Having two children 14.5 years apart teaches a person a lot about children. But it may teach a parent even more about other parents.

The first thing I've learned is that I'm not the only one out there with such a span between my children. And everyone has a different reason. For some, that new baby after more than a decade was a surprise. It was a happy surprise, no doubt. But a surprise nonetheless.

For others, it was a conscious decision deliberately and painstakingly choreographed. And then there are all those second families in which children and grandchildren have the opportunity to get to know each other in the confines of a pack-and-play. For me, the decision was based - as so many decisions are - on pure fear.

When my 17-year-old son was younger, the fear that I wouldn't have another child who was as wonderful as he was kept me from trying. When he got older, it was the same fear that propelled us to want more children. That's the sweet answer. The other answer, and I've said this more than once before, is that it took me 14 years to forget what it was like to parent a 3-year-old.

The next time you're at a social gathering where there are many families with youngsters in attendance, try to decipher how old all the preschoolers are solely by looking at their parents.

It's not hard.

The parents of infants are particularly easy to spot.

And they're even easier to smell. They are the ones who have not showered in two weeks because they have not yet figured out how to take care of the baby AND perform the most basic daily tasks such as eating, sleeping and bathing. They are wearing the least-stained clothing they could find in the house, but that's not saying much. The dark circles are not just under their eyes; the wrap clear around the poor parents' heads, giving them the appearance of something imagined by Edvard Munch or Tim Burton.

Don't be afraid if one of them corners you, clutches desperately at your lapels and begs, "Let me take a nap ... please ... for the love of God, let me sleep just 2 minutes."

It's perfectly normal.

Toddler parents get a little more sleep, and a whole lot more workout. They develop the long, lean lines of triathletes as they race from one event to another. Aerobic feeding, runaway 2-year-old chasing, extreme baby bathing ... the fun never ends.

What used to be a simple trip to the grocery store pre-child becomes a marathon that requires previously untapped powers of endurance and concentration. The words, "We'll just run in" don't mean anything to these parents.

And if you miss all those telltale marks, there's always the fact that the young toddler parents are covered at all times from head-to-toe in a fine layer of Cheerio dust.

You can identify the parents of 3-year-olds by the shell-shocked, middle distance glaze in their eyes and the way they keep mumbling to themselves. "My friends told me 3 was harder than 2, but I didn't listen. Why didn't I listen? Why?" Speaking of "Why," these parents are so thoroughly accustomed to answering that question, they begin all of their sentences with the word "Because."

They're also a little jumpy, ever ready to gather up a kicking bundle of toddler tantrum and make good on the threat, "We will leave right now. Because I said so." That jumpiness remains as a vestigial reflex in parents of 4-year-olds. They are not yet ready to believe that they can get through an entire meal without SOMEONE having to visit the Naughty Spot, or wherever it is those British nannies are telling us to send our misbehaving children.

Now, if you see a parent who is perpetually choked up, shedding fat tears over the beauty of a finger painting and gushing about every moment of parenthood to date - even the smelly clothes and the sleepless months and the runaway toddlers, and the public tantrums - that person's child is right around five. Kindergarten is coming.

An inevitable corner is on the horizon ripe for the turning. The baby, the little kid is growing up. Soon he'll have a whole set of experiences - a whole LIFE - apart from his parents, and that is both wonderful and heartbreaking. Yes, that woman with the misty eyes and the wild swings between excitement for her child's future in the world and nostalgia for the past when his world was only as big as his family - you can bet her child is five.

Either that, or he's 17.

Elizabeth Trever Buchinger is a freelance writer who doesn't know where all the time went. She can be reached at VillageWordsmith@hughes.net