To my drag-along child,
To the one that gets dragged from place to place because of your youngest sibling status in the family.
To the one that gets awoken as teardrops roll down your cheeks because I have to transfer you to the car seat to go pick up your older siblings.
To the one that spends the majority of the day in a Bjorn on my chest because I need my hands for your siblings.
We go to THEIR play spaces.
We go to THEIR music, sports, and art classes.
We go out to the park on hot summer days for THEM.
We go to THEIR school and summer camp pickups/drop-offs.
And you are constantly waiting.
You wait as they have tantrums.
You wait as I get them ready for the day — and then it’s your turn.
You wait as I load them into the car — and sometimes you’re in tears with frustration because you need me, but I need to get them somewhere by a certain time.
You wait as I break up their fights and discipline them when they aren’t listening.
And I don’t have time to take in your sweet baby smell like I did with your siblings. I don’t get enough chances just to sit and take all of you in and enjoy your coos and smiles. But just because I’m not zoned in on you at all times doesn’t mean I don’t notice.
I have guilt.
Because if you were my firstborn, you’d be indoors for the first two-months, nursing, and sleeping — full attention on you.
