Today Sage is 22 months and 5 days, which should be an entirely unremarkable occasion, not worthy of fanfare or fireworks or really even a post.

Except for the fact that it’s exactly the age that Thalia was the day Sage was born.

And it’s completely blowing my mind.

I keep thinking of Thalia that weekend – showing up at the hospital so proud of her new dress from grandma (and how Sage is so not into dresses), singing the entire alphabet (and how Sage can’t quite get past E yet), getting ready to give up the binkies (which, well, no way. Sage isn’t even close). It’s hard not to compare.

Somehow Thalia seemed so much older at this age. Like she had been around longer, seen more, traveled more, done more.

Like I knew her better.

I suppose that’s the irrevocable benefit of being the firstborn: More uninterrupted time with mommy during which you get solo playground visits, swimming pool time, and a chance to learn the alphabet right through to Z.

But then I think of how at 22 months and 5 days, we still had Thalia playing in a Pack n Play. Or how she was still sleeping in our bed. (Oy.) And she sure didn’t have a sister around to teach her how to slurp her pasta, play “Baby Groundhog,” or use a red-handled scissors.

She also had no one to read the Nutcracker with or dance wildly to Go for G.

And now they have each other.

A lot can happen in 22 months and 5 days. Even if it’s not what you think it will be.