Little Guy and I were in Costco when his eye caught a very cute, very pregnant mother with her husband and toddler. He asked, "Mom, suppose you only want one baby? How do you make the magic stop so you don't get another?"

It dawned on me that he still thinks babies come from the baby fairy. That magical process we talked about years before.

Don't misunderstand. At 8 1/2, Little Guy is not ready or interested in knowing the real deal. But by the time Big Guy was that age, there had been gradual, slow moving conversations that gave bits and pieces. We had transitioned from complete reliance on the baby fairy to a little bit of dad magic mixed with a little bit of mom magic. And within the magic was the desire to want to have a baby.

Ah, the second child. This was yet another example of how they differ from the first.

Those first children really get the best of us. We are on top of our game. They get our undivided attention. The benefit of us having time to think and plan. To sit down and teach. Everything was on schedule. So much thought went into doing things at the right time.

In the early years, it was all about the right time of day. Remember those organized, mapped out routines? Oh, I do. And Big Guy's routine was followed like a religion. Mornings were made up of errands and activities, with an afternoon nap followed by fresh air and outside play. I had a bedtime regime that was not to be deviated from. He was always bathed, always read to and always in his crib. At the right time.

As Big Guy grew, the right time was all about strategically planning for life's events. Whether it was starting preschool, joining a soccer league or talking about the tooth fairy, I sought out the opportunities and grabbed them. All at the right time.

Then came Little Guy. From the beginning, life was different for him. Just like all second children. All of those perfectly planned, right-time-for-this and right-time-for-that moments evaporated.

The house was never completely quiet when he napped. And there were many days he didn't get to finish napping in his crib. He drank bottles on the go. His schedule changed depending on the day of the week. He was lugged around town as Big Guy branched out and started all of his calculated, "right time" activities.

He watched certain shows - some absolutely inappropriate - earlier than he should have. He had ice cream, candy and chips at a much younger age. Sometimes, he didn't have a bath before bed and other times, I made him stay up way past his ideal bedtime window. There were even moments I picked up a paci off the floor and put it back in his mouth without it being properly sterilized.

For some reason, I never found the right time to read the Kissing Hand to him before he went off to school, as I did with his brother. I didn't find the right time to properly explain heaven. And I may be a little behind in clearing up some of the little white lies we tell our children before they are ready to hear the true story.

Yet when I look at Little Guy, I see a more independent, more adaptable, and less needy child. Sure, some of this is just the way he is wired. But I also know that he was parented differently because I had no choice. None of us do once the next baby shows up. And the next. And perhaps even the next.

Regardless of number, we come to learn that the right time can be overrated. If I had only known with Big Guy, I would have used it less.

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.