He took his baby son for a ride on a borrowed motorbike. The demands for “again again” made this “man thing” they did stretch to half an hour! He didn’t even think of getting the daughter he is so enamored with to join them (let alone his wife who knew him in the days he drove a scooter and not the fancy car he has now).

Time was when he used to love to drive his daughter to nursery school. His personal time with her, when they used to chat about school and friends and mom. Now he drops his son off to the nursery on the way to office. His one and a half year old son isn’t talking as much as his sister used to and cannot hold a conversation in the same manner. But the boy is already understanding the use of gears, the use of the steering wheel and how to back his push car from a tight spot.

The father son duo do things differently, a big learning for mom.

I tried to interest him in the books my daughter loved at the same age. Forgetting his interest is not in the fairytale princesses but the horses the prince gallops in on. The childrens’ bookshelf already shows the varying tastes, and I thought I could recirculate books she has outgrown. Thank goodness at least they both show an inclination to books.

For all the political correctness of treating both sexes the same, it is impossible to treat your daughter and your son the same.

At the same age, she loved to talk, to cuddle an ever willing parent, doting grand parent, aunts or maids. To read stories with princesses and happy endings. He is too restless to be interested in more than the fact that Noddy’s car has the same headlights as his car. And already condescends to a mere peck on the cheek rather than a full blown cuddle. That may be the reason why I still like to cuddle him to sleep, trying to keep him a baby a little while longer.

She loves to go out. He loves the going in the car bit. She treated time in the car as time to get out the goody bag time. For him it is time to catch sight of the dog that lounges near the gate, to see if the hoarding that had caught his attention is still there….

In her initial baby years, I spent all my time with her. I talked to her all the time, labeling everything we saw and that caught her attention. Grocery shopping, malls, taxis, pink pants, regular routes, clubs and swimming pools, she voiced her opinion on all. She talked complete sentences and in three languages before the age of three.

My man of few words first learnt to pull her hair to get what he wants. He leant to shout to drown out her incessant chatter. And leant to compete for attention by climbing- the window grill, the TV stand, the bookshelf… anything.

It was an achievement of sorts when she learnt to climb stairs. I, her paranoid mother, hovered around her, nagged her to hold the banisters, to concentrate and to be careful. He was climbing the big slide at one year while I stood by, secretly with my heart in my mouth but too proud of him to let him see it. 

She loves pasta. He is happiest with his daal chawal. She doesn’t like chillies in her food. He loves tangy rasam. All the little girls who come home are easy to feed- either cheesy pasta or bhindi! Watch this space to see what tastes this boy develops.

Yes, no two children are alike. Two sisters, two brothers, a first child may also show as marked a difference as mine do. But, I have given up fighting one’s preference for all things Boy- balls and cars and tool kits. And the others penchant for collecting pretty pink rubbish for her never ending chain of cards… Gender unbiasedness be damned….