Having two boys seven years apart is like having a personality split in two directions.
For instance, when your baby drools on your phone, drops the tv remote or tears your favorite book, you just pull him up, pinch his cheeks, tickle him like crazy with "You are sooooo cute."
But when your 7-year-old does the same, you give him the dagger look, put him on the corner, lecture him on the value of money, or, on will-power-depleted days, yell at him.
The harder part comes when you have to react differently when they cry. For baby, you can be your natural soothing and protective self. For Kuya, you have to put up a hard Stoic front, even if your heart breaks in between his quiet sobs.
The day goes by with all this shifting back and forth between monster mum and likable mum. It can be very very draining.
But I guess that's how it should really be.
My only consolation is that at night, while watching them both sleep, I get to see two babies again, breathing your love in, and breathing their understanding, growing, forgiving love back to you.