Dear Emma,
I find myself reflecting on our time together, and I miss you deeply. I miss the days when it was just the two of us, filled with endless playtime. I remember those afternoons spent with toy cars and trucks, coloring outside the lines, and dancing around the living room, shaking our shakers to the beat of our favorite songs. Those moments were pure joy—rocking in our chairs with books before bedtime, punctuated by laughter that echoed throughout the day.
I miss our car rides to the store, with you in the backseat singing or engaging in your delightful toddler chatter. You were free to express yourself loudly and boldly, filling our space with your vibrant energy. Now, I often find myself saying, “Quiet down! Your baby brother is trying to rest!” You can’t stomp around the living room like you used to, laughing without a care. Instead, I’m caught in the cycle of trying to soothe your brother to sleep, while I shush you, my firstborn, as you seek my attention. Our time together has become scarce, and your natural exuberance feels stifled.
When I tuck you into bed and stumble upon one of your toys on my dresser, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I’ve always missed you when you sleep—though I’m grateful for the quiet. But now it’s different; I feel an overwhelming sense of having not spent enough time with you today. My heart aches as I realize how much I miss our connection.
You are now one of two, and your little brother demands a lot of my attention. I cherish every moment I have with him—the babbles, the wide-eyed looks that say, “I love you, Mama.” These expressions of love are profound, and they take my breath away. However, my heart is divided. I love you both with an immeasurable depth, yet I long for the days when it was just the two of us.
I miss being your go-to person when you’re sad or unwell. I want to scoop you up and hold you like I used to, to comfort you in those moments of distress. Most days, I feel stretched thin, trying to meet the needs of both of you. I want to give you my undivided attention, but the constant demands can be overwhelming.
As a mother with more than one child, I hold onto the hope that one day, I’ll be able to devote more time to each of you. Until that time comes, I must embrace the unique changes and growth that each day brings for both of you. I need to find a way to share myself between you, even if it feels like I’m running on empty.
Someday, I hope to feel fulfilled in my role as your mother, able to provide you both with ample love, time, and attention. Until then, I miss you. I miss the bond we had. I miss us.
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In summary, this letter serves as a reflection on the challenges and joys of parenting, particularly with multiple children. It emphasizes the importance of maintaining connections and cherishing the unique bond with each child while navigating the complexities of family life.