Had things turned out differently, we would have had the classic two-and-a-half years between our two children. But life and death intervened, and so we ended up having a gap of nearly five-and-a-half years between our daughter, born towards the end of 2009, and the son who would probably not have been thought of had our second child survived.
At first, the big gap seemed charming. In the weeks after our son was born, we would pick our daughter up from school and be delighted at how proud she was to show off her brother to her friends. Her lap was just about broad enough to bear her sibling, even though she was more focused on the telly than the baby.
As soon as the baby became a toddler, the age difference became palpable in less pleasing ways. He wanted to throw stuff or shout at ducks; our daughter had homework to do or play dates with friends to think about. For years they have shared fond moments, but few real interests.
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