Before she passed away, Mom always used to say that her greatest joy was sitting in our home hearing all three of her sons make each other laugh.
I don’t remember her saying it very often when we were growing up but it became her refrain after her pancreatic cancer diagnosis when our visits increased in frequency and became less about seeing old friends and more about spending time together as a family.
At the time I figured Mom meant that she loved having a house full of family and hearing happy sounds instead of silence as she drifted off to sleep at night.
But now that my seven-month-old son is developing a personality of his own, I’m starting to understand what Mom actually meant.
There’s nothing else I’ve experienced in life that quite matches the experience of seeing my baby’s face light up when he sees his two-and-a-half-year-old sister.
It definitely melts my heart when he reacts to seeing either my wife or I that way, but part of my brain always rationalizes that as a natural response any baby has for their caregiver.
I can’t use that same explanation for his reaction to his sister.
Sure she gives him toys from time to time but she also snatches them out of his hands just as often. And while she will help give him bottles, she also smushes the entire nipple into his face making it nearly impossible to actually drink.
Because of this, the love in his heart for her feels more pure to me.
My baby may or may not only love Mama and Dada because of the things we do for him but he clearly loves his sister DESPITE the things she does to him. That’s pretty awesome.
The wildest thing about having a second kid is watching the development of a sibling relationship.
It helps that my daughter is often just as excited to see the baby as he is to see her.
She definitely gets annoyed with him sometimes, but if I’m not carrying him when I get her in the morning, it’s the first thing she asks about (followed immediately by wanting her milk).
I know things are going to change eventually, but right now it’s perfect.
She’s teaching him to crawl and loves to stand behind me shaking a rattle shouting, “come to Dada, baby.”
When he eats baby food in his high chair she wants to sit next to him in a booster chair eating yogurt so he can see her using a spoon and she can see him drooling all over the bib she insists on picking out for him before each meal.
I’m constantly wondering how much longer this can last.
A little piece of my heart broke when a friend of mine described her challenges raising a 13-year-old daughter and it occurred to me that when my daughter hits that incredibly vulnerable and difficult portion of her life she’ll be saddled with having an 11-year-old little brother.
“My God,” I thought to myself, “What have I done? Nobody should have to be burdened with an 11-year-old little brother, especially an 8th grade girl.”
Though maybe if I cross my fingers and close my eyes, wish upon a shooting star, or blow an eyelash off a ladybug, they’ll find a way to navigate those years together as siblings and best friends.
Or maybe I’ll just have to settle as Mom did for enjoying those fleeting moments, late at night when everyone’s feeling silly, where the house echoes with their laughs and our house feels like a home.
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