To my first-born

Dear M,

As we approach the birth of your sister, I find myself thinking about you, and the days and hours leading up to your birth.

I held a secret desire for you to be a girl, but I was fairly certain that you were a boy. After all, Daddy’s family didn’t make girls. They were all boys.

I was nervous about experiencing labor and becoming a parent. I enjoyed my pregnancy and didn’t really mind when my due date came and went. Daddy and I went on walks together that week while we wondered when you would make your appearance. Six days after the estimated due date, we entered the hospital to induce your birth.

We stayed overnight. I listened to your heart beating and feeling you inside me for the last few hours. I didn’t realize you were in danger until that next afternoon when the induction finally started to work. I didn’t know that the contractions had started; I couldn’t feel them. I didn’t hear your heart beat fade.

More likely I didn’t want to hear it so I didn’t.

Those minutes as I was being prepped for surgery were agonizing. I shuddered and cried. I was terrified. For you. For me. For Daddy. For us.

When they told me you were a girl and Daddy showed me the digital photo of you I felt joy…and relief.

You’ve been teaching me how to be a mommy ever since.

I admit I felt moments of guilt when I was pregnant with K. Maybe I was cheating you of time with Mommy and Daddy by adding another child to our family. Maybe I was being selfish to think that I could be worthy of another child as wondrous as you.

I needn’t have worried.

From the moment we told you that you would be a big sister, even at your young age, you seemed to know that it would be a great thing to be. You posed with me for photos, showing your belly along with me. You kissed my belly with butterfly lips. When K was born, you called him your K. You carried his photo around like a proud new mommy.

You continually teach me about the expanding nature of love. You love fiercely, without restraint. You love so much and have such capacity for forgiveness that it humbles me. You are my first-born. My practice child. The one that endures the most of my many mistakes at parenting. And you forgive me for every one of them.

And so I know when this baby, your little sister, enters this world she will have a remarkable role model in you. Thank you for the gift of you. Don’t ever change.