Dear Oliver,
I miss you. I miss the days when it was just the two of us—full of laughter and joy. Our afternoons spent playing with cars and trucks, coloring outside the lines, and dancing around the living room to our favorite tunes, shaking our shakers in delight. I reminisce about those quiet moments before bed, where we’d snuggle in the rocking chair, reading books and sharing giggles.
I miss our car rides to the store, where your enthusiastic little voice filled the backseat with songs and stories. Now, you have to be quieter, because your baby brother is resting. I can’t help but wish you could express your joy as freely as before. Instead of laughter, I find myself saying, “Be mindful of your brother!” as I rush to tend to his needs for what feels like the hundredth time.
It pains me to shush you, my firstborn, as I try to balance the demands of both of you. Our moments together seem fleeting, overshadowed by the need for silence. I know that your laughter is your way of seeking my attention, and I long to give it to you fully. When you go to bed, and I stumble upon your toy left behind, a wave of nostalgia hits me. I’ve always cherished your sleeping face, but now it feels like I didn’t have enough time with you that day. My heart feels heavy with that longing.
You’re no longer my only little one, and your brother, so small, requires so much of my time and energy. I love him dearly and treasure his sweet babbles and the way his eyes light up when he sees me. But I can’t help but miss the bond we shared when it was just you and me.
I yearn to be the one you turn to when you’re feeling down or unwell. I want to cradle you in my arms and sway, as we used to, my face tucked into your neck while you sought comfort. I miss being your safe haven. Most days, I feel stretched thin, trying to give both of you the love and attention you deserve. I often wish for a future where I can give you both the time you need, where you won’t feel divided.
For now, I must embrace each moment, recognizing that every day brings change and growth for both of you. I’ll find a way to balance my love and attention, even if it feels inadequate at times. I hold onto the hope that as you both grow more independent, I will feel more fulfilled in my role as your mother.
Until then, I miss you. I miss the connection we had, and I miss myself too. I miss the days it was just us.
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In summary, I cherish every moment with you, Oliver, and I hope for more time to nurture our bond as you grow.