You amaze me.
Every day you talk about your brother AND your sister when others hesitate to say her name. This morning, you whispered, "Baby Vi," so soft and sweetly and then you screamed, "Baby D," in a silly boisterous voice defining them as I imagine their personalities to be. Sometimes I think you know them better than anyone.
You ask me to lift up my shirt as you sing to him, bring him your treasured Cowie, set a binky on my belly, and blow raspberries to wake him up. I am in awe that you are so young yet so involved and interested in his pregnancy. He has been a person to you for many months already and your sister continues to be a real person to you, too. It's beautiful.
You inspire me.
You seem to know exactly how to naturally incorporate them both into our lives as they should be. "Mys sister died," you'll say, a bit sadly but more matter of fact than anything. Just like that. Yep, she did. And we're still here, still waiting for your brother, surviving. As a side note, I hope you never stop saying "mys" instead of "my."
You give me hope.
My first born girl, you started my journey as a mother. It's not what I imagined it to be, but because you are in it, it is even better than my wildest dreams could've imagined.
You are my strength.