rudderless

Dear Zoo

Dear Zoo,

It has been a year and half since I wrote you a letter. And what a year and half we’ve had. Your precious voice singing “Happy Birthday” to yourself, a trip to Germany, many weeks waiting and waiting for Rosy, and then her arrival. Overnight, our life changed. The little rituals we had, the time we spent so closely together was flipped on its head. Daddy started putting you to bed. For months I couldn’t even get on the floor and play, as I was constantly nursing, bouncing, or walking your sister through the house. I imagine most women go through a mourning period with the birth of their second child. I truly mourned the intimacy we had, and was wracked with guilt about it. It still hurts, not in the same way, but it hurts on nights like tonight when it’s clear that you’re having a hard time negotiating the changes that come full-bore as Rosy grows. Suddenly there is a sentient being in our house, exploding with mobility and language and personality. People oooh and aaah over her, relatives are just getting a glimpse of who she really is, and that brings them great joy. Just as you bring them great joy. To have to sit back and watch; for lack of a better term, to have to play second fiddle, must be so hard.

Everyone says that no matter how many babies you choose to have, you always have enough love for them all. Your heart expands, your capacity for love grows. But your time, your energy, your patience- not so much. You muddle through by asking more of the oldest. When we go out, I expect that you will be relatively self-sufficient. You’ll walk while I carry Rosy. You’ll listen to the story at the library and work puzzles with your friends while I chase her around. Independence seems to have come at a fortuitous time, and you crave attention from friends your own age (and slightly older). Deep down I know that it’s a natural progression, to let a little bit of you go out into the world, in order to have the attention I need to care for a baby. If I was to have another (and no worries, I won’t!), I’d expect the same of Rosy. But wow, what a lot to ask overnight. What I was once pleasantly surprised by, I’ve now come to expect and need.

That’s not to say, my sweet girl, that I take you for granted. Not for one second do I take the magical, mature, compassionate person you are for granted. I am so lucky to have you, to know you, to kiss you on your round cheek every night. I am lucky to sneak a Mercy Pig book in between Rosy shenanigans, to watch you draw, or let you stir the banana bread batter. My heart breaks a little bit when you want to pretend you’re Rosy, or replicate her elaborate dress-up array piece by painstaking piece. Sophie, I do not want two Rosys. I’d be lost without you, my love. I’d be lost without the one who takes her sister’s hands and spins her through the kitchen, and patiently lets her pretend to wash your hair. I’d be lost without my backseat DJ who requests the “electric eel” song over and over. I’d be lost without my gate-opener and fish-hunter, my dog-loving, cat-whispering Zoo in her beautiful dress who wants nothing more than to reenact “the day you and Daddy met” over and over again (though I did not have a princess dress).

Soon the tables will be turned. The milestones will be yours. Driving, graduation, college . . . (not so soon). Soon I’ll be asking for the attention, from both of you. And you’ll look at Rosy from your perch in some tree, with your chapter book, and tell her to go see what I want. You’ll be so glad yo have a partner in crime. Someone to share the burden of me. Someone to love for how different they are from you, and how very much the same, too. It will all be worth it, Zoo.

Know that I love you so deeply and dearly, every single day. My special big girl.
xo,
mama