I know a lot of you were rooting for the underdog -- we were, too -- but it looks like Elsa is going to be the big winner in the Ultimate Walking Challenge. On Wednesday, she suddenly started being able to stand unsupported, and on Thursday, she apparently took a few steps for Jean, our sitter. On Friday, on several occasions, she took three, four, sometimes even five steps toward us, smiling all the while, obviously excited by this new adventure. There were, of course, three times as many failed attempts, where her bottom half couldn't quite keep up with her top half. (Hot tip to would-be walkers: don't forget to move your legs!)

As exciting as it is, each time we've watched Elsa walk -- sitting there smiling and encouraging and reaching out our arms for her -- I can't help feeling a pang of guilt, knowing that Clio is being temporarily ignored. Not that she seems to care in the least. The first time, she clapped and grinned right along with Elsa and the rest of us. It's lovely the way they both seem to take vicarious pleasure in each other's happiness rather than get jealous.

Still, I find myself trying to "even things out" by turning my attention to Clio after it's been on Elsa for a little while; to praise her and play with her and encourage her to try walking, too. (I don't think she's far from it; she's great at standing on her own, and even better than Elsa at squatting down.) I have this fear that at some point she's going to start developing a complex about Elsa always being a step (ha) ahead. But maybe that's just the overachiever in me, projecting. Maybe, in fact, Clio will be happy to hang back and do her own thing while Elsa blazes ahead: You want to start coloring inside the lines, big sis? Hey, that's cool; I prefer to keep things experimental. You want to get your driver's license the day you turn sixteen? Sweet -- you can give me rides.

It's insane how early you can feel these dynamics creeping in. As hard as I try not to pigeonhole or project, I can't help wondering: twenty years from now, after they've taken psych 101 and maybe a creative writing course or two, are they going to come back and accuse me of irreperably messing them up or unfairly shaping their destinies because of how I perceived them and, hence, treated them as infants/toddlers? They'll have this blog for evidence, too! Shit! (Of course, that's a whole other conversation: the revenge of the blogged babies.)

All I know is, it's impossible to treat two babies exactly the same way, because they're two completely different people. And although I love them in equal measure, I love them completely differently -- something I never could have fully grasped before I had them. I just hope that the separate but equal (whoever thought that could be a good thing?) intensity of my love will come through to them, always.