When my son was about four months old the father of a young girl told me, "It only gets harder." There aren't many crueler things a person can say to someone who hasn't had four consecutive hours sleep in almost six months.
I consoled myself, saying that if it never got easier no one would ever have a second child by choice.
Now my child is a year old. Despite the occasional temper tantrum (which is a relatively new development), it is easier than it was when I heard that cruel remark eight months ago. Maybe it's just a temporary reprieve, but then maybe a little rest was all I needed to be able to approach all the new challenges with a sense of humor.
Or maybe he just got off easy when his daughter was younger.
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One thing that I've learned while raising now two boys is to never compare my children with those of others. When I had my first son, I used to pay so much attention to the boasts of other "luckier" moms, like, "My child has a four-hour daytime nap", or "She sleeps twelve full hours at night". Neither of my sons was good at this, but when my second boy was born I just convinced myself into being comparison-proof. Ironically, I made a similar impact on another mom, but that was without any malevolent intentions. When I told her that my six-year-old son can add up four-digit numbers, she said that maybe she didn't spend enough time with her daughter, because she can't do that. While I hadn't encouraged him to become a precocious mathematician, it's just that every child is so unique - in waking up at night or in learning to write at three.
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