When I got pregnant with my first, I very obviously lacked the physical know-how to care for a human baby.

I did not learn the importance of planning a family. Patience was never my virtue and the prospect of creating and raising a little life that would be a version of me sounded so enticing.

Then there were the questions and statements.

“How long are you going to wait?”

“You have the rest of your life to live, but your window for motherhood is short-lived.”

“The older you are, the more complicated it will be.”

“Caring for a child gets harder as they grow. You don’t want to be too old to keep up with them.”

“The two of you are going to eventually get bored of each other. It’s good to have a kid in between you to make sure you stay together.”

There was just so much that so many had to say. And the naive people pleaser in me took every single comment to heart. One of the things my husband and I agreed on when discussing marriage was children, even though the timeline and the importance of it was something that we did not consider (and the impact of peer pressure).

Looking at these statements I know now how terrible and unfair they were while making such an important and significant decision. Choosing to become parents should only be a choice made by the prospective parents themselves because the responsibility of that child once here would be solely theirs.

And so, we proceeded with the decision to become first time parents, with practically nothing that would take us through the journey, except for some theoretical information available in books and on the internet.

I was young and inexperienced and enthusiastic about being a mom and doing it right. I decided that I would do and be everything that our culture and our families and our past were not with regards to being a parent. I wanted my child to feel loved and respected and valued for her and not for mine or anyone else’ expectations of her.

I was almost perfect at it – gentle parenting. I did all the reading, all the research. I practised all the patience. I fought anyone who would try anything otherwise. I screamed into a pillow for every frustrated moment. I would punch the bed when I couldn’t rein it in. I would smile till my cheeks hurt when the tears were calling. I refused to cry in front of her or show her I was hurting. My struggles were not her burden to bear or witness, they were my own. I talked to her. I explained every single detail of everything to her from the day I knew of her existence within me. I showed her that there was nothing beyond and outside of her. There was only her.

We laughed together, we played, I read to her, I sang for her, we danced, we jumped, we ran, and we rolled together.

Through it all I lost sleep and suffered with severe PPD, but I still fought to hold it all together for her.

I wanted to give her the world – everything I had, everything I didn’t and so much more! I wanted to teach her to walk on her own and yet instil in her that if she were to ever look back, I’d be standing right there ready to open my arms for her to run into them. I wanted her to love me because she wanted to, not because she was supposed to, not because she thought I’d helped bring her into this world and she owed me that. She needed to know that I understood and accepted that she chose me, that she trusted me, and that the time I had with her was borrowed and not bought. And I needed her to love me for all those things, and not because I said so.

I loved her with a desperate vehemence that she should love me back because she wanted to and not because she had to.

I watched her as she grew and learned to play on her own. Till there came a day when she didn’t want to play on her own anymore or play with me while I effort-ed so hard to be her friend more than her mother. She asked me for a sister, through tears that glistened down her cute little cheeks. How could I say no, when it triggered a wound in me that had laid dormant for years and threatened to surface now when I heard my daughter, my first born, my reason to live ask me for the one thing that I had prayed for for all of my younger years, and sometimes even today?

Then you know what happened. For those of you that are unaware of that particular journey, please go ahead and read Being in the middle – Surviving The Noise when you have the time.

Once pregnant, everything that I was, who I was to her changed. I couldn’t be that person anymore. The nausea, the morning sickness, the anxiety, was so intense that she got lost in the noise.

My sweet little first born was forced to grow up in a way she shouldn’t have had to. She fought it, she was confused, she was alone and she was scared. She still pulled through. And she started turning into the sweetest little big sister she could. And I witnessed this growth like a mute spectator.

She hated that new little baby till she couldn’t help but love her. During one of her tantrums when I reminded her that she had wanted a baby sister, she did not hold back from yelling at me that she had asked for a sister to play with, not watch.

Over the few years that they have been together, I have watched how much she has grown into a caring, responsible, loving, protective, selfless big sister, even on those times when she doesn’t have to or when she doesn’t want to.

Of course there are the occasions when she just wants to be a child, and that is absolutely perfect too. That’s how it should be. But there are the times when she takes the higher road even when I think that she won’t be able to. They say that first borns are the forced parents of their younger ones when the parents can’t parent. And I hate that it has to be that way. But in another way, there is a reason they were born first, that they chose that journey for themselves. And it is up to us to help them stand and grow.

I have grown so much with her that the connection that I feel with my first born is different to the connection I feel with my younger two. She knows me. She has watched me grow as much as I have watched her. The tears I cried in secret did not go unnoticed. And she chooses me even through the mistakes that I have made and sometimes still struggle with. She will always hold a special place in my heart for making me the mother that I am today.

Unlike my middle child, my first born has never found it possible to choose between her parents for a favourite or say that she loves someone more even through her toughest emotions. She sees my sacrifice. And she knows that I’m no “superhero” (her words, not mine) but just a parent that is trying really hard to be there for my kids in the best way that I can.

For celebrating my birth as a mother as much as celebrating her first day on earth this April 9th, this post is a special dedication to my hero, my support system, my village, my reason to live when I couldn’t find another. To the special light that shone in my darkest hour. To my darling Aurora, on her 8th birthday! Thank you for choosing me to be your mother.

And to all the first borns out there, healing one heart at a time…

Love always,