The Curse of The Second Child (Number Two)

You can’t judge a book by its cover. Beauty is only skin-deep. Looks aren’t everything. We all know all about the lip service paid to the superficiality of good looks and, when you’re having a baby, you really just want it to be healthy, right? Pull my other leg and it plays “Jingle Bells”. There’s a small part of us that hopes our kids aren’t — you know — hideous, no? Come on — don’t make me feel like a dick. Of course, the good health comes first but a sprinkle of attractiveness never hurt anyone. We all remember the “breathtaking baby” Seinfeld episode. No one wants that awkward pause when others are first viewing the baby — that telling hitch in their breath. When our first kid popped out, however, my husband and I kind of looked at each other like, “Who are we kidding?” This kid is NOT fucking ours.” He had dazzling blue eyes, which neither of us have, and head filled with ringlets of curls. I mean, we’re not heinous looking, but this kid was way too good looking to have our genes. As I gazed at him lovingly from the nursery, I thought to myself, “If his real mom ever comes to get him, I’ll kick her in the shins and throw her down a flight of stairs.” Or something like that.

Needless to say, people fawn over him, and his looks have always gotten him a lot of attention. We just kind laugh and shrug in the “I know, right?” kind of way. A lot of people tell me that I’ll have to watch him when it comes time for him to date, which is really creepy and pedophilish when the kid was barely out of diapers at the time. But I get it. The boy is blessed, which made me feel happy. Then I got pregnant with “Number Two”. I mean, he’s “number two,” which is already a negative, right? As the months wore on, I began to do the mental math and realized there is no way in hell we’ll have a kid that looks like Number One. Statistically speaking, it was nothing if not impossible. And I began to feel defensive of him even while he was in utero. We had a hell of a time even coming up with a name for him, as I guess I couldn’t get past the fact that his moniker had already been chosen — Chopped Liver.

On the day of his birth, I sat in the hospital waiting for things to get moving *down there* and, all the while, I listened the nurses ooh and ahh over Number One. “He’s sooo good looking!” “I sure hope your second son looks like him!” “He could be a movie star!” STOP! Just STOP! That’s all I could think, as I was convinced Number Two would never come out if he knew what he was up against in the looks department. After some coaxing, he did make his debut into the world and my first words as tears rolled down my face were, “You’re so beautiful!” And I meant every word. But here’s the thing — I can say this now that he’s two years old and a cutie. He was NOT. GOOD. LOOKING. But we knew this was coming, right? His nose was smashed so hard into his face that it spread across his cheeks like he’d just been in the ring with Mike Tyson. And his eyes were all swollen and goopy. And he looked like a grumpy old man, so much so that we called him Benjamin Button. But you’d be grumpy too if you’d heard all that stuff said about your brother. I can say this with all my heart, though — he was beautiful to me. And I didn’t really care what anyone else thought in that moment. Sure, it’s a family joke now, as my parents admit — he was a bit rough on the eyes.

Here we are two years later, and people come up to me all the time and say “He is just gorgeous! Those blue eyes,” as Chopped Liver stands right there next to him. I’m used to it now. And Chopped Liver, by the way, ain’t too shabby. But I love ’em both and, of course, to me, the sun rises and sets in both their eyes. The hubs and I joke here and there that Number Two may have to become “The Funny Guy,” but who doesn’t love a good funny guy? And extreme good looks can be a curse, too. Honestly, one of my favorite scenes in a movie — like ever — is this one between John Belushi and Rob Lowe’s characters in About Last Night:

You know what your problem is? Your face.

Come on, you’re too good-looking. Girls go out with you and get nervous.

They feel dumpy, they don’t want to compete.

They want a guy like …like me. A guy who’ll make them look good.

– A basic Neanderthal type. – The swarthy type. A man’s man.

– The kind of guy who’s … – Oozing testosterone?

A young woman today wants a little bulk in her diet.

A big guy who sweats.

Best thing that could happen to you is an industrial accident.

Swarthy. Number Two is definitely swarthy. And we love him like no other. This blog post will self-destruct in about 10 years.

baby boy photo

He is absolutely…breathtaking.

Facebook Twitter Email

Comments

  1. Alyssa Russo says:

    both of your boys are incredibly beautiful!

Speak Your Mind

*