You are my second child. You were supposed to be my last. But life doesn’t always go as planned.

The potential injustice of life is something you learned at a very young 10 months old. That is when I became pregnant with your little sister.

Now you are a middle child and I worry about you.

You are 22 months old and you test my patience to no end. You refuse to speak and choose instead, to moan, grunt and whine for everything you want. Sometimes the sound of your whining makes me want to run away and/or scream in frustration.

And I do scream and mentally disconnect from you because there are times when I just… can’t… take it… anymore (I hope the exasperation of that sentence will transcend from this page). You are stubborn and cannot be tamed and you are the child that most frequently leads me to my breaking point.

I worry that we did not have enough time to create a sufficient bond; I was only able to nurse you until you were 10 months old. This was not by choice, it is because my milk dried-up when I became pregnant with your sister. The reality is, I have spent the better part of your life nurturing and feeding another baby while you have stood off to the side wondering why your Mommy cannot embrace you or pick you up.

You are the quintessential middle child. You are not the first and you are not the last.  You are the second of two boys, you are an older brother and a younger brother; you hold no title all your own other than being in the middle.

Years down the road I know you will struggle with the middle-ness of it all. You may feel left out, or forgotten, or generally wallow in the self pity that many middle children often do.

Before that times comes, I want you to know that I see you.

I see your funny gap teeth and the twinkle in your dark and deep golden eyes when you smile. I see the soft flesh under your chin that I cannot help but cup in my hand because it is the most full, soft and innocent flesh I will ever touch.

I see the way you move to music, the natural rhythm you possess. I hear your shy humming when you think no one is listening and I have felt the tears well up in my eyes because it is one of the sweetest things I have ever heard.

I see the way you love animals; though you may be a little rough with them at times, I get the underlying point of the behaviour, you love them and the squishes and squashes are your version of special hugs.

I see your beautiful long eye lashes that splay out against your cheeks when you sleep. You don’t know it, but I often stare at you while you slumber and wish I could be a better mother to you because I always feel like I don’t give you quite enough.

I love you… deeply and I hope you know that.

My greatest fear in life is that you don’t and I am writing you this letter so that you know that I see who you are and I love you for it and I desperately hope that love will be enough.

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