As I know you've noticed, something is up in our house. We are on the brink of change. You ask to see and touch my giant belly frequently and last night pointed to it and said your little sister's name. We say that name all the time in reference to my belly so I'm not sure what you understand and what you're simply repeating. I don't think that at 22 months you could possibly comprehend that I'm growing a whole other person inside of me. At 33 years, I can't quite wrap my head around it and I've done it before. The past 8 months have been kind of a non-event for you though you have keenly observed my ballooning midsection and hilariously referred to my protruding bellybutton as a "mama penis." You are far more aware of babies both out in the wild and at daycare. This week you started telling us that babies say "ga-ga-ga." At daycare, babies are mysterious, free-floating entities that belong to other grownups. I doubt you anticipate one moving into our house in the next few weeks. You are uninterested in the "big brother, new baby" genre of literature in which I've invested. I don't understand why Richard Scarry never wrote and illustrated a definitive guide to siblings and banana-mobiles. As much as I've tried, I can't possibly prepare you.
At your age, I don't know that you really need that much preparation. If we brought home a new puppy, you'd be simply delighted. No prep necessary. Can I continue make the dog-baby analogy? Will that work? Your Abu tells me that when your Titi came home from the hospital, I just loved her to bits right away. I did, however, announce that my legs had stopped working and that I would need to be carried like her. I hope that your legs continue working and that you adore your sister from the get go.
I'm glad that at 22 months, you can't read, don't check my blog, and therefor don't know my anxiety over building our little family. Of all people, I should have the least anxiety. I am ridiculously close to my sister and, while we had our ups and downs, I know just how insanely fun it is to have a built-in partner in crime. I want nothing more than that for you. My memories of growing up with my sister includes countless episodes of breathlessly laughing, tears streaming down our faces, utter nonsense. It doesn't get any better than that. I'm trying to give you that. You're welcome.
When I hold you at night and kiss your cheeks too many times, I'm trying to impress upon you just how much I love you, that your sister can never replace you. As the clock ticks down I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to love your sister even a fraction as much as I love you (though I've been told a thousand times that I will). You were the dream that almost didn't come true. I stare at you and can't believe how beautiful, smart and funny you are. Your dad and I are the luckiest people on earth all because of you. You made us a family. Your sister will add to that, build upon that luck and love in ways that will undoubtedly astound me in the very near future.
You will always be my first baby, my love, my magical boy. I can't wait to see you rise to the occasion of being a magnificent big brother. Don't forget that my arms are always open to scoop you up and snuggle you. Nothing can ever change that. I will not always be this emotional and sappy, but I will always love you fiercely, wildly, completely.
Your lucky, hormonal Mama