So, today was the big day. Gertrude went to the sitter. There was much wailing and chest beating. There was crying and kicking of feet. There were cries of “I don’t wanna go!”

But, Chris made me go to work anyway.

They’re doing fine. Chris has called a few times, mournful. I tell her to bite the bullet and face the fact that the baby will call our sitter “mommy” and we’ll be known as those strange people who lock her in a prison to sleep at night.

Of course I didn’t tell her that. I told her that the sitter would probably brain wash Gertrude so that she’s a mercenary assassin for the CIA.

Actually, they’re doing great. There’s a little remorse and longing, but overall they are doing well. I wouldn’t want to be in Chris’ shoes, however. It must be exceedingly difficult to separate herself from the baby after being in contact with her every moment of every day for almost a year. Heck, it was hard enough for me to go back to work after the weekend.

It’s funny; I had a sudden revelation this weekend. I was lying in bed, looking at my slumbering baby and realized that it’s true. I love my kids differently.

You know your mom told you that, “No I don’t love X sibling more. I just love you differently.”

And it’s true. Frightening, but true. Love can’t be measured, but it can feel different. The love I have for each child is as unique as the child herself.

For Gertrude, I have this protective unquestioning love. She needs to be protected, swaddled, held, and nurtured. It’s an almost primal love that seems to come screaming out of every pore of my being. I can’t control it, I can’t stop it. It is not something that grew, but it is innate. It will, however, grow and mature.

It’s Kaitlyn that made me realize this. The love I feel for her is a mature love. It’s a love that has mutated and grown. It’s changed over the years. It’s a love that I HAVE to control, or she’d suffer from it. I have to hold it back because she has to make mistakes in her life. If I were to allow myself to love her in the way I feel inside, she’d be living in a bubble and not allowed to go anywhere, including school, without me.

Hey, let’s face it, life sucks. But I don’t want Kaitlyn to know that. Who knows? For her it may not suck. She may lead a life without disease, war, or bullies. She may never get acne or have her heart broken.

But the odds are against it. Really against it. Friends will betray her. People will take advantage of her. She’ll eventually experiment with things she shouldn’t, be it cigarettes or Top 40 music.

With Gertrude, I HAVE to protect her from the elements, bad food and mean people. With Kaitlyn I have to step back. I can protect her from crossing the street without looking, but I can’t protect her from getting her feelings hurt or failing at something.

In fact, she has to have these things happen to her. It’s part of growing up.

I just wish growing up didn’t have to hurt so much.

And I wish I were done with it myself.