As I’m attempting to nurse my one month old my toddler is tugging at my hand. I have to hold it tight because I know he’ll let go and fall backward in the midst of a meltdown. The tears start immediately because he knew before even trying that when mama is nursing that means he can’t have my undivided attention.
He runs over to the swing and pats it in an attempt to tell me to put the baby down.
The baby’s not done but I do what he says and I put the baby down.
I estimate that I have roughly 3-4 minutes before the baby really loses it. I take my toddler’s hand and ask him to show me what he wants.
He walks me over to his toys, second guesses and heads towards the kitchen. When we’re almost there he changes his mind and walks hand in hand back to the family room where he takes a seat in his Toy Story bean bag chair and pulls me down next to him.
I quickly realize he wants me. He wants me to do anything or everything except hold that new baby that’s taking away his mama.
My heart breaks on the inside.
I hear movement coming from the swing.
I sit next to my boy stilling holding his hand. The baby starts to softly groan while he tosses and turns. Before I would have run to my baby’s side and quickly swept him up but I was here, comforting my other son.
As the baby started to cry I hesitated. Torn between rejecting my toddler and needing to comfort my newborn. Giving it my all while feeling as if I’m giving them both only half of me.
My new baby will never have the undivided love as my first did. He’ll never have me there at his first cry or sleepy smile. I’ll never get to hold him for every nap and I’ll never get to fill my phone with thousands of pictures of him.
My toddler will never have me at his constant side anymore. I won’t always get to crawl on the floor playing with him or instantly jump up to see what he needs. I won’t always get to read to him before bed or see his giggly smile come down the slide when his dad takes him to the park.
My boys will neither get 100% of me again.
I always wondered how my brothers and myself could be so different. How can every child have such contrasting personalities, interests, and mannerisms? I never understood how if children are all raised by the same parents, how could they turn out so different?
What I didn’t understand is that every child isn’t parented the same way.
And this realization hurt.
It hurt because the choice isn’t there. My instinct is telling me to do one thing while telling me to do another at the same time. The constant feeling of doing so much but never being able to do it all.
But the thing is, my second will have something more than what my first had.
My second will get just as much love, care, and attention.
My second will get a friend always at his side.
A friend to make him giggle.
A friend to make him explore.
A friend to play with, to run with, to laugh with.
My second will have another person to love with.
My second will get to grow up with a brother.
It may not look the same as the love my first one got but it’s a love that will be undeniably just as strong, just as amazing, just as comforting.
I am not the same mama I was the first time.
But my sons don’t need the same mama.
My sons don’t need all of me, they just need the best from me.
And that is exactly what they’ll get.
XO, Karlene
