Dear Little One,
I see you. From the edge of my vision, I notice you rolling over. As I pick up fruit from the floor and tend to your older sibling, I think, “Excellent work! I’m so proud of you!” But did I vocalize it? Did I actually express those words to you?
I just set you down on your activity mat for the second time today. My plan was to lie beside you, discussing the shapes and colors you’re exploring. However, your sibling has gone silent, prompting me to investigate. Sure enough, I find him strewn across the floor with his snacks. While I clean up the mess, I can hear you cooing in the background, but my attention is diverted as I teach your brother the importance of tidying up after himself.
Your cheerful sounds shift to cries, and regrettably, you remain unattended as I help your sibling with a new activity. I pick you up absentmindedly, pop a pacifier in your mouth, and start naming the animals your brother is adding to his puzzle. Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s time for your nap. I hastily change you and place you in your crib, scooping up your brother as I exit your room. As I walk down the hall, I wonder, “Did I even say sweet dreams or I love you?” My thoughts are interrupted as I trip over a toy left on the floor, and I’m swiftly onto the next item on my ever-expanding to-do list.
Throughout the day, as I nurse you, I am multitasking, answering emails and instructing your sibling to stop climbing the stairs or banging on the wall. Our nursing sessions are devoid of the quiet cuddling and mutual gazes that I once cherished. Instead, we are on a mission.
While preparing dinner, I am scattered, juggling meal prep and waiting for your father to come home. I’m fatigued, and although I know he is too, I look forward to having a partner to take over, even if just for a moment. You are currently in your exersaucer, playing quietly. I check on you, show you which buttons to press, and then return to teaching your brother how to use a fork.
It strikes me that when it was just your brother and me, I would sing and dance around the kitchen while cooking—engaging him fully, making eye contact, and talking about the food. I don’t do that with you, my second child, because I am occupied with so many other responsibilities. This leads me to feel as though I am falling short in my role as a mother. I find myself praying, asking God to ensure that you will be just as intelligent and capable as your older sibling, fearing that my lack of one-on-one time will somehow harm you emotionally.
Then, your dad comes home, and relief washes over me. He greets your brother with a kiss and then approaches you. Watching you light up with joy, your dimples showing as you smile, warms my heart. I am thankful for a husband who shows love to our family. Yet, a pang of sadness hits me as I wonder if I made you smile today. I remember tickling your brother and hearing his laughter, but did I make you giggle today?
Evening arrives in a flurry of activity—putting toys away, washing dishes, and preparing for bath time. I lay you down as I rush to fill a sippy cup with milk, grab a pacifier, and choose your pajamas. I quickly dress you, turn on your fan, and head to your brother’s room for bedtime stories before concluding the day.
That night, as we finish your last feeding, I hold you and we say our prayers. Your father kisses you on the head, and I quietly navigate down the hall with you in my arms. I stand at your crib, kiss your cheek, and whisper “I love you” before settling you in for the night. As I tiptoe out, closing the door gently behind me, I pause and smile, feeling accomplished after another day of parenting. I sit beside your dad and share the amusing moments from the day, then reward myself with a much-deserved treat.
As I lie down to sleep, thoughts of you fill my mind. In my prayers, you and your brother are at the forefront of my thoughts. I find myself asking God for continued grace and patience to be the best mom for both of you. In the midst of my musings, sleep takes over, and I worry whether I am giving you enough love and attention.
So here it is: I am incredibly proud of you. Today, you rolled over, reached for a toy, and managed to drift off to sleep without fuss. From day one, you have amazed me. You are one of the happiest babies I have ever known. To be honest, you make my life easier, and I am eternally grateful for your adaptable nature. Your smile is infectious and always brightens my day. You may not realize this, but the glider in your room is my favorite place in the house. In the afternoons, while you and your brother are asleep, I sit there, rocking gently, listening to your breaths and feeling the cool air from the fan. It’s a brief rest, but it rejuvenates me.
It’s surreal to think about our lives before you arrived. You have completed me in ways I never knew were possible. I promise to give you my very best moving forward. Some days, that will mean reading you an extra bedtime story, singing a song, or dancing in the kitchen with you on my hip. Other days, it may just mean holding you a little longer before your nap. Regardless, I’m committed to dedicating more time to you, taking that extra step to show my affection. I wonder if you will ever truly grasp my love for you. Know that whether I’m paying bills, picking up toys, or doing laundry, you are always in my thoughts. I see you.
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In summary, being a parent to my second child amidst the busyness of life can sometimes lead to feelings of inadequacy. However, I recognize the joy and pride you bring into our lives, and I am committed to nurturing our bond moving forward.