“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.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Casey Huff of Etched in Home. Be sure to subscribe to our best love stories here.
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