Now that Elsa is 15 months old, I can officially start comparing her to Rollie. 15 months is about how far back my memory goes with him before things start getting hazy due to a.) lack of sleep, b.) passage of time, c.) my pregnancy hormones started to kick in and I realized that I was a dumb-ass for getting knocked up again so soon and that I'd better start paying attention to Rollie's development so I'd know what to expect the next time around.
So I know that I shouldn't really be comparing them at all, and that every kid develops at his or her own rate and trying to compare them could damage their little psyches and permanently scar them (more than I already have), and blah blah blah. That's nice. Still, whenever I watch my children, I compare them to each other worse than a middle school girl in a gym locker room compares her own jiggly thighs those of her classmates (and speaking from experience, I can honestly say that this is an all-consuming, perspective-skewed, day-ruining activity, especially when you shared an aisle with Devon Rielly, who had like, the most insanely perfect body of any seventh grader I ever saw. Wow...that sounds pretty creepy of me to say....Sorry, Devon, wherever you are.)
ANYWAY, after studying my children for some time, I'd like to divulge my findings with you. Please feel free take notes.
Rollie: Still wakes up at least twice a night, often asking for milk, but also lately insisting that there is something scary in his room (lion, monkey, Keanu Reeves in a rubber Richard Nixon mask....).
Elsa: Has been officially sleeping through the night for 5 months (except for a nasty bought of bronchilitis, and on a few nights when we slept in hotel rooms and Rollie's whining about something scary woke her up, too).
Rollie: Has finally learned to poop on the potty....the day he turned 3.
Elsa: No lie, last night this girl crawled, crawled buck-naked into the bathroom, lifted the lid of Rollie's plastic potty, sat down on it and pinched a serious loaf. I know...whaaaat? Can't walk yet and already she's dropping a deuce all by herself on the potty. Awesome.
Rollie: Only cuddles when he wants something, usually chocolate milk or candy, and even then he only cuddles for about 5 seconds before he's discovered that it's much more fun to stick his hands up my shirt and speak in high-pitched, one-word sentences and just be a complete weirdo.
Elsa: Started giving us big bear-hugs at about 7 months old, and lays her head on our shoulders and sighs sweetly and finally this action is no longer accompanied by a giant bite on our arms. Yay.
Rollie: All thumbs until 18 months. I'm still not sure if he's a righty or a lefty. And I still feed him sometimes....I know...so lame.... He was kicking a soccer ball around the house at 11 months, though.
Elsa: Has the manual dexterity of a heart surgeon (or, for my dad, a clarinetist). Has been turning book pages and using utensils since birth. I'm pretty sure she was playing Cat's Cradle with her umbilical cord in the womb. She can't walk yet though, and if confronted with a soccer ball, instead of kicking it she tries to eat it.
Rollie: Okay, so this is where he has her beat, hands-down. He's just so darn chatty. Always has been.
Elsa: Well, right now pretty much the only thing she says is 'this,' always in reference to something she wants. She stretches out her chubby arm toward whatever object she desires--blanket, toy, Keanu Reeves in a rubber Richard Nixon mask--and says 'this? this?' over and over and OVER again until I finally either give her whatever it is she wants or tell her 'no,' in which case she starts to whine and lunges after me with her teeth bared. Oh yeah, and she also says Dadda, thank you, and juice. And she can imitate up to fifteen different farm animals. Unfortunately they all say 'oink.'
Sense of Humor
I believe they are evenly matched here. They are both silly-hearted and fun, they both find passing gas to be especially hilarious (like their Uncle Matt), and they love making each other laugh. Which to me is more important than Elsa being an early walker or Rollie making it through the night without appearing at my bedside in tears, mumbling something about Johnny Utah....