When my oldest daughter, Krishna, was 12, I became pregnant for the second time. At first, she was excited, but over time, she started to get worried. She thought that the new baby was going to replace her; as most children tend to, when they learn they are to get a sibling.
The moment she held her sister in the hospital, a smile grew over her face, and she said the words “I approve”. I knew they would be the best of friends, and now, nearly four years later, they still are. I believe that this is, at least in part, because of something I explained to Krishna when she told me she didn’t want a little sister, when I was still months from giving birth.
There is something funny about love.
Most resources are finite. If, for example, you have a glass of water, and you need to share it between two people, that limits the amount of water each person can have. Love is not like water. Love grows.
Every time I have someone new to love, the amount of love I have to give grows to fill the need. I have two daughters now, Krishna and Arienette, but they don’t have to share the same amount of love that Krishna enjoyed prior to Arienette’s birth. Instead, more love simply grew, so that I could give both girls all the love they need. This way, Krishna doesn’t feel neglected or replaced, she knows I love her, and that nobody could ever take her place in my heart. Of course, they have to share me, as a person, as a mother, but they seem more than content with that.