Dear C,

As you know, part of my work schedule at Suburban Pres. is to spend every Wednesday evening at the church. What you may not know is that I’m teaching sixth grade Bible study. I enjoy it most of the time, and as important as I think it is for these kids to connect with a pastor, they get a kick out of it too. It’s always exciting, starting a new year with a new group of sixth graders. But the time goes quickly—way too quickly. Every spring I reach the end of the year and realize that… that’s it. That’s all the time I had with them. Was it enough? It didn’t feel like enough. There is always so much more I want to do with them, so much more that I want to learn about them. It’s not that I won’t see them anymore, but this focused time of being together has come to an end, an opportunity never to be repeated.

I just wrote a letter to your baby sister, sharing what these last couple of weeks have been like. I think they have been mostly positive, but what do you think? (By the time you read this you will be too old to remember the particulars, I suppose). I know it hasn’t been easy for you. All of a sudden there are all these new expectations—be gentle around the baby. Keep quiet while the baby’s sleeping. No, you can’t help her take a bath, but you can watch. And I can’t play with you while I’m feeding the baby (and I know I seem to be doing that a lot).

You’ve done a really wonderful job adjusting—you are very sweet toward her, and I love to watch you showing her things (even when her eyes are closed). But you have seemed more emotional lately, and I know it has been a rough transition.

What has been hardest for me is coming to the end of the day and having that same feeling toward you that I have towards those sixth graders—although I feel it much more acutely with you. Your dad or MaDear takes you up to bed and you pause to give me a kiss on the way, and I think:

That’s it?

That’s it.

That’s all the time I had with her today.

It wasn’t enough.

I think I’m realizing that having another child is fundamentally a gamble, from your point of view. The gamble is that the opportunity to love someone new, and to be loved by someone new, will more than make up for the loss of focused attention from your dad and me. I think it will. By the time you read this, this transition will be a distant memory. I just hope that the memories that follow are as sweet as they can be—as sweet as you are right now.

Love,
Your mother

P.S. Here is our conversation on our walk home from daycare this evening:
You: Look at the moon! Isn't it pretty? I can touch it!
Me: What does it feel like?
You: Cold and shiny.
Me: Is it hard or soft?
You: Soft.
[pause]
You: I'm going home to see my little baby sister!
Me: What are you going to do with her?
You: Give her a kiss and play with her a little bit.