I have been thinking a lot about your little brother or sister. I'm not pregnant, but your Dad and I are planning on it at some point. You will be a great big brother, doling out cuddles and sloppy pashes to the new baby. Reading books to him and shoving food in his mouth the same way you shovel food into yours, fistfuls of porridge squashed in with a sticky little hand.
The next baby will mark the completeness of our family. But you came first, Arch, and taught us how to be parents. You demanded it. We were cracked open, vulnerable and humble. You made us realise that it is never about us, and really, it never was. We are just the stars and moon, forever pulled into your orbit. Circling around you, watching your every move like paparazzi. Bound to you with ferocious potency.
I can't even fathom feeling the same way about another baby. But I know I will. I will expand like a galaxy, filling up all the space around you and your brother or sister. Stretching and exploding like stars so that everything you both touch and breathe and think and feel is powdered with the moondust of my fierce mama love. And as the four of us all grow up and old together, we will orbit around each other like a solar system, spinning and turning and learning. Pushing away and pulling back but forever connected.
I love you, darling boy.