If someone asks me if going from two to three is as hard as going from one to two, I won’t quite no how to answer. For one, I’m very good at self-denial. I’ve got this weird survival mechanism within me that doesn’t realize something is as hard as it is until after the fact. For instance, I remember loving my time when Hannah, my second, was a baby. At the same time, I also remember that with a toddler and a newborn the sleep deprivation was off the charts. I started seeing yellow spots one day when I was driving, so some days I wouldn’t let myself drive. Weekends were the worst because there was the expectation that SOMEBODY would get to sleep in and when neither of us could, a big grump fest would begin.

With that in mind, going from two to three somehow doesn’t seem as hard. As with Hannah’s birth, I am thrilled by the shape my family has taken. I’m really enjoying it. And I am not feeling hugely hit by sleep deprivation. Yet. (Knocking on wood here.) I don’t know if I’m getting more sleep, or if I’m mentally stronger. I know that this kid will be sleeping through the night one day. At the same time, the mental game seems harder. When my girls are gone I spend my alone time strategizing on how to make things go more smoothly for the girls, especially Hannah. My mind is constantly whirring, trying to figure out the puzzle of our new normal. Where and how will we settle on a that new normal. How will I carve out alone time with each of them and for me.

And then I have to remember that this is most likely my last chance to spend a day staring at the face of my own newborn. I stop the mental whirring and take it all in, trying to put it all in my memory, knowing that I will actually remember so little–which is why I write–and keep one of those first year baby calendars.

What I am concluding is that there is only so much I can do to change our daily reality. As much as I want to carve out for Hannah what I once was, I can only do so much. I have stepped it up and started driving her to school and activities. That has helped tremendously. I try to grab her and hold her tight whenever I can, but often when she comes to me my hands are full. Therefore, my conclusion is that part of making this work is accepting what we have become. I will not have as much time alone to myself, or with them individually. Rather than simply trying to find alone time with Hannah, I need to make it more fun for her to hang out with the baby. I need to help her bond with him. Pull her of the sidelines.

It’s as if Hannah is in a No Man’s Land. I felt that way during my last two weeks of pregnancy. The present was not working. The baby was so big that I was extremely uncomfortable. Going backwards was impossible. But to get forward, I had to get through labor. I’m on the other side, and it feels great. But Hannah now has to go through a labor of her own - finding her way to her brother.

Today I put the baby down after he fell asleep. I decided to leave the mess in our kitchen and do something I hadn’t done in ages: play with the girls. I had set up a tent for Hannah earlier that day made out of sheets and chairs. We pretended the tent was my hospital room. Hannah was the nurse. She handed me a baby doll. Then she handed me a larger doll. I decided the larger would be the older sister. I put my head back in the hospital bed and tried to sneak a little shut eye. When I looked up the big sister doll was hitting the baby doll.

Later the real baby woke up and I brought him into the room. We pretended he was the big brother and was sad that his new baby brother spit up all the time. Hannah nodded a little bit, appearing to feel his pain.

Two nights ago, the girls and I were giving the baby a bath. Hannah was sitting on a stool and slipped off, stepping for a second into the little bathtub. It scared all of us because she almost stepped on the baby hard. The baby started crying. I wasn’t sure if the baby had been stepped on, so I grabbed and started examining him, probably looking scared. Then Hannah started crying, feeling awful. I had to decide whether to put down the crying baby or comfort Hannah. For about five seconds I didn’t know what to do. Then I put the crying baby back into the bath and held Hannah. I told her she had saved her brother because she tried really hard not to step on him. I asked her if she wanted to hold him and comfort him. She did. So I diapered him up, wrapped him in a towel and put him on her lap. They spent ten minutes like that. (This is where I really am grateful for the pacifier). “I feel really bad,” she kept saying, clearly wounded inside, and looking at him and healing a little bit as she was allowed to take on the big sister roll full-on. She mentioned the fall and her feeling again tonight and asked to hold him again like that after the bath. “I felt bad,” she said again. “It made me feel bad about myself.”

Hannah deserves to feel good about herself as a big sister. I have concluded that in addition to us piling on the praise and squeezing in some time just with me, the adjustment will have to come through bonding with her brother. It’s her journey and I’m going to try to document it for her, because as bad as she feels about herself at times these days, it really is a love story in the making. She has a heart of gold and is going to make an incredible sister with just a little more confidence.