The problem with a four year age gap between kids

Did you happen to notice the new name? The Quiet Hours has become Storied Margins. I’ve been searching for months for a name that better described what I do here — that I write about books, yes, but that I’m also sharing stories about my life, written from the margins. Nothing else is changing (at the moment!) but I’m glad to make this one small tweak for now. Welcome ❤️

We didn’t plan to have four years between our kids. A couple years after Henry was born, we started trying for a second. Harrison took a little while to appear in our lives, a time that felt stressful and full of what-ifs.

But then, almost exactly four years after Henry, he was here, and I realized that this four year age gap was actually really nice. Henry was independent, potty-trained, sleeping through the night, able to feed and dress himself, which also meant he was able to help us quite a bit with the baby. We didn’t have two in diapers, we didn’t have a toddler running around while also trying to care for a newborn. It felt easier in a lot of ways — and it has continued to feel that way until recently.

Now that they’re 12 and 8, we’re starting to bump up against things I had never thought of. Not only that Henry is allowed to do and have things that Harrison isn’t, but that friendship dynamics are a lot tougher than I expected.

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I’ve done Harrison a disservice. By the time he came along, I had already formed friendships with the parents of Henry’s friends and those became our people, the ones that we hung out with on a regular basis. Harrison has always just had to tag along, to make friends with Henry’s friends, and to be agreeable to what we’ve planned. (It works out best when we find another family who have children the same ages as mine!) I never attempted to make friends for Harrison because I felt set. And it’s worked out just fine until recently — Henry’s friends have always been kind to Harrison, often treating him as their own little brother.

But now, Henry is older, his friends are older, and soon they’ll be talking about things that Harrison doesn’t need to hear about yet. Henry and his friends are seeking out independence, going to the park alone, or having outings that have less parental supervision. And Harrison always wants to go, but… he’s 8. I can’t drop him off in the same way I can Henry. He still has to be monitored to a certain extent.

Mostly though, what I’m finding is that I am running into the problem of Henry wanting to be alone with his friends (fair) while Harrison not wanting to miss out on fun activities (also fair.) It feels as if this summer has been setting me up to find that fine line — the one where Henry gets to hang out with his friends without his little brother in tow, but where Harrison still gets to experience fun with our people.

I’ve been trying to encourage, over the last year, Harrison spending time with his own friends, having them over to our house, taking them to the pool with us, letting him have his first sleepover away from home (though, Henry was also there because it was one of those families with kids for both of my kids!) But I’ll be honest, it’s not as easy for me. In many ways it feels like starting over — making small talk, getting to know other parents and how they parent. And these things are not my strong suit. I have my friends, the people I turn to, and making new friends sounds exhausting.

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Henry has never had to be the tag-along in our friend group. He is the one that we built friendships around. And now it’s starting to feel as if he doesn’t really get what it means to be in that position. He just wants to be with his friends without Harrison, not understanding that Harrison doesn’t have those same types of friendships to turn to. Plus, Harrison likes to hang out with the big kids. That’s who he’s grown up around, it’s who he’s comfortable with.

But I find myself more and more walking that line between “Should this be just for Henry?” and “It’s okay to insist that Harrison be included, too.” There are no guidelines around this, nothing that tells me what situations are best for just Henry or Henry and Harrison. And because of that, it feels really hard.

I also know that it’s only going to get harder. Henry is going to pull away more and more from us, from Harrison. He’s going to be seeking more independence, especially when he and his friends start driving. Those are the kinds of things I expected. What I didn’t expect was the feeling it would stir in me to see Harrison sad when he isn’t included. To wonder why he doesn’t get to hang out with the kids he’s spent his entire life hanging out with.

That feels really painful to me, as a mom. I want Henry to have freedom. I want Harrison to have fun experiences. Maybe it’s time for me to text that mom, or start up the conversation at that birthday party. Maybe it’s time for me to make the kind of effort I made for Henry so that when Harrison is 12, he’s got that core group of friends at his side. But… I’m 43, and I’m tired.

On Sunday, paid subscribers will get my favorite novels about siblings — fictional ones, whose complicated dynamics I get to just read about instead of live inside of.