Dear Katherine,
I wrote this story for you because I want you to know that I realize how hard it is sometimes to be the youngest sibling in a family. It is so ironic to me though, because as you are fighting to grow up, I am struggling to accept that my baby is growing up so quickly. All of your firsts are also my lasts. Your first breath ended my last pregnancy. Your first steps signalled my last baby in arms. Your first night in your big bed meant my last crib to disassemble and put away. Your first day at school, my last preschooler out the door. You get the drift!
You have asked me many times why you had to be born last, why I made you be the baby, and why I loved Abby and Ian first. While I have no answer for any of these questions, I can tell you that I appreciated you most. With Abigail and Ian, I spent countless hours reading foolish parenting books, documenting their every burp, and fretting needlessly. With you, I lived in the moment and loved every moment.
You were born on a warm and sunny June morning. I called you my little June bug before we has a name for you. We didn’t find out if you were a girl or a boy, but I didn’t have to. I knew it. I knew you. When I was expecting Abby, I felt like I was having a tiny alien that I tried to identify with from grainy ultrasound pictures. With Ian, I couldn’t imagine how I could possibly love a new baby as much as Abigail. But I bonded with you right away. When the doctor told me you were a girl and placed you in my arms, I didn’t feel either the giddy excitement or the absolute terror of my first forays into parenthood. I felt like your mother and that made me happy!
I called Abby to tell her that her prayers were answered, that you were a girl after all. She had placed a bet with Poppy that you would be a girl, and she was triumphant and jubilant that she was right. Ian was sorry that he hadn’t bothered to pray, she told me with delight. Your father wanted to call you Rebecca or Becky for short, but I thought you looked more like a Katherine. Nanny told me it was too big a name for such a little girl but I told her you would grow into it. I could picture the name Katherine on a name plate in a law office someday or on the cover of a famous novel. It is dignified, ageless, and for the great, like yourself. Today, you make me smile as you carefully print each letter, meticulously getting it right, shortening it never an option. Just Katherine, you say.
While I was expecting you, many people assured me that the third child would “just fit in” like an appendage I would barely notice. They said you would follow your older siblings and that three kids are hardly any different than two. From the day I took you home from the hospital, I knew how wrong they were. You were never inclined to follow anything (let alone your brother and sister), and you changed the shape of our family rather than fitting into the fold. Sometimes, I have wondered if you would have been better off as the oldest child. You have spurned any preconceived ideas of the meaning of birth order, and have taken on the role of big sister to Ian, birth order be damned!
But then I realize that being the third child has been perfect for your personality. Soon after you were born, Abby locked me out of the house while I was hanging laundry so that she could hold you all by herself. You were supposed to be too young to support your head, but I was amazed to see you do just that. I can still see the image of you, head held erect, tiny chocolate eyes furrowed in what looked like disapproval, as Abby carried you to and fro. I remember that the first time you took a step, Ian tipped you over. You didn’t cry. You just got up again and headed toward him, fists clenched by your side. He was lucky you couldn’t catch him. He wouldn’t try it now.
When we went to Disney World, I was certain that I would spend a great deal of time with you on “baby” rides while Daddy, Ian, and Abby tried the thrill rides. Imagine my surprise (and terror) to find myself being comforted by my four-year old on the tower of terror. “No one dies in Disney World, silly!” you reassured me as we plummeted down a few dozen stories!
When we went to Disney World, I was certain that I would spend a great deal of time with you on “baby” rides while Daddy, Ian, and Abby tried the thrill rides. Imagine my surprise (and terror) to find myself being comforted by my four-year old on the tower of terror. “No one dies in Disney World, silly!” you reassured me as we plummeted down a few dozen stories!
I read somewhere that old age is not for sissies. I think the same can be said for being the youngest in a rambunctious family. That’s why I know your personality is perfectly suited to being the youngest. You can handle it! Your grandfather smiles at me when you misbehave and tells me that it must be tough to raise myself. I know he is referring to the fact that you have inherited my temper and my stubborn nature. I am never credited with passing on to you your irresistible charm, hilarious sense of humour, and tenacious spirit, so maybe that skips a generation!
Katherine, I am so proud to be your mother. I hope you will read this book when you are grown, and I hope it makes you laugh and remember snapshots in a very special time.
Katherine, I am so proud to be your mother. I hope you will read this book when you are grown, and I hope it makes you laugh and remember snapshots in a very special time.
With all my love,
Mommy
