Today is the day that my gorgeous, blue eyed, blonde haired, laid back, go-with-the-flow baby boy should be turning five. This is a day that should mark a turning point in our lives as we begin to prepare for entering the realm of chaos brought on by parenting a school age child. Come August my firstborn should be marching off to Kindergarten. How is it possible that so much time has passed since I held him in my arms for the first time? How is it possible that so much time has passed since I held him in my arms for the last time? There are moments when I allow myself to contemplate what should have been. My heart literally, physically aches when those thoughts come to a screeching halt and reality comes crashing down on me as I realize all over again that I no longer know my own child. Three years, five months, and thirteen days later I do not know what my son would look like. I would no longer recognize the sound of his voice. I do not know what bedtime story book he would choose, what his favorite food would be, or what size shoes he would need. Even though this is the fifth anniversary of my son’s birth, I do not know what it is like to parent a five year old.
Today is also the day that my gorgeous, blue eyed, curly haired, sassy, has-big-opinions-for-such-a-little-person baby girl officially surpasses her brother in age. I’m still processing how I feel about this synchronicity. My son will always be my firstborn, but today is the day he is no longer my oldest. He will always be a brother, but today is the day he is no longer a big brother. Long before my daughter was born I knew this day would come. It’s only been in more recent months that I realized when it would come. As I nervously anticipated her birth I felt like I would in some way be parenting on repeat until we reached this particular point in time. In some ways I did start over. I started over with breastfeeding, sponge baths, introducing solids and the up-and-down-all-night routine that comes with having an infant. No two children are the same and personalities aside (big personalities...) there have been many new things, both good and bad. My son never used my eye shadow brushes to put makeup on his daddy or sweet talked him into wearing hair bows. While he did chase the dog with toy golf clubs, he never attempted to force feed her with a baby doll bottle full of fake milk. My son never spent a night in the hospital due to illness and luckily was sick very few times. With him I was rather easily able to talk myself down from “irrational” fears. It takes much more effort now to maintain...sanity. After the “irrational” became such a painful reality I’m still wondering how I will ever be able to differentiate between the two.
Today is a day I have anxiously anticipated for a very long time. Some days I have mentally braced myself for its arrival. On other days I have felt a flutter of hope and excitement at its approach. This has been a day of reflecting and remembering the birth, life, and death of my firstborn while simultaneously celebrating the life of his sister as I eagerly embark on a journey into “new” parenting territory. The paradox embodied in this day is the bittersweet reality for a bereaved parent, every moment of every day.
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