Why Do I Feel Guilty Being a Better Parent to My Second Child: Tips for Coping With Sibling Parenting Guilt
Last Tuesday, I knelt down to zip my 4-year-old son Milo’s winter coat, slow enough to let him poke his own arm through halfway before I helped, and I glanced up to see my 7-year-old daughter Lila leaning against the front door, already zipped, waiting. She had that half-smile she gets when she’s trying not to ask for something, and that’s when the familiar guilt twisted in my chest. I’d been doing this on autopilot for months, helping Milo take his time with every little thing, while Lila just… handles it, because she always has.
When Lila was little, I worked 50-hour weeks at a marketing job, came home drained, and counted the minutes until bedtime. I rushed through her bedtime stories to get to the dishes, shooed her off the kitchen step stool because stirring pancake batter was faster without her help, and once forgot to pack her snack for a class field trip because I was running out the door. When I got pregnant with Milo, I swore I’d do better. I cut back my hours, started leaving my phone in another room during meals, and wrote down every “first” in his baby book, something I only half did for Lila. Now I have more patience, more flexibility, more willingness to let things be messy. It’s not that I love Milo more. I’m just a better parent now than I was then— and that feels unforgivable.
Last month, driving home from Lila’s soccer practice, she said it out loud, quiet like she’d been turning it over for a while: “You’re nicer to Milo than you were to me.” My stomach dropped so fast I almost missed the stop sign. I fumbled for an excuse, the same one I tell myself: I was just tired, I didn’t know what I was doing. But that sounded as weak to her as it does to me. I spent the whole night scrolling parenting forums after they went to bed, and I found dozens of other parents saying the same thing. No one talks about this guilt, not really. It’s not favoritism, it’s growth. And it hurts everyone.
A friend of mine who’s a first grade teacher told me something that stuck a few weeks later. She said most parents go through this, even if they don’t say it. First kids are where we learn the job, that’s all. It’s not their fault we’re bad at it at first. The problem isn’t that we’re better with the second— the problem is we don’t bring that better version back to the first, in ways they can actually use. She gave me a few small, doable things to try, no big overhauls required.
The first thing I changed was how I talk about it. I used to over-apologize to Lila, crying and saying “I’m so sorry I messed this up” which just made her uncomfortable and convinced her there was something big to be scared of. Now, when she points out a difference, I just name it plainly, without the extra guilt. When she complained last week that I let Milo stay up 10 minutes later on Fridays than I let her when she was 4, I said, “You’re totally right. When you were 4, I was so worried about sticking to the exact schedule I made that I never bent it. Now I know a little extra awake time doesn’t ruin anything. That’s not about you— that’s about me learning how to do this job better.” She thought for a minute, then said, “So I was your practice kid?” I said, “Yeah, kind of. What’s something you’re way better at now than when you first started doing it?” She said soccer, how she can score goals now that she couldn’t when she started, and that was that. No big fight, no tears, just a normal explanation that made sense to a kid.
The second thing I started doing is carving out 15 to 20 minutes of unrushed, no-plan time every week that’s just for Lila, no Milo, no phones. It doesn’t have to be a fancy ice cream date or a big trip. Most of the time, we just stay home. Last week she wanted me to watch her do 14 backflips on the living room rug, one after another, and cheer for every single one. The week before that we sorted her rock collection and labeled each one with a silver sharpie. This is the same unrushed time I give Milo when I’m helping him put his shoes on or read his dinosaur book, and it fits what Lila needs now, as an older kid. She doesn’t need me to zip her coat anymore. She needs me to pay attention, the slow way.
I also stopped trying to make every single thing equal. I used to stress if Milo got one extra cookie or one extra story, but equality that’s forced doesn’t make anyone feel loved. What Lila needs right now is different from what Milo needs, just like what I could give her when she was 4 was different from what I can give Milo now. It doesn’t have to add up exactly on paper to feel fair.
I still get that guilt, sometimes. I’ll look at Lila’s half-filled baby book next to Milo’s full one, and that twist comes back. The other day I rushed her through a story about her friend’s birthday party because I was busy wiping yogurt off the couch, and I felt it all over again. But now I know what to do instead of just sitting with it. I went to her room after I cleaned up, and I said, “I should have stopped and listened to that story. Wanna tell me again?” And she did. It’s not perfect. Some days I still get it wrong. I don’t think that little twinge of guilt will ever go away completely. But it’s gotten quieter, these days, and most days that’s enough.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » Why Do I Feel Guilty Being a Better Parent to My Second Child: Tips for Coping With Sibling Parenting Guilt