No one told me that when you had a second child you miss your first. Even if he’s there, bopping around, still doing the things he always did. The problem is that his unbridled enthusiasm threatens to waken the small baby that I have just gotten to sleep. The problem is that when he wants to play his sister wants to feed. There is just less time to interact with him. And less energy. Perhaps even less willingness – who doesn’t want to spend their time snuggling a newborn, smelling their head?
Another problem, unique perhaps to us, is that my Mother is still here. So he goes to her. And, well, I miss being the first port of call, even when I have my hands full.
I can see that our relationship is evolving. He is growing up, becoming more independent. He is the big brother. But he’s still my baby. I love who he’s becoming, but I miss my baby, even when he’s right there, looking back at me.
And I know this was coming regardless. I mean I have and “Oh My God! My baby is growing up panic about every two weeks, but the arrival of his baby sister seems to have accelerated the whole process. And made it all the more real.