The anticipation feels similar to when we were so close to Sofia's birth, too. The building excitement at the chance to finally meet this new member of the family. The growing anxiety at not having everything ready in time. The fear at the forthcoming stresses we're about to undergo. The joy at knowing soon I'll be able to sleep on my stomach again.
But this time, there is a new facet to the anticipation. And her name is Sofia.
Sofia's fascinated with little babies: how they get milk from their mommies, how little their feet are, how they cry Waa Waa Waa. After some work and reassurance, I am confident that she is going to be the best big sister in the world.
It is just this work and reassurance that saddens me, though. A sort of mourning of our Family of 3. When it was just Andrea and I, and Sofia's birth was only a couple months away, sure, I worried about how this new life would change us as a couple and in how we related to one another. But mostly I was sure of how our new child would make us stronger, more whole, more symbiotic. With Sofia, some of that same sureness is there, but there is also a painful fear that she will feel inferior, insecure, abandoned, unhappy. That she will worry that we don't love her the same, that she will be sharing us. Because, well, she will be sharing us. We will be loving two children, but within the same time constraints, with the same limited patience and energy that we've been (with extreme exhaustion) using to raise one child.
One beautiful, soaring, poetic little child. One sensitive little girl. And if I ever look into her little eyes and think she may feel lesser...that she may feel like she's lost something. That would crush me.
Over the past couple days, Sofia's been pretending to be a little baby. Fake crying (Waa Waa Waa) and saying "Mamma, Mamma, Mamma". I pick her up in my arms and shush her, sway her back and forth like I used to do when she was just born. And I am touched with the irony of this, because when she was that very little, I was so frustrated at how I couldn't understand what was wrong, how all I had to console her were my "shushes." And now...now that she has the ability to tell me exactly what it is that's wrong...all she wants anyway are the "shushes." And her strength and fragility - mixed with my own strength and fragility - make me want to protect her from any trauma she may feel upon the birth of her new little sister.
But that, of course, is impossible.
2 comments:
There really isn't anything to add or say to this post. You have described what every mother feels each time a new sibling is about to enter the world. Just know that you are not, or never will be, alone.
We feel similar with regards to Gabriel and his new baby brother. Our solution: make Gabriel raise the baby.
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