reading

My daughter is sitting on my lap reading a lift-the-flap book about Passover. She asks me to read it: "again, again." She also likes to read these little magazines called Babybug. Her favorite is about birthdays. A little boy receives a birthday card in the mail and says, "Today, I'm three." Sasha thinks it's hilarious. She walks around the house, saying "I'm three, I'm three." If you ask her how old she is, she holds up one finger and says, "Two." She seems to know that she's wrong. She gets a mischievous grin on her face.

As Sasha develops, I see Martin's development in a new light. I remember moments where something seemed odd, like when we were playing with a two-year-old who could tell us how old she was. Martin was also two and looked at us blankly when we asked him the same question. These stares continued after he turned three and we began to try diligently to teach him to say his age. He never learned until he was four, once we made a set of flashcards about saying your age. Then he got it in 5 minutes.

Martin did so many things normally that it was hard to see what was wrong. Like Sasha, he also read books and wanted us to read to him. He was also mischievous. If anything, he seemed smart and a bit quiet. He knew all his letters before he was two. He was reciting simple addition facts at three. He just talked a little funny.

Sometimes I feel like I have to parent in two different modes. A mode for Sasha in her normalcy and a mode for all of Martin's peculiarities. Sometimes I think I don't have the energy for that. But then I'll find them, sitting together, reading a book. I'll realize that they are not entirely different.