“It is natural and normal for an older child to respond to the birth of a new baby with feelings of jealousy, resentment, insecurity, anger and sadness.” — Association of Child Psychotherapists
Dear Mom,
So I hear you’re having a second child. What’s that all about? Was I wrong to think you and I had an exclusive? I mean, whatever happened to that whole “you’re-my-everything” speech?
And what makes you think I’m OK giving up my role as your be-all-and-end-all? Did it ever occur to you to ask me first? Ever hear of the right of first refusal?
What about all the times you called me “more than enough to handle?” Now I’m suddenly less than enough? Would you care to specify just how? Was my cuteness quotient somehow below standard?
Is it conceivable to you that maybe, just maybe, a certain someone has zero interest in being a big sister?
And how will a so-called second child shake out for me? Will I, as a mere five-year-old, now have to cook my own meals? Will you still pay my room and board? Will I have to do my own taxes? And if so, may I claim myself as my own dependent?
And what about my Barbies? Will I have to share those? What about my stuffed panda, my Legos, my Play-Doh, my 64-color crayon box, my Peppa Pig figures, my “Frozen” puzzle and — let’s never forget — my miniature battery-operated pink Maserati?
Will I, worse still, have to pretend to like the new baby? Will I have to help you take care of the squalling little brat? Am I to be expected, for example, to oversee potty-training?
Please, just to get it on the record, briefly outline my responsibilities. Will I be vested with carte blanche to boss the baby around? And if so, may I, ipso facto, be as bossy as I am with you? Or will I have to do less random screaming, punching and kicking?
Oh, and, by the way, will I still be your favorite child? Or will I, instead, become an also-ran, an afterthought, a second-class citizen in my own home, shunted aside in favor of a younger, flashier model?
What if we have a rivalry? How do you plan to cope with a second child if your first has already turned out to be impossible?
Are you even up to this? Ever hear how a second child is really like a third wheel?
And, far-fetched as it sounds, what if our newcomer winds up by some quirk being even more adorable than I am? What’s going to happen to all that just-you-and-me- time baking chocolate-chip cookies and cuddling in bed watching “Bluey?”
Will I have to share you 50-50? Or might we arrive at a more equitable ratio of, say, 75-25?
Alternatively, maybe we could just stamp the newbie “return-to-sender?” A simple solution, no?
Besides, if you take my personality into account, can you produce even a scintilla of evidence that I’ll be a desirable sibling anyway?
Maybe we can convince Daddy to raise your new kid in another location — but only temporarily, for no more than 20 or 25 years. Just to give me enough time to finish college and get married.
Why are you doing this to me anyway? Can we at least talk this through? Do we still have some wiggle room for negotiation? Maybe you can tell me what success would look like here.
Could we at least go away someplace together, just the two of us, as a kind of last hurrah, before you-know-who shows up? Pretty please?
And sorry to sound litigious, but just to be safe, may I please get everything discussed here today in writing? Would you mind signing where indicated, just below the fine print granting me 100% of you 24/7?
And getting it notarized, too?
I mean, why should I regard this whole ploy as anything but a wanton breach of promise?
And while we’re at it here, maybe I should retain an attorney to protect my rights as the first on the scene. If I do lawyer up, would you kindly recommend a real shark?
But maybe this is too much to ask. If so, please accept my resignation, effective immediately.
Alternatively, you could always give me a bigger allowance.
Love,
Your first born
Brody, a consultant and essayist, is a former New Yorker and author of the memoir “Playing Catch with Strangers: A Family Guy (Reluctantly) Comes of Age.”
