Dear Lucas,
I find myself reflecting on the bond we once shared, those cherished moments that belonged solely to us. I miss our days filled with laughter, where we would lose ourselves in play—trucks, crayons, and dancing in the living room, shaking our shakers to the music that filled the air. I long for those evenings of bedtime stories, nestled in rocking chairs, where giggles were a constant backdrop to our lives.
I reminisce about our car rides to the store, where you would be in the backseat, either singing or chatting away in that delightful toddler way. Those moments now feel like a distant dream, overshadowed by the need for quiet as your little brother rests. You can no longer stomp around the house or shout my name joyfully when I briefly step out of sight. The joy of your exuberance has been replaced with reminders to be considerate, with “Shh!” becoming a frequent refrain.
As I tend to your brother’s needs, I often find myself shushing you, my firstborn, and I feel the weight of this division. Our special time together has become so scarce that it often feels like it doesn’t exist. Your spirited nature, once so free, now seems to be stifled in an effort to seek my attention. I know that when you do express yourself, it often comes at an inconvenient time, yet it’s your way of trying to connect with me during these hectic days.
When you go to bed and I stumble upon one of your toys on my dresser, a wave of longing washes over me. I’ve always missed you during your sleep, yet now it carries a deeper sentiment—a realization that, too often, I feel I haven’t had enough time with you. My heart aches with the thought of how our dynamic has changed since the arrival of your brother.
You are now part of a duo, and your sibling still requires much of my attention. I treasure those moments with him, too—his adorable babbles and the way he gazes at me with love that is pure and new. I adore you both immensely, but the shift in our relationship is palpable. I miss being your sole source of comfort when you are upset or hurt; I yearn to hold you close and sway, just like we used to, feeling your warmth against me.
Some days, I struggle to find enough love for both of you. I wish I could devote my undivided attention to each of you. The constant demands leave me feeling stretched thin. Like many mothers navigating larger families, I hope for a future where I can provide ample time and love for each child. Until that day, I must acknowledge that every moment holds the potential for growth and change for both of you, and I must strive to be present in whatever ways I can.
I still hold onto the hope that as you both grow into more independent beings, I will find the balance to love you with the fullness you both deserve. Until then, I miss you, Lucas. I miss the “us” that was.