My newest column, “Looking Out for #2,” is now online at the Jewish Week website. (At least until it’s not…I understand some of you have been having problems viewing my pieces online…so I’m reprinting it below.)

“Looking Out for #2″
by Esther D. Kustanowitz

The first time there’s a major change in your life for the better, it’s always special. The many little surprises, and the elation of participating in something completely and utterly new. Even if you try to recapture the magic of that first experience, and even if that second time is really good, your expectations are so high that they’re near impossible to reach.

Parents profess that all their children are equal in potential, as well as equally loved. But the purity of that first experience, in which the first child is the unique center of a fresh new world of chaos and wonderment, cannot be duplicated. Child No. 2 is emotionally welcomed and loved, no question, but the fanfare and hullabaloo seem reduced. No wonder second or middle children often feel as if they’re being given short shrift.

Of course this is unfair to No. 2. But there’s no avoiding it. Parental attention is now divided between new baby-related tasks and the responsibilities to the pioneer child. Even the community may not think to support the birth of No. 2 the way they did the birth of No. 1. The first-born may have inspired sonnets, or presents, or in my family’s case, singles columns. But from the first second of life, No. 2 is most likely wearing hand-me-downs. How to ensure that the second child feels unconditional love, within limited time and split attention?

The most important thing is to try to duplicate some of No. 1’s pivotal experiences. If No. 1 got a kangaroo to sleep with, then No. 2 should also have a special stuffed animal designated for his use. And if Doda Esther happened to write a singles column about No. 1, how could she possibly excuse herself from writing about No. 2, and waxing similarly rhapsodic about her hopes for the boy-then-man that this swaddled lump will become? “You don’t have to,” the Mommy assured me. “No one expects you to.” Except I expect me to: I’m looking out for No. 2.

But as an oldest child, my sympathies are not only with the cute, cuddly newborn No. 2 and his “middle child syndrome,” but also with No. 1. I remember what it was like to have to share the spotlight with a sibling. My brother was small, didn’t do much, and was a boy. That was all new to me, which was cool. I gave him a brush for his non-hair. And while placid, sweet moments were captured on still and moving film, I realize now that many of them might have been staged. As he grew, and did more, he managed to do more to annoy me. We developed a sibling rivalry, and our parents developed a system to keep our academic lives independent of each other. He knew I was good in English, and I knew he was a math and science kid. But we never knew what grades the other was getting. My parents didn’t even let us share our SAT scores.

After the arrival of No. 3, and later when we grew up, my older-younger brother and I managed to make our way back to a relationship that has become warmer than anyone observing those early fights could have expected. I went through college, meeting people who truly despised their siblings, and knew I was lucky. Our tension never included loathing; competition wasn’t always healthy, but it wasn’t hatred, either.

I observe No. 1 and his relationship with No. 2, now just a month old. The second is new, and little, and doesn’t do much. The first knows he has to be gentle with No. 2, and that as an older brother he is supposed to share. I hope to teach both of them to leave themselves open to the other, even as they are working to define themselves as individuals. I hope to help them avoid competition with each other, to help them share space and negotiate their differences positively, and help them realize that even if they disagree, they can still do so from a place of love.

I’ve been living alone for more years than I can count (like I said, I was never good at math). But someday, I’m going to have to let someone else into my (literal and emotional) space. It’s going to take adjustment. I’m going to have to consider that person’s needs, and accept that I’m not my own boss—my decisions will now affect someone else’s life, too. It may feel like a home invasion, like I’m giving up my stuff (or identity) by sharing it with someone else. I was here first. But being the pioneer in this space of myself and in the future family I hope to have, also means being the first to say, “Welcome home.”

Esther D. Kustanowitz is the proud doda of Gil Aviad and Dov Yair, and, even if pressed, knows better than to pick favorites. You can reach her at jdatersanonymous@gmail.com.