My Eldest Daughter’s Birthday

My eldest daughter turned 7 last week. We celebrated with a pool party and some close friends and family. Memories made on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon that will hopefully last a lifetime. I feel for her often, wondering if she feels the pressure of being the oldest. As every sibling and cousin is born, she is born again and again and again. 

She still craves me, as she always has. Wants me to sit close, even on the hard days… especially on the hard days. My arms are often full, but I always try to make room for her. 

Because she is the oldest there is an expectation that she will “know more,” or “take care” or somehow be emotionally mature enough to handle all the pressure that is put upon her. 

I sit with her on the couch and she tells me about her day. The conversation is different now. She looks to others, she has more friends. She is learning about herself independent from me. 

Independence is something that we don’t really understand. It’s an expectation that we think means we are maturing and growing, but often leads to feelings of loneliness, frustration, and feeling like you have to figure it all out. We need people in our corner, always, no matter how old we get. That feeling that someone has your back, that you are connected in some way, can change the course of your life. 

Parenting is hard, but being a kid, I think, is harder. The developing brain does not understand that just because you are an older sibling means that you should have it all figured out, because it’s not supposed to. The developing brain is supposed to be just that, a developing brain. 

Witnessing our children’s lives through their lens rather than our own can help cultivate a level of compassion that is only felt when experienced. I’ll try to stay tender, especially when the edges feel sharp. Some days are better than others, as they always will be. And, I think, I’m okay with that. 

Be Well, My Friends.