* 2002
hugo was born at home on a wednesday at noon. isabelle was there. she was
five-and-a-half. she did well with the whole experience; got close when she felt
brave, walked across the room if it was too intense.
she had been the only child and only grandchild for so long we knew it was going
to be a hard transition for her, so everyone made an extra effort to involve her in
hugo’s arrival.
it was a nice gesture, but the reality was that the new baby would be getting most
of the attention for the forseeable future. whether cooing or crying, yawning or
sleeping, everything he did was new and amazing
after dinner i spent time with isabelle, playing in her room, trying to preserve our
connection. when it was time for her to go to bed i read her a story then kissed her
goodnight. as i was leaving her room a wave of sadness came over me that took
me by surprise. i felt the loss that she was experiencing; the end of her being the
only child. the end of it being just the three of us. our rhythm, our routines –
everything would be different now
when i turned off her light it felt like putting a period on the end of that chapter.
the next chapter would be called “life with the new baby”
i don’t think either of us were ready for it