A Firstborn Prepares for a Sibling

For several months now, we’ve been trying to warn Bo about the imminent arrival of his baby sister. Unfortunately, for the most part, our attempts have ranged from “totally ineffective” to “distinctly counterproductive”. 

The most hilarious and disheartening of our efforts is recorded in Kiss Mommy’s Belly — although, thankfully, Bo has made significant strides since that ordeal. Now, the command, “Kiss your baby sister!” typically elicits a sloppy, open-mouth swipe across my belly. Well, either that, or an aggressive slap. (We’re also working on, “No hitting!”.) 

Needless to say, Bo’s attitude shift from “mostly distraught” to “mostly affectionate” (with regard to my baby bump) has been extremely comforting. Nevertheless, this shift has not served to calm all of my concerns over my firstborn’s impending siblinghood. While it is extremely obvious that Borealis associates the phrase “your baby sister” with my swollen belly, it is also clear that he does not yet understand the permanence and gravity of the concept.

Seemingly, there are two different methods of preparing for this sort of transition. Some parents use every means at their disposal to acclimate their child(ren) to the idea of a new sibling. In contrast, others figure that no preparation, however artful, could ever take the shock out of such a sudden arrival.

Taylor and I tend to fall into the latter camp — especially since, in all my discussions with older parents, I have yet to find anyone who would confidently assert that they could effectively prepare a twenty-month-old for the arrival of a newborn sibling. Instead, strangers feel the need to pepper us with warnings like, “He has no idea what’s coming!” and, “Good luck… the transition is really hard.” How encouraging.

That’s not to say that we haven’t tried our hand at the task — just that we haven’t tried very hard. After all, it’s not easy to adequately convey the concepts of your, baby, and sister to a twenty-month-old.

First, with regard to your. We’ve tried to convey the concept of possession/ownership/relationship to Bo, but the nuanced difference between “mine” and “yours” has little impact on a toddler. Phrases such as “your puppy” and “your bunny” resonate with Bo; however, phrases like “Mommy’s phone” and “not yours” are completely meaningless to my son — so he just ignores them. As far as I can tell, Borealis does not realize that some things (like Mommy’s phone) will never belong to him, while other things (like Australis) will always belong to him… whether he likes it or not. 

Second, with regard to baby. Whenever we walk down the diaper aisle, I pause in front of the Newborn and Size 1 diapers. A suggestion to “point to the baby!” almost always elicits the correct response out of my son, who will dutifully gesture to all the babies he can reach from his perch in the shopping cart. Then, I’ll propose, “Now, point to the baby in Mommy’s belly!” — a suggestion which usually earns me a blank stare. Not very promising.

Third, with regard to sister. Every time I see a young sibling pair, I point them out to my son. “Look, there’s a brother and a sister! You’re going to have a sister soon, too! You’ll be a big brother!” This method might be more effective if Bo ever looked in the direction of my pointing.

So, in summary, our lackluster efforts have likely done little to prepare my son for siblinghood. Nevertheless, I would assert that Borealis is doing some preparation of his own. 

I think that, in the back of his mind, my son has some nebulous inkling of what is about to transpire. Regardless of whether he comprehends the exact nature of our impending life change, I’m pretty sure he somewhat understands one of the major ramifications: namely, that the attention and affection of Mommy and Daddy will soon be drastically and irrevocably diverted. 

One might expect a toddler to deal with this imminent crisis by being extra needy and attention-seeking — and, indeed, that is exactly the sort of behavior we’re seeing from Borealis, as manifested in a variety of ways. On the whole, each of these behaviors falls into one of two categories: either clingy or cranky.

Bo has exhibited a level of clinginess that we haven’t seen out of him in months. For instance, he is rarely content to play alone. Instead, he continually summons me to join him on his aimless ramblings around our house — no, not to help him with anything; rather, just to validate his explorations. Additionally, he’s recently had an increased desire to be held. This renewed predilection is especially inconvenient this late in my pregnancy, when the combination of Baby #1 and Baby #2 [plus associated weight gain] is over sixty pounds. Furthermore, Bo occasionally refuses to eat unless he’s sitting on one of our laps — a set-up which hearkens back to his earliest exposure to solid foods over a year ago. Honestly, I think this kid might spend half his waking hours devising new ways by which he can exert his clinginess on Taylor and me.

And, if that’s true, then he spends the other half of his time just being cranky. Not surprisingly, most of Bo’s tantrums revolve around food, play, or sleep. (After all, does anything else exist in the life of a toddler?) And, while the reasons for my son’s displeasure may vary, the method by which it is expressed is always the same: he basically just cries.

Borealis cries when I tell him that a certain snack is all gone. He cries when I refuse to give him our roommates’ food. He cries when I limit the amount of a particular treat. He even cries when I offer him a food that he doesn’t want.

Same thing with play. He cries when I say that I’m not going to bring him outside at that moment. He cries when I inform him that it’s time to go home. He cries when I label a non-toy as off-limits. And, most of all, he cries when I take a few extra seconds to get to my feet. (Someone needs to explain pregnancy to this kid.)

And sleep? Well, Borealis has decided that sometimes, he’s just not interested in napping. The cry-it-out method, while typically my first line of attack, is pretty hit-or-miss against my strong-willed son. Some days, I can’t even remember who’s supposed to be crying it out — so we both cry for a while before one of us gives in. In other words, Bo cries when he’s not tired enough for a nap, and he cries when he *is* tired enough for a nap. 

All of this is to say that my son is unintentionally doing his best to behave like… a newborn! Somewhat ironically, he is preparing our family to have another tiny baby by acting like a tiny baby.

Many days, it seems like Bo is trying to wear us out before we even meet our daughter, and it’s easy to feel like he’s intentionally sabotaging our sanity. Often, I find myself accusing him of thoughts like, You think you’ll have your hands full with a newborn, but I’ll make sure that your hands are most full with me! Such musings on my part virtually guarantee that I’m resentful of my firstborn. 

But (as I’m sure you’re thinking), it’s not fair for me to hold my son’s behavior against him. It’s been strange to realize that I need to — literally — forgive my toddler, but forgive him I must. This necessity became quite clear yesterday afternoon.

Borealis and I were hanging out in the living room while we waited for Taylor to come home from work. Suddenly, Bo abandoned his toys, located his shoes, and brought them over to me.

“You want to go to the park?” I asked — although, since this signal is one of Bo’s most common non-verbal cues, I didn’t really need to ask.

In response, my son lifted a foot. When I had finished shoeing his feet, he ran to the door and waited for me to let him outside. Forgoing the stroller, I buckled Bo into his carseat, then drove us the 0.3 miles to our local park. (My excuse for such laziness is that I’m very pregnant. Everyone tells me so.) 

Bo had been excited to go to the park. He had initiated the plan, and he had been eager to get underway. But, by the time we got to the park, he had become a different child. Gone was my adventurer of only minutes before, and in his place was a clingy toddler. 

When I moved to set Bo down on the path, he tightened his grip on me and shouted, “Dah! Dah!” (which is his word for “stop” or “no”). 

“Ok, baby,” I acquiesced. “I’ll carry you to the playground.”

Unfortunately, when we got to the playground, it was the same story. “Dah! Dah!”

“Alright, let’s go catch the last of the sun, at least,” I grumbled. I continued along the walking path until we came to the bench at the far side of the park.

As I approached the bench, I slowed to a stop and explained, “Ok, baby, Mommy’s tired, so we’re going to sit for a little bit.” 

Apparently, my explanation fell on deaf ears. Bo let out a piercing shriek as I lowered us onto the bench. He impotently pulled at my hands, then my dress, in an effort to make me stand back up. Predictably, his lack of success just further stoked his tears. Soon, he had collapsed against me, sobbing with frustration.

I must admit: at first, I was angry. I’m 37 weeks pregnant, and I’m always tired these days. Even by toddler standards, Bo’s actions felt distinctly inconsiderate. Why would he demand that we go to the park if he only wanted to be held? We needn’t have even left the house, by that standard!

But then, I truly looked at my son. What I saw on his face wasn’t a typical toddler tantrum. Instead, it was a convoluted quagmire of emotions that was just too complex for my son’s little brain to handle. And so, he did the only thing he could do: he cried. 

Seeing my son’s genuine anxiety broke my heart. This wasn’t the behavior of a child trying to pull a fast one on Mommy; this was the legitimate angst of a child who is uncertain about his world and his future — and with good reason! Borealis sees that Mommy and Daddy are nervous for this upcoming transition. Why shouldn’t he be apprehensive as well?

“Oh, buddy,” I murmured, pulling my son into a tight hug — and for once, he snuggled into my embrace.

My son was scared. If he were older, I’d exhort him with the best antidote to fear — the Gospel. (Unfortunately, Bo is still a little too young to grasp the implications of Jesus’s sacrifice.) Instead, I did my best to give him Gospel-lite — i.e. unconditional grace and love.

I squeezed my son a little tighter and began my monologue. “Borealis. I love you today, and I will love you after your baby sister arrives. I’ll love you after the next baby after that, and the next baby after that. I will love you no matter how many babies God gives us.” [Note: Still only hoping for four!] Tears sprang to my eyes as I concluded, “You are my son, and nothing can take that away — no matter if you’re clingy or if you’re brave. You are my love and my life.”

Bo didn’t say anything, but he had stopped crying. He leveled me with a very serious stare — one that seemed to say, Ok, Mommy. I trust you.

I desperately want to honor that trust — and part of that means remembering that it’s not just Bo’s physical body that can be bruised. I need to care for his mind, spirit, and soul, too. 

I can’t guarantee that I won’t ever again harbor resentment against my son. However, I can resolve to be more vigilant about the emotional distance between us, and I can try to model the perpetual forgiveness that has been extended to me.

I kissed my son on his forehead — the universal indication of forgiveness, right? — then asked, “Are you ready to go back to the car?”

In confirmation, Bo made the ASL sign for “more”. (I really need to teach this kid “yes” and “no”.)

I slowly got to my feet and carried Bo back past the playground. On the off-chance he had changed his mind, I suggested, “Maybe you want to play on the slide?”

“Dah!”

So we walked back to the car instead.

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This will likely be my last post before Australis arrives. I pray that she and Bo will get along — but more than that, I pray that they will each come to know and love Jesus. After all, I won’t always be able to pull my firstborn onto my lap, and someday, he’ll have fears that are bigger than I am. 

But, no fear is bigger than the love of Christ. 

“Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”‭‭

Romans‬ ‭8:37-39‬ ‭NKJV‬‬