There are so many aspects of becoming a parent that we just don’t know, can’t know, until we’re in it. And that makes sense, in large part because even if we “knew” with one child, we wouldn’t know with the next. This experience is especially humbling, however, when we feel depleted in our bodies by the experience of mothering. What’s worse, is when we don’t get the sense that other mothers feel this, or at least not to the same degree. I’m talking next level overstimulation with our one child, but Sherry down the street with 5 kids seems non-plussed, what’s the deal?

When my oldest was little, he had a lovie that we called “Blue Lovie.” He had a second lovie, that was exactly the same with the exception of it’s color. He called this second lovie, “Stewart,” which always seemed funny to me - the fact that one had a descriptor and the other a name. 

Anyway, I digress. The point is, he loved Blue Lovie. It went everywhere with him and was the fourth member of our family for a while. 

“How can I possibly love another child as much as my first?” 

“Won’t my oldest child feel jealous when my second (third, fourth…) is born?”

“Why does having another child feel like a loss of something with my first?”

Someone asked me about grief the other day and my mind went blank. Instead of a clear path to the next cogent thought, I hit a wall. How could I capture an experience so universally human and so deeply individual? 

Today, my oldest ran by my side as my youngest scootered behind…