How on earth could you possibly love anyone or anything as much as your firstborn?
When I was pregnant with my second child, my husband and I affectionately (and jokingly) began to refer to him as “Baby Chopped Liver.” You see, we already had our firstborn — our golden child, our prince, our special, special boy.
And though I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, while pregnant, I thought to myself often that I would always do my best to make Baby Chopped Liver (hereinafter referred to as “Little BCL”) feel like he was loved just as much as his brother, even though it obviously could never be true. In my ninth month of pregnancy, I sat on the floor of my son’s bedroom and cried as I read to him, mourning that our time alone together was coming to a close.
I might have even resented the fact that, despite all of my wishes for a second child, there was going to be another human being who would need me and detract my attention from my perfect son. I thought, how on earth could I possibly love anyone or anything as much as my firstborn?
And then Little BCL was born. They placed him in my arms and he was tiny and perfect. And he looked up at me and gave me that look -- you know the one. He opened up his eyes and looked straight into mine and I could almost hear him say, "Hi Mum, I've been waiting to meet you." And months down the line, when my firstborn was throwing tantrums and picking his nose with abandon, Little BCL was napping and cuddling and cooing and smelling like all of those wonderful baby smells you forget about once you have dirty toddler nappy and dirty toddler hands to battle.