“I don’t love my kids the same.
This worry-turned-fact is something that kept me awake when I was pregnant with my second son; stealing the peace of the night as I wondered how in the world I could make enough room in my already bursting heart for another.
It was the unsettled feeling that I cried over on the way to the hospital after dropping our oldest boy off. The next time we saw him he would be a big brother, and I wondered how I could ever love the new baby with the same overwhelming love I felt for him.
As with so many other things– if only I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have wasted all of that worry.
When our second was born, my heart grew exponentially in an instant, overtaking anything I ever could have imagined. I loved this new baby with my whole heart, and his big brother? I somehow loved him even more than I had before.
The truth is, I don’t love my kids the same at all, but I realize now that that was never the goal.
My love for them is as unique as they are from one another.
I love my oldest as the perfect replica of the best guy I know; his Daddy.
I love my youngest in the way that his smile reflects my own, right down to his full lips and the gap between his two front teeth.
I love my big as my sidekick; always up for exploration and adventure.
I love my little for his cuddles; for the way that he nestles into my neck and lays the whole weight of his body against me, sinking into my own.
I love the ornery gleam in my oldest’s eyes, and the way that his wit is far beyond his two years.
I love my little one for the way that his blue eyes shine with delight as he takes in the big wide world around him.
I love my big for his spunk, and I love my little for his sweet.
These babies of mine?
I love them in the way that I love both sunshine and moonlight; not one more than the other. Each one just as much, but never the same.”
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