Missing Her

"I love my sister very much," she is eager to say. I correct her and say that Adam is her brother. Sometimes she'll agree, other times I am told "Actually, my sister" - the little knowitall.

She's been incredible. She has adored Adam from the first moment she laid eyes on him when he was one day old. She showers him with hugs and kisses and, now that she's no longer terrified of the sound it, tells him it's all going to be ok when he cries.

For a few days, it was myself and David she seemed to feel betrayed by. She didn't appreciate our disappearing act one bit, although she accepted it because she was prepared. But even now, she still talks about how I went away to get Adam out of my tummy. The shouting and hitting which greeted us upon our return from hospital has calmed down now, but her insecurities still resurface every now and then. She is a sensitive soul.

And I miss her. I miss being able to do things with her at any time, I miss being able to drop everything and read to her or be silly with her. I know I can still do all this - and I do, but it's not always at a time when she is open to it, so I often miss the window of opportunity. I miss being able to be the one to take her to the park at the drop of a hat. I hate having to send her off with others to have her fun because I haven't had the chance to get dressed yet and the very thought of getting everyone and everything together makes me cry.

It's all about balance, I know. She won't remember a time when it was just about her, she's already adapting perfectly to having a little brother around who also has needs, and she supports that. But I remember that time, and I am the one struggling with it.