My Dearest Second Child,
As your arrival drew near, I found myself reflecting on the past. I gathered with family and friends, sharing stories and laughs, convinced that having two children would send me into a state of isolation, hiding from the world. I imagined us as a happy little family, albeit pale and a bit sensitive to bright lights.
The reality of adding another child, however, proved to be challenging. Yet, we quickly adjusted to the new normal and, eventually, ventured out—mostly for essentials like nipple cream and Motrin. But, oh, what a journey it has been!
At just 11 months old, I’ve already raised you in a way that’s completely different from how I raised your brother at this age. This is why I’m writing this letter now; I want you to know that I recognize the differences and, above all, I love you deeply.
I’m sorry I dropped you. Yes, it happened. You were peacefully sleeping on my chest when you rolled off the bed—splat! I think I was more shaken than you were. You cried briefly, then flashed me that adorable smile. I was convinced I’d caused some serious harm. In my defense, the bed was crowded: your dad was there, and then your brother crawled in, pushing me to the edge. Plus, I was utterly exhausted from taking care of you all night. I even thought about getting you a custom-made suit to protect you from future tumbles—like a baby flying squirrel. Instead, we opted for a bigger bed.
I’m sorry I don’t have as many fun facts documented about you. Your brother’s baby book is filled with details of his first year—everything from his first laugh to the exact date of his first tiny toe wiggle. I was obsessed! But when I turned the corner today and saw you standing with the Swiffer, I realized how much I’ve missed. You’re already balancing like a pro, and I didn’t even notice!
When you look back at your baby book, you’ll see “Place photo here” because I was a bit preoccupied with loving you and, yes, wiping your brother’s bottom.
I’m also sorry for letting your brother pee near you. Well, okay, he actually did pee on you in the bathtub, specifically on your arm. Maybe a little splash got your face too. I regret that your brother sometimes forgets you’re there. He’s not mean—he just acts like you’re invisible! If you’re crawling in his way, he’ll run right into you. If you’re holding a toy, he’ll snatch it away without a second thought. But here’s the thing: you laugh at his antics and eagerly follow him around, regardless of his mischief. I correct him and make him hug you, but I know you two will be thick as thieves one day. For now, though, I help you get a little revenge: when we get him an icy pop, you get to lick it first. And when he’s at school, I let you play in his room, blaming any mess on an imaginary earthquake.
I’m also sorry you often look like a contestant on “What Not To Wear: Baby Edition.” Your brother had a wardrobe full of adorable outfits, while you mostly wear his hand-me-downs. Getting two kids ready feels like a scavenger hunt! We eventually make it to our destination—sometimes late, and I’m often stunned to see you in a very unique ensemble, complete with food remnants on your face. If “hobo baby” becomes a fashion trend, you’ll be leading the way.
But this is a valuable lesson for you. Sure, your outfits may be messy, but it’s not about what you wear; it’s about your spirit, and you seem to radiate joy.
Lastly, I’m sorry if you ever feel less loved. As you grow, you might hear people say that a second child is loved less than the first. That’s simply not true. From the moment the doctor placed you in my arms, I knew I could love two children just as fiercely. I would do anything for you and your brother, and my love for you will never waver.
So yes, I may have accidentally dropped you, neglected to document your milestones, let a little pee fly, and dressed you in a chaotic fashion, but I promise you that I love you with all my heart, and you will never hear an apology for that.
With endless love,
Mom