Ember Eve,

I write this as you sleep soundly in your crib. I see you on the monitor, your little rump in the air and your bright, curly hair pushed away from your face. Right now, you are the only child in the house and you have our undivided attention. Soon you will be a big sister; soon your world is going to change drastically (as will ours). When I think about having another baby, I experience an overwhelming range of emotions. In relation to you, I am wracked by guilt because you will have to share me pretty soon. Sometimes, I allow the fleeting notion that we should have waited longer to have another baby so we could enjoy you a bit longer. But we’re on this path and the end is in sight, so there’s no space for that kind of thought.

Lately, you’ve been needy and craved my arms and attention more than usual, and this hurts my heart because once your sister arrives, I will be pulled in two directions. Newborns are demanding, and your sister will need me more than you much of the time in the beginning days. But I promise to try my best, and I know that my love for you will not waver.  I can think of nothing that compares to how fiercely I love you. I hope someday you will read this, and I want to tell you how I feel before your sister rocks our world.

Ember Eve, you were my first; you made me a mother. I tracked everything during your pregnancy and afterward, taking notes and keeping records. I knew how big you were at all stages and what parts of you were developing when. I vigilantly tracked my symptoms and paid attention to every little pregnancy detail. Your delivery was difficult, and we have quite the story. Your daddy will always remember racing home from Florida to make it in time for your arrival. Though it was difficult, you were perfect when you were born. When they handed you to me in the hospital, I felt surprisingly calm; it felt right. It was as if you’d always been part of me and you were finally here.

Your first smiles, babbles, words, steps, and giggles lit up my world. You were the first to exhaust and test me, the first to terrify and delight me.   I never knew this kind of awe and discovery. We will always have that, no matter what happens from here on out. I learned how to be a mother through trial and error with you.  I took pictures and videos of everything you did. I agonized over every little scrape, runny nose, and cough. I woke in the night to make sure you were breathing. I researched constantly to make sure I was taking the best care of you. I asked the pediatrician, nurses, and friends so many questions. I am a mother because of you.

Sometimes my love for you seems so enormous that I fear it will consume us both. Everyone says that new love will bloom for the second child, and I’m sure this is true, but it’s hard to imagine right now. I look at you and I struggle to give words to my feelings for you. You are the most beautiful, wonderful creature I have ever seen. You are the light of my life, the best thing I’ve very done.  Sometimes, especially in our quieter moment,  you move me in ways I cannot accurately articulate. I’ll try to explain, but it’s near impossible to convey what transpires in the small, fleeting moments between mother and child, and I hope you discover this some day. The other night you couldn’t sleep (molars, I think). You stood up in your crib, clutching your loveys, and raised your hands to me. I picked you up and held you, rocking you to soothe your pain. Once you stopped crying, you looked up at me with the most precious, thoughtful expression and pressed your little palm to my face. You gazed at me for some time, speaking to me without a word before snuggling into my arms and falling back asleep. That moment may seem insignificant, but those are the moments I want to hold forever. It’s hard to imagine going through all of this again with another child, and part of me feels guilty for it. And yet, I know I can and will. I know new love will grow for your sister, and I know that I won’t love you any less when your sister arrives. If anything, I will love you more.

I am already proud of who you are. You are your father’s child in many, many ways (clearly in looks with your blue eyes and radiant hair). Your daredevil, wild-child nature continues to humor, worry, and fascinate me just as your father’s does. You have no fear and are filled with confidence, plowing through this life with reckless abandon and enjoying every moment. You are doers in ways I have never been, and I admire that about both you.  But there’s some of me in there, too. Your curious, introspective nature comes from me, I think. When you bend to touch the flowers and scrutinize every little detail of your books, you remind me of me as a child. I look forward to watching you grow and evolve.

As we near your sister’s arrival, I try to remind myself that watching you become a sister is going to be a rewarding experience. You are such a kind, social, caring little girl, and I imagine you will be a natural when it comes to this next role. I hope to marvel and delight in your transformation as a big sister. I look forward to discovering you discover this new role.

Ember Eve, until your sister arrives, I hope to soak up every moment with you–whether it be in happiness, frustration, anger, delight, or fear. For a little while longer, it’s just you and me, kiddo. Just you and me.

Love,
Mom

(Photos: Ember Eve admiring the flowers. 15 months)