Since I live three and a half hours away, I don't get to spend as much time with Carter as the rest of my family, so I jumped at the opportunity to keep him Friday night after the birth. The little booger stayed up until TWO O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, though! He only fell asleep after he pinched his fingers in a cabinet door and let me rock and sing to him.
But as we sat on the floor of the dimly lit den, an old western playing on the TV, me humming Edelweiss like I did when he was an infant, I realized that he was special: he was the first baby born from my generation, that of my sisters and cousins. He is a first first. That privilege gives him a distinct place in each of our family member's hearts. He would always be the first, the one I loved first, held first, kissed first, practice patience with first. This even separates him from my own future children. Not that it means I will love him more or that Jemma will be less loved or appreciated. It's just that he is a first first, and that comes with just as many responsibilities as advantages.
My mother was a first first, and I was a first first, and looking back, I understand a lot more about my aunts' and grandparents' expectations and love for me. There's just so much emotion and hope that comes with that first born of a new generation. There's also a connection that's formed between these firsts. Mama and I had it, and now, we'll both get to share it with Carter.
I love you, Carter, and can't wait to spend time with you and baby Jemma and to get to know each of you as you grow up.
SDG
