To My Firstborn: You Are The Pioneer

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“I’m halfway to adulthood,” you said this morning, and my heart almost shattered. It feels like only yesterday when you were my little bundle of joy—my firstborn. Your expression shifted instantly, and you added, “But it’s fine. I’ll take my time.”

Yet, you won’t, my dear boy, because that’s what kids do: they yearn to grow up. I’ll witness the next nine years speed past, just as swiftly as the last nine have, and before I know it, you’ll be all grown up and off on your own adventures. It’s a mixture of excitement and sorrow, a bittersweet reality of parenting, especially with the child who first captured our hearts with a tiny cry.

You know what? Nine years ago, it wasn’t just you who came into the world; I did too. We share a birthday—yours marking your arrival, mine heralding a vibrant new life made richer and more beautiful because of you.

I realize being the oldest can be tough. You were our first real journey into parenthood. Your dad and I were completely clueless when you entered the world, and honestly, sometimes we still feel that way. You are a whirlwind of energy, turning everything we thought we knew about parenting upside down. You’ve thrown us into a wild wilderness that has tested and challenged us, but ultimately helped us find ourselves anew, like a forgotten puzzle that you uncovered with your spirited nature. You’ve taught us the boundaries we need to set, what it means to love unconditionally, and most importantly, who we truly are.

Of course, your siblings have also contributed to our growth, but you were the trailblazer. You were the first one we laid in a crib, worrying over every little sound until we couldn’t take it anymore and just had to check on you. You were the first whose smile reached deep into our hearts, echoing, “I am adored.” And you were the first to swing our emotions from sheer joy to fiery frustration in mere moments.

You pushed limits, testing the strength of our parenting ideals. You brought us chaos, fear, and a whole lot of love. You were the catalyst for our transformation, reshaping us in every important way. Together, we’ve navigated the stormy seas of doubt and hope, learning to loosen our grip on the things we can’t control in your life and to parent with love and understanding.

We’ve made our share of mistakes—no doubt about that. And for those, I’m truly sorry.

But there’s one thing, my sweet boy, that deserves more than just an apology. Let me explain.

Throughout my pregnancy with you, I laughed and cherished your energetic kicks while devouring parenting books, hoping to be a bit prepared for what lay ahead. But we started off as strict disciplinarians, just like we were raised. We did what we knew. When you learn better, you do better. But we didn’t know better until four years later. So, in those early days, we overlooked emotions, hit while telling you not to, and raised our voices while preaching calmness. We set an example that suggested you should be better than us, while you were just a little boy.

How could that not hurt?

Then one day, I stumbled upon a book by Paul Ekman about reading emotions, and there it was—an image of a child’s eyes that mirrored yours. They were darker, smaller, yet undeniably yours. The caption read: Despair.

A little boy in a little body, crying out for help and understanding—needing someone to advocate for him and guide him back to feeling whole.

I can still picture that moment vividly. I wish I didn’t have to remember it, but I do, because that was the day I knelt down and declared, “We need a better way.” That day sparked years of learning and searching for what was right and true in parenting, and even though we weren’t perfect, you no longer had that despair in your eyes. You occasionally showed anger or sadness, but most often, you radiated happiness.

We learned to communicate more openly and embrace all emotions, not just the easy ones. We held you close when you felt overwhelmed, whispering the words you needed to hear: “This is tough. I’m here. You are safe.”

Now, on your 9th birthday, you’re leaning towards young manhood rather than little boyhood. I am so proud, enchanted, and utterly captivated by the person you are becoming. Your eyes, your smile, your voice still have the same magic they did on that day you arrived five days early, smelling faintly of eucalyptus and mint—the scent of the lotion that graced my hands as I cradled your delicate face. You are my beloved, my spirited one, my firstborn son.

You are deeply and wholly cherished, simply for being you.

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Summary

This heartfelt letter expresses love and reflection from a mother to her firstborn son as he turns nine. She shares the challenges and joys of parenting, acknowledging mistakes and growth along the way. The bond they share, shaped by experiences, emotions, and learning, is celebrated as he transitions from childhood to adolescence.