“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”
~Graham Green
I’ve always said that Sophie, our first daughter, now almost 4 is very attached to me. An that is a true statement. But not a complete statement. To make it entirely true I should have always added that I am just as attached to her. And though that’s something I’ve known, I never truly knew what it really meant. How much it really meant, until Annabel was born.
Annabel is amazing and at only three weeks old her character already shows – very different from Sophie’s at this age. And I love her. She truly is a bundle of joy, nurses well, sleeps relatively well – though after our night feeding she will not fall asleep on her own, so I just put her next to me in the bed and we sleep like that. I think pregnancy prepares the mother for bedsharing – sleeping on my left side for close to six months has allowed me to feel safe with Annabel close to me. I can sleep in the same position without moving at all.
But all this doesn’t come at no cost whatsoever. Sophie has, for the most part, accepted that our world has turned upside down. Everything has changed. My husband helps out a lot, I truly don’t know what I would do without him. He prepares Sophie in the morning, preps her lunch, dresses her, puts her to bed at night – though I stick to keeping our bedtime routine of all three of us talking about our day, the best part and the worst part.
But Sophie misses her mom. She crashes sometimes, like last night when she cried and cried and cried that she wanted me to put her to bed. Or to just rock her. Hug her. All while Annabel was inconsolable – it was time to feed her. And there’s only one of me. Annabel needs me. Annabel is dependent on me – for nourishment, for comfort, for life. And just as much, though in different. yet still important ways, Sophie needs me as well. And I’m struggling. I’m struggling to find balance, to be there for both of them, in a way that neither of them feel less loved, less cared for. And I feel like Sophie feels that way sometimes. She’s awesome and caring and understanding, like when I told her I knew this was a difficult period, her response was “it’s okay, it’s not difficult for me” – her tears tell a different story.
And so do mine. Just as much as she cries at times, I do too. Sometimes just in my heart, sometimes real tears are falling. I want to be there. “She’s not hungry mom, she just wants to be held. Daddy will hold her.”. Oh honey but she is. I love you so much and I wish I could lay down with you but I need to go feed your baby sister. I know all older siblings go through this change. I was six years old when my brother was born, my brother, whom I love so much. I don’t remember feeling unloved. But I did. At least that’s what my grandmother told me.
I know things will resolve themselves. But for now, the struggle is real. So is the love and joy the two bring us. Because 99% of the time, the only feeling in the air is love. ❤
Mom of Balance 