I walk along holding your 2-year-old hand, basking in
the glow of our magical relationship.
Suddenly I feel a kick from within, as if to remind me
that our time alone is limited. And I wonder: how
could I ever love another child as I love you?
Then he is born, and I watch you. I watch the pain you
feel at having to share me as you've never shared me
before. I hear you telling me in your own way, Please
love only me. And I hear myself telling you in
mine, I can't, knowing, in fact, that I never can
You cry. I cry with you. I almost see our new baby as
an intruder on the precious relationship we once
shared. A relationship we can never quite have again.
But then, barely noticing, I find myself attached to
that new being, and feeling almost guilty. I'm afraid
to let you see me enjoying him - as though I am
But then I notice your resentment change, first to
curiosity, then to protectiveness, finally to genuine
More days pass, and we are settling into a new
routine. The memory of days with just the two of us is
fading fast. But something else is replacing those
wonderful times we shared, just we two.
There are new times - only now, we are three.
I watch the love between you grow, the way you look at
each other, touch each other. I watch how he adores
you - as I have for so long. I see how excited you are
by each of his new accomplishments.
And I begin to realise that I haven't taken something
from you, I've given something to you. I notice that I
am no longer afraid to share my love openly with both
I find that my love for each of you is as different as
you are, but equally strong.
And my question is finally answered, to my amazement.
Yes, I can love another child as much as I love you -
And although I realise that you may have to share my
time, I now know you'll never share my love. There's
enough of that for both of you - you each have your
I love you - both.
And I thank you both for blessing my life.