“I’m halfway to being an adult,” you said just this morning, and my heart nearly shattered at the weight of those words. It feels like just yesterday you were my tiny baby, and now, you’re growing up so fast. But then your expression shifted, and you added, “It’s OK. I’ll take my time.”
Yet, you won’t, my dear child. It’s the way of all kids: yearning for the independence of adulthood. I’ll watch the next nine years race by just as quickly as these past nine have, and soon, you’ll be off on your own. This mixture of excitement and sorrow is part of every stage of parenting, but it’s especially profound with the child who first filled our hearts with joy.
Because here’s the truth: It wasn’t just you who entered the world nine years ago. I was reborn too. Your arrival marked the beginning of a new chapter for me, a vibrant journey that became infinitely richer and more beautiful because of you.
I know being the oldest isn’t easy. You were our first experiment in parenthood, and your father and I were learning as we went along. Sometimes, we still are. You are a whirlwind of spirit and energy, challenging everything we thought we knew about raising a child. You’ve planted yourself in the midst of our lives, pushing us to grow in ways we never anticipated, reshaping us piece by piece until we finally found our way.
You’ve demonstrated the boundaries we needed to set, taught us the true meaning of love, and shown us who we are as parents. That’s not to say your siblings haven’t played a role; it’s just that you were the first. You were the first one we placed in a crib, waking up at all hours to check your breathing. The first one whose smile lit up our world, screaming “adored” in a way that made our hearts swell. The first to bring us to the heights of joy one moment and the depths of frustration the next.
You pushed limits, testing our resolve. You turned our beliefs upside down, and in the chaos, we found a depth of love that reshaped us. We learned to navigate through storms of uncertainty and hope, to let go of control over every aspect of your life, and to embrace parenting with love and understanding.
Of course, we made mistakes—many of them. For those, I am truly sorry. But there’s one thing that weighs heavily on my heart, and I want to address it properly.
During my pregnancy with you, I reveled in your spirited kicks while devouring parenting books, hoping to prepare myself for what lay ahead. Initially, we approached parenting with an authoritarian mindset, shaped by how we were raised. It was a steep learning curve. When you know better, you do better—but it took us a while to reach that understanding. We often dismissed emotions, telling you not to hit while we raised our voices, and it must have been confusing for you.
How could a heart not be bruised by such contradictions? Then I stumbled upon a book by Paul Ekman about recognizing emotions through facial expressions. I saw a picture of a child’s eyes—darker and smaller, but undeniably yours. The caption read: Despair. A little boy in distress, crying out for understanding, for someone to help him find his way back to balance.
That day, I fell to my knees and declared, “We need a better way.” It set us on a path of growth and exploration, leading to years of research and learning. Although we weren’t perfect, we started to see a change. You began to wear fewer despairing eyes, and more often, your gaze was filled with joy.
We started talking more, embracing all your emotions, not just the easy ones. We learned to hold you when your feelings erupted, whispering the words you needed to hear: This is hard. I am here. You are safe.
And now, on your 9th birthday, you are transitioning from little boy to young man. I am endlessly proud of who you are becoming. You still captivate me with your smile and your spirit, just as you did the day you arrived, smelling of eucalyptus and mint. You are my beloved, my adventurous one, my firstborn son.
You are loved unconditionally, simply for being you.
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