The joys of being a big brother...who says?
I seem to have made every mistake in the book backed up by those around me who underlined and then emboldened them.
“Oh the big brother. You must be sooo proud?” The cries would ring out...
My first born was the apple of my eye, in fact that doesn’t sum it up, a loose phrase and I don’t even know what it really means? (I don’t have apples for eyes or any fruit parts as far as I know.) He was just my prized golden boy, challenging in many ways but we were on a journey of discovery together and I was learning how to be his mother and hoping to be the best I could possibly be, while discovering many falabities. The thought of a second child was always suppressed as I didn’t want to supplant him in anyway. But as time went on and he was subjected to the full torchbeam of his attentive older parents I began to see us as a pressure and burden, a sibling would ease the load, bring in some light?
Then I discovered I was expecting twins. My word what a shock. I wondered a lot if I would manage, emotionally, physically? Then the impact on Laurie, who was now 5? In the last throws of my pregnancy I spent every moment I could doing our favourite things, it felt like some portcullis was closing. Would our close relationship ever be the same?
The answer, for now....no.
Crash, bang the twins entered our lives and provided a screaming, all consuming barrage between us. Try as I may we only had snatched moments and always at the wrong time because their needs and his clashed monumentally. And he was constantly told how marvellous it must be to be an older brother. He hated it all... their stream of presents, their physical attachment to me, the gaggle of visitors they generated, the fact there were two of them, their superior attention seeking cries and so much else.
People said “give him a role.” He hated that “could you be so kind and get a nappy? Pass the wipes? Find the dummy?” Then he would boil over and give a secret squeeze, push, shake and when observed I would blow up like a rocket... I couldn’t help it my protective instinct was overwhelming And I had a sort of brain short circuit and would constantly say as he grappled them or booed in their face “be gentle, be careful.” I observed other mothers letting the older sibling man handle the small bundle with a calm air but not me I was a godforsaken parrot “be careful, be gentle, sqwark, sqwark!”
On one occasion after he had squeezed R too hard, he broke down and said “I don’t deserve to be a big brother.” He sobbed and sobbed. Then latter when they were a few months old he would find quiet moments and say “mummy please can it be just us three again. I mean it. Please can they go away and not come back.” And he would cry such huge tears. It was so appalling for him. His world shredded and his mother lost behind a screen of babies and so tired and reduced. I would hold him and wish I could give him back all he had lost.
It’s hard to imagine when he will feel the pain has been worth it. I try now to create moments away from his sisters, just us but have learned to make this ‘pressure off’ time to just be, drink hot chocolate, buy a magazine. If I bill these moments as special fun the expectation is far too great and we get into a tangle trying to right all the wrongs...
Yes, who ever said being an older brother was easy?
“Oh the big brother. You must be sooo proud?” The cries would ring out...
My first born was the apple of my eye, in fact that doesn’t sum it up, a loose phrase and I don’t even know what it really means? (I don’t have apples for eyes or any fruit parts as far as I know.) He was just my prized golden boy, challenging in many ways but we were on a journey of discovery together and I was learning how to be his mother and hoping to be the best I could possibly be, while discovering many falabities. The thought of a second child was always suppressed as I didn’t want to supplant him in anyway. But as time went on and he was subjected to the full torchbeam of his attentive older parents I began to see us as a pressure and burden, a sibling would ease the load, bring in some light?
Then I discovered I was expecting twins. My word what a shock. I wondered a lot if I would manage, emotionally, physically? Then the impact on Laurie, who was now 5? In the last throws of my pregnancy I spent every moment I could doing our favourite things, it felt like some portcullis was closing. Would our close relationship ever be the same?
The answer, for now....no.
Crash, bang the twins entered our lives and provided a screaming, all consuming barrage between us. Try as I may we only had snatched moments and always at the wrong time because their needs and his clashed monumentally. And he was constantly told how marvellous it must be to be an older brother. He hated it all... their stream of presents, their physical attachment to me, the gaggle of visitors they generated, the fact there were two of them, their superior attention seeking cries and so much else.
People said “give him a role.” He hated that “could you be so kind and get a nappy? Pass the wipes? Find the dummy?” Then he would boil over and give a secret squeeze, push, shake and when observed I would blow up like a rocket... I couldn’t help it my protective instinct was overwhelming And I had a sort of brain short circuit and would constantly say as he grappled them or booed in their face “be gentle, be careful.” I observed other mothers letting the older sibling man handle the small bundle with a calm air but not me I was a godforsaken parrot “be careful, be gentle, sqwark, sqwark!”
On one occasion after he had squeezed R too hard, he broke down and said “I don’t deserve to be a big brother.” He sobbed and sobbed. Then latter when they were a few months old he would find quiet moments and say “mummy please can it be just us three again. I mean it. Please can they go away and not come back.” And he would cry such huge tears. It was so appalling for him. His world shredded and his mother lost behind a screen of babies and so tired and reduced. I would hold him and wish I could give him back all he had lost.
It’s hard to imagine when he will feel the pain has been worth it. I try now to create moments away from his sisters, just us but have learned to make this ‘pressure off’ time to just be, drink hot chocolate, buy a magazine. If I bill these moments as special fun the expectation is far too great and we get into a tangle trying to right all the wrongs...
Yes, who ever said being an older brother was easy?
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