself to make space - letting someone else care for the baby, reminding myself that the days are long but the years are so very short. I’m already nostalgic for the days my toddler was a baby, and I know I’ll miss these sweet days just as much.

It’s wild how much changes, how much growth is involved in briging up little ones. It’s magical to be honest. We’re all learning, and finding our way together. And in that process, we’ve grown closer.

Tonight, there will be cake crumbs on the table, and my baby will beam at his brother, likely reaching for his slice even though they’re identical. I’ll remember this year not for the early challenges, but for the way love doubled in our house and stayed.

I hope sharing my experience helps someone else navigating this stage. If you’ve been through it, I’d love to hear how it unfolded for you in the comments.

One day, when my boys are grown, I hope I can look back and remember exactly how it felt in these fleeting, messy, beautiful moments.