My first born.
It is officially your last day as an only child.
It seems our time as the dynamic duo is coming to an end, and my mama heart is thoroughly confused about how to handle it.
I am feeling all of the things.
Literally, like all of the feelings a human can feel.
For so long it’s been just us… We’ve got daddy, of course, but I’ve been blessed enough to be the stay at home parent, and that has created a bond I never could have imagined.
Day in and day out, it’s been me and you, you and me.
My little sidekick.
My tiny bestfriend.
I feel like I need to apologize to you, like the guilt may swallow me if I don’t. I know we’ve been preparing you for months now, I know you love “your baby”.
But are you really prepared for what this means?
I worry about your sweet little innocent heart.
Do you fully understand that your baby will be coming home to live with us? Forever? Can you grasp that this means you’ll have to share me? Forever? I hope it doesn’t come as too much of a shock.
On the flipside of feeling guilt for taking away your status as only child, I feel guilt for being sad about any of it in the first place.
Because, of course, I am head over heels in love with your little sibling already, I’ve been in love since the first test said positive. But it’s not the same type of love yet. It’s a kind of theoretical love. It’s an unknown and an almost fairytale love. A deep unconditional love for someone you’ve never even met. It runs deep, just like my love for you, but it’s still so different.
But my love for you is palpable.
It’s how I know every curve of your little face, and the feel of your blonde hair between my fingers when we snuggle. It’s how I know you like your toast with only peanut butter and no jelly, and how I can pick your sweet voice out of a whole crowd of kids.
It’s how I can tell you’re sick before you’re sick, or how I know I’m your safe space in scary situations. It’s the way we communicate and how I’ve been able to understand every word you say since the beginning, long before anyone else could.
It’s our morning routine and how I know you love to help me cook. It’s all the ouchies I’ve kissed and all the nights I’ve spent on the very edge of our king size bed so you would be comfy.
It’s the countless hours I’ve spent worrying about your health, your happiness, and your future.
I’ve loved you out here in the real world for years now.
And I’m a little sad you’ll have to share my very real, very tangible love with another little person. And that makes me feel guilty.
I know it will pass and that my heart will easily stretch to fit you both. That my fairytale love for your sibling will very soon be replaced by that same palpable love I have for you. That I will soon know the curves of another little face by heart. I will learn how another little human likes their toast. But for now, I feel just a little worried.
I also need to thank you. Without you, the woman I am would not exist.
This constantly tired, slightly chubbier, slightly less put together version of myself. The one with the empty coffee cup but the full heart, she would never have came to be. And that would be a shame, because motherhood suits her.
I am forever grateful to you.
So thank you for navigating the past few years with me. It has been just as much your journey as it has mine, and you’ve been the best little co-captain.
I am so completely enamored with the person you have become.
And as freaked out as I am, I can’t wait to see how well you carry your new role. If you’re this great when it’s just the two of us, I can only imagine how in awe I will be when I task you with being the oldest.
We will figure it out. We always do.
So today I will relish in everything about you.
I will try to store every single detail in my memory bank, because I have a feeling you’ll look much bigger the next time I see you.
Today I will pick you up and I will make sure to hold you a little longer before I set you back down.
Today I will let you call most of the shots, you are so deserving of all the happiness I can possibly bring you.
Tonight I will breath you in and I will snuggle you as close as I can.
And tomorrow I will say goodbye to you one last time as an only child, and I’ll probably get teary eyed… all those feelings remember?
But tomorrow I’ll give you the best gift I can think of, so just bear with me as we figure it out.
Your Beautifully Mediocre Mama of Two