"I, who have no sisters or brothers, look with some degree of innocent envy on those who may be said to be born to friends. ~James Boswell"
Strands of light pour through the window as I watch my first born, my one and only, play in the escaping evening light. As I watch her I remember, I remember playing as she does now, talking to her stuffed animals, entertaining herself independently. She runs over periodically, pats my belly and says her hellos, it's as if she knows her days of playing alone are joyfully coming to an end. I end up covered in toys and stuffed animals she gives my growing belly. I can't help but wish I had someone to share with growing up as she will, someone to laugh under the covers with late at night, someone to tell my secrets to. A contraction rolls in and I sigh, we are nearing the end this baby and I. This body that we share will be empty again, but my heart, oh my heart will be full. I look to the future, imagining both of my children playing together, growing together, loving each other and fighting with each other as only siblings do, and I can't help but smile despite the pain. The gift of a sibling, a gift I've always wanted to receive, I now have the privilege of giving.