My oldest son was 15 months old when I found out I was pregnant. I was thrilled but extremely guilt-ridden. I couldn’t imagine ever loving another child the way I loved him. He was the love of my life. I felt I was betraying both my unborn daughter and my first born child. Yet, I was excited at the prospect of having another child and giving my son a sibling. A playmate.
As my pregnancy progressed and he got a little older, my son began to understand what it meant when I would tell him there was a baby in my tummy. He began to grow excited and claimed the baby as his own.
He loved to place his hand on my moving tummy and plant kisses on my belly. He would talk into my belly button, figuring that, not only could she hear him but, understand his toddler babble as well.
He already loved her, sight unseen. Touch untouched. He looked so forward to her birth and would ask, all the time, when she was coming.
Finally, she was born.
My son was ecstatic.
He had his baby sister and once she came home, he was very protective of her and constantly around and hovering.
It was amazing.
It was the most beautiful thing to watch develop, the relationship between brother and sister, my children.
I never expected it. It wasn’t anything I ever thought about when planning to have children. I thought of full time playmates, not best friends who had inside jokes and secrets.
It has been a remarkable thing to be a part of. To watch. My children.
To this day, they are best friends and worst enemies. They love each other deeply and hate just as intensely. And WOW. They fight…a lot.
I love the fact that they are close, like my sister and myself. And I hope their relationship always stays this way.
They are mine. Without a doubt.
But they will always have each other.