One of the big pulls of having another kid is the sheer curiosity around who they will be. Each is so different from the other. It could easily cause you to have so many. You're really compelled to see how the next one will be unique. They are made of the same stuff, harbor strapping similarities, but are born of completely different molds.
There is one common thread though that is always so fetching to witness: common fascinations. Especially when they are tied to a certain age or a certain level of burgeoning awareness. The young one comes to something that is brand new to her and wondrous, and you remember how the older one was once taken up in the same enthrall. And you wonder how you ever forgot that touching exhilaration in your own child, and how you never really even noticed that they had grown out of it. That's another big part of having number two, it returns you to so many precious epochs you've ushered into and - by dint of the hurly burly of childrearing - passed right out of without much ado. In this photo Mette, thumb stuck in a lemon, is finding the silly dancing clown in the cardboard music box at Apa Pops'. O! how he used to dance for Bindi, and his limbs are only looser now.
