With your first child, everything is a milestone. First tooth, first steps, first playdate, first day of school. Even the first time they throw up all over the place is a milestone. An unpleasant milestone, granted, but a milestone all the same.
The first time Vicki went on a field trip, I worried about her all day long. The first time her class sang in a school program, we took dozens of pictures. The first time she went ice skating, I held her hand. The first time she slept over at a friend’s house, I was excited for her for days beforehand and worried about her the whole time she was gone, even though I knew the family really well.
Conversely, the first time Lexi went on a field trip, I kissed her goodbye and told her to have a good time, and that was it. The first time her class sang in a school program, we forgot the camera. The first time she went ice skating, it was with a friend and I didn’t even know she was going until she got back.
With the second (and subsequent), it's just not quite the same. It's not that those milestones don't mean anything anymore, it's just that we parents are exponentially more busy with each new kid, and we don't have time to stop and acknowledge them like we did back in the day when there were just three of us in the house. Sometimes I feel really guilty about this.
Tonight, Lexi is having her very first friends sleepover, and I didn’t even realize it until this afternoon, right before she left. They’ve been planning this since before Christmas (to make up for Lexi having missed the friend’s birthday party while we were Utah), so it’s not like I haven’t had time to think about it. But it just never occurred to me.