A Letter to My First Born

To my sweet Rowan, the heart and soul who made me into a Mother. 

I've had every intention of writing this letter to you for quite some time now. At first, I put it off because July seemed so distant, and I had to collect my thoughts by feeling them out. You see, this gigantic change that is upon us stirs and dwells the deepest within me. I spend the bulk of my days and nights thinking of it, battling the difficult components, and learning how to be at peace with "life as I know it" transforming once again. Then, in the more recent weeks and days, I began putting it off because I worried I wasn't prepared or mentally strong enough to face the emotions behind it all.

I cried the other day while listening to music on the treadmill. Scratch that; I cried the other day listening to a song called "Living" by Dierks Bentley on repeat, while on the treadmill. Some songs or words or thoughts just know how to tug perfectly at these pregnancy heartstrings of mine. I didn't cry because I was upset or sad; rather the opposite really. I very much so believe that truly living for me means being a mother. I think of the happiest moments of my life and your face is right there. So unmistakable. So vivid. I love you so much that it actually overwhelms me, Bug.

As I listened to the song, just crying away while sweating and looking like thee very definition of a hot mess, I thought of your unborn brother too, and how the day he arrives will be another golden highlight in my life. They are rare for a reason, and that is what makes them so special. I keep replaying this image I have in my head of you walking into the hospital room to meet him, and my heart feels like it can burst into a million pieces. I knew that writing you this letter would place me directly in the firing line of these pent up feelings and thoughts, and though I love me a good cry, some days this very pregnant, very emotional Mum of yours can't handle anymore tears.

But here I am; the writer inside of me just dying to tell you all of the things I have felt out and sorted through these past 8-9 months. 

There are indeed very significant milestones in every person's life, and though you are too young right now to understand the depth of becoming a big sister (that's okay, I was too), it's one that I could not allow to go unacknowledged. It is one that I only ever want you to view in an absolute positive light, because it really is a blessing to be a sibling. I can't promise that you will always like him, but you will always love him. Trust me, I know. Going on twenty-seven years over here of being an older sister, and though he's driven me crazy at times, it's always reassuring to know that I have him in my corner.

My go-to notion on having a sibling is this: that aside from yourself, there is no one else in the entire world who can tell the story of your upbringing like they can. No one else will ever know what it's like to have Justin and Amanda as parents, or know us in that light. No one else will know what it was like growing up in this tiny house with a questionable Cookie Monster blue front porch that we never seem to get around to painting, and no one else will know the kind of love that we all do so well. That's pretty special if you think about it. What a bond to share. 

Though I've never considered myself to be a huge fan of change, or particularly good at handling it, I've rolled with a couple solid punches over the last few years. You inevitably adjust because you have to. It's bizarre though when the change is one that you initiated yourself, rather than one life throws at you without your consent. For instance, what a blessing being pregnant is. I wanted it so badly with you, and I wanted it so badly again this time. There is such excitement surrounding having a new baby, and then there is everything else that comes with it. The first time around, it was a balancing act of excitement and worrying about whether or not I would be a good mother, or how I would change diapers, how I would know if you were sick or not, what I would do if you were sick, how to be home alone all day with a newborn, and so forth. I was so scared to bathe you for the entire first week, that I made Nana do it and just watched. The excitement that time was met with uncertainty. I feared the unknown because I was new to motherhood. This time, the excitement of having a baby is met with the fear of jeopardizing my relationship with you. I've become so accustom to giving all of my love and attention to you, that now I'm trying to fathom how my love is supposed to divide and conquer while still being enough for each of you. 

I go through these waves of emotion from day to day where I allow guilt to set in. I hear and read that it's completely common and normal. Your Nana tells me all of the time that it will disappear the second your brother is born and life reestablishes itself to suit the family of four dynamic. I yearn for that day to get here just so I feel that relief she speaks of with both conviction and experience. 

I often feel the anxiety most at night, when the three of us are relaxing and all is calm. Just the other night we all fell asleep on the couch watching tv. When I woke up, I felt this overwhelming feeling of I don't even know what. "Sadness"  just sounds a little extreme and negative, but it's like I was mourning these kinds of nights before they've even ended. There is an ease to life right now. There is a routine that works. I laid awake in bed already missing the simplicity of our nights as three. Having been through the newborn phase before, I am not naive walking into it yet again. I know what I am in for, but I also signed up for this. Then the guilt sets in because how unfair of me to view life with baby brother that way. I've felt very stuck between a rock and a hard place lately because it's this relentless cycle in my head of soaking in our current life, and then being overwhelmed by what will very soon be our life. I guess it's an adjustment that you can't fully prepare for until you're right there, knee-deep in the reality of it all, living it first hand.  

I don't feel bad for myself though, let's get that straight. I just know that at night time you look to me for comfort. Ever since you were born, your favourite place to fall asleep is in my arms. That's how our days end and our nights begin. That is your comfort and my pleasure. Throw in a snoring Dada, and that's life as we know it. It makes me anxious knowing that I probably won't be able to provide you with that on-demand comfort once a newborn is here. It makes me feel guilty that I'm most likely going to have to get up multiple times a night to cater to him and may disrupt your sleep for the first couple of months. A million crazy thoughts go through my head, leading me to fear you resenting him or me, or no longer needing to hold my hand in order to fall asleep (because you do that and it's one of my favourite things ever). I get so upset thinking that you will learn to soothe yourself; not because you're ready to, but because you feel as though you have to. My heart just breaks if I continue too far down this rabbit hole of thoughts, so I can't let myself go there. 

What I've been told, however, is that the love I have inside of me doesn't and won't divide; rather, it multiplies, and that there will always be more than enough of me for both of my babies. 

For a year and a half now you have had me to yourself, yes. I have no idea what goes through that pretty little head of yours, but I can only imagine that somewhere in the midst of Sesame Street songs, and sweet thoughts of pups and meows, you absolutely love being the center of my universe. I guess what I really want you to know is that you're always going to be that in my eyes. The only difference is that I will be insanely fortunate enough to have two centers, two exceptionally wonderful and spectacular centers of my universe. Your spot is secured for life, little girl. I told you that before you even arrived earth-side. 

As much as those feelings of worry like to creep up on me at night, the daytime sings a completely different tune. Our days are filled with routine and playtime, no doubt. However, there is the quiet downtime too, most commonly when I am tending to household chores, or for instance, writing things like this. In these moments especially, I look over at you as you sit on the rug watching cartoons, stacking blocks, getting Cheerios everywhere - and I see it. I see your baby brother right there next to you. I see my two babies, two life-long friends, enriching one another's lives. I see you as a sibling rather than an only child, and it brings me great comfort, just as I know it will bring you. 

It's nothing new to tell you how much I have loved our year and a half (and counting) together. Our mornings spent cuddling, our random dance breaks, play time, our grocery-runs and walks, craft time, having you randomly interrupt my workouts with hugs, and everything in between. I've cherished every outing as a family of three, I have enjoyed every part of this life you've given to me. But Rowan, I know that your brother will only make it so much more than what it's been and what it is, and that is what gets me through those tough nights.

It wasn't very long ago that I laid awake at night worrying about how different my life would be once my daughter arrived, my very first baby. Here and now, I wouldn't go back to life before you for anything. That change was the most beautiful thing I could have ever asked for, and I know that this change will be too, for all of us. What is meant to be always will. Baby brother was always part of the equation, just as you were. 

I couldn't be more proud of who you are and how you are. You are the sweetest person I have ever known, and you don't even know it.

In case you haven't noticed, no where in this letter have I said that I worry about your brother, and that's because I don't have to. I know that regardless he will be loved. I love the bugger so much already and all I know about him is that he likes to kick me. But more than that, I know how lucky he is to have you here waiting for him as his older sister. That little boy has NO idea what he's in store for, but it makes me smile so big knowing how many kisses you're going to plant on his precious face, or how involved you're going to want to be. I'm all for it, Bug. You're my biggest helper already, so I know that you will be phenomenal in this new role, and I am so honored to have a front-row seat to watch you bloom even more. 

As the days until I'm due dwindle down at rapid speed, I have little to nothing left to do in preparation for baby boy. That is, except to brace myself for when active labor strikes. Since there really is no way to know when exactly it will happen, I am having a hard time planning what the best course of action is in terms of you. Call me crazy for wishing to be overdue, but at least if I had an induction date and actually made it that far, I could have you ready to be taken care of by family and feel better about leaving you. I've never been apart from you overnight yet, so there is this lingering anxiety I have since we will be apart for at least one night. It may sound ridiculous to others, but I am never not with you, and that's been my choice. What's getting me through thoughts of labor is knowing that once baby brother is safely here, you and that big beautiful smile of yours will be walking through the door to see us. There is nothing in the world I am looking more forward to than watching the two of you meet. I know that moment will be monumental, and even thinking of it now makes me cry (what else is new?) 

While I soak in these final weeks with just a daughter, I'm also doing my best to remind myself that you and I will always have our girl time and our couch cuddles, our dance breaks, play time, craft time, walks and shopping adventures. Nothing is ending; only becoming all the more enriched by a handsome little boy who we will all soon know and adore. 

The way you excitedly say "beh-bee!" when asked who is coming soon, puts me over the moon. I've now walked into your room several times to find you reaching through the bars of his crib, touching his toys and things. The interest you already show, and the way in which we repeatedly bring him up, makes this change a whole lot smoother, and I am beyond thankful for that. 

In case there ever comes a time or day in which you feel as though you come second, whether it's because baby brother needs some soothing, or because Mum isn't able to drop everything and come play, I hope you know that you will always be my first.

You will always and forever be the first soul to ever make me a mother. You were the first to teach me what it meant to be a parent. You were the first one to ever take my breath away at the mere sight of your beautiful self, and the first time in my life I truly felt purpose or a love like this. You will always be my first teacher for so many things. I owe every bit of the mother I am today to you, and though your baby brother won't be the one who made me into a mother, he will be someone who makes me into an even better one. 

You, my sweet Rowan Penelope, will always be special to me, and I will spend the rest of my life never letting you forget it. My sunshine girl, forever. My very best friend. I love you so incredibly much today, tomorrow, and always. 

All of my love, 

Mum