Helping children adjust to a new baby.

My daughter was four years old when her new sister arrived.

Needless to say, she had a lot of adjusting to do, since she’d been the only child around our house for quite sometime: four years.

People told me things like, “She won’t even remember what it was like before her sister, when she gets older,” and other similar tales of “she’ll get over it; used to it.”

But I know better.

I have pretty vivid memories from before one years old and extremely vivid memories from two and on—and my daughter displays what’s likely a much better memory than mine.

So when our new baby arrived and my daughter was visibly upset, I ached—and I was disappointed for her, and for me.

However, the baby is now four months old and these two are already showing signs of close sisterhood. (I’m relieved, but I do know that we still have a ways to go.) That said, I’d like to share with you the three top things that have helped our household grow closer, and more naturally loving, during this time of adjustment.

1. Communicate.

Talk with your child about her feelings.

Ask her about how she’s feeling and then only listen. Children (and people) can take awhile to formulate themselves into words. Don’t try to pretend that you know how she feels. Do tell her how you feel too, in order to open up this channel of communication.

I’ve told my daughter honest things, like how I miss our time together and how I’m aware that the baby takes up much of my time. I’ve told her that big people have difficulty with these types of feelings, much less little people. Remember to never belittle her feelings because of her size. As I’ve already shared, I have strong memories of my own early childhood—emotions included—and, if anything, kids don’t possess the tools that grown-ups do to healthfully cope.

Give her the tools.

A favorite thing that my daughter and I do together is “belly breathing.”

 2. Don’t force contact.

One of the biggest mistakes that I witness is parents pushing their children to interact.

For one, teaching children to interact when they don’t want to is essentially teaching them to not go with their instincts. I never, for example,  make my daughter give people kisses or hugs, whether it be myself or our new baby.

So you want the perfect photo? Well then wait with a camera close by for that interaction when it arrives in its own time. I am not a psychologist or a physician, but I do believe fully in this.

I did not force my oldest daughter to hug or kiss or even sit with the baby (even though people asked repeatedly for pictures displaying things like this), but now they cuddle nearly all the time. Just today, my older daughter didn’t even want the baby to go down for her nap because she wanted to kiss her some more.

It will happen—and it will be so much better when it happens on its on. Give it time and space.

 3. Have dates with older children.

This is, I think, one of the most important things.

Keep in mind that, especially if you’re a nursing mother like I am, then the baby is with you pretty much non-stop. Yes, it’s important to get back to having a relationship with your spouse, but it’s also crucial to set up special dates for older children.

One day, I had my parents over and left the baby with them and took my daughter out for cupcakes and to the toy store for some stickers and art supplies. We were gone, including driving time, for no longer than an hour—and she and I both had an amazing experience.

The date before that was our first one, and I took my little girl to get new shoes—she wanted to sleep in them and she’s worn them every day since—because, yes, these shoes are cool, but, more, they remind her of her mommy’s love.

Again, I’m not a professional counselor, and I honestly don’t even like parental advice. Why? Because the best professional for your child is you.

We know our kids better than anyone.

And the above offerings aren’t meant to suggest that we should ignore the new baby.

While I realize completely that a new baby, physically well cared for, isn’t necessarily ignored, it’s important to remember that even new babies need more than diaper changes and feedings. They need eye contact and belly nuzzles and hand holding and hugs.

It’s important, also, that my older child sees me nurturing the new baby, so that she sees a shining example of how to caress and care for her.

So, I trusted my gut to help me handle this extremely important situation, of bringing a new baby into our family while simultaneously protecting my older daughter’s feelings—and I’m so grateful.

Because every day we’re moving closer and closer to that tight-knit family I had envisioned.

The post 3 Tips: How to Deal with Sibling Jealousy When the New Baby Arrives. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I realized that my life right now is like a ginormous game of Jenga.

Let’s be clear—I don’t play Jenga.

Still, I envision the way that the wooden pieces are set together in a looming, grand tower and they feel stable—almost. But then, one piece is just slightly nudged—just bumped—and everything topples over.

Having a new baby in the family is the most wonderful fundamental change to a family’s structure.

Everything is new, even when it’s the second baby, like mine is right now.

Because she might look nearly identical to her sister—when they’re sleeping. But then their eyes open and their faces become entirely different.

I’m also an identical twin. My parents have old Polaroids of us asleep too. We look exactly the same. And then, in other photographs, we’re smiling—and our smiles are unique. Or we’re laughing—and the glimmers in our eyes are not the same at all.

Because people are unique and our personalities—even those of identical twins and seemingly identical-looking siblings—are wildly all our own.

And, in my unique little space in my life right now, I sit here writing this with a sore body that just wants to pop into my cozy little yoga room; the room with only a large circular mat and two Jade mats plopped down; the room with a tiny, unusually long and thin table off to one side with special things, like a beautifully large geode that I once won and a lamp that gives off the most gentle light; a light so gentle that this non-night owl actually looks forward to evening practices when my husband’s home from work.

And that’s just it: there’s a perfectly nestled, safe infrastructure cocooned away from the world within our tiny little family and our small-ish home on the hill—but within that soft, cozy space is also fragility and something…almost raw from being so brand-new.

My best friend is coming to visit tomorrow. I cannot wait to see her face, to hug her body and to look into her eyes.

Even talking on the phone—just texting!—has become nearly impossible as I try to juggle being a new mom with being the same mom I already am to my four-year-old.

I feel hot tears build up behind my eyes, that aren’t allowed to spill over, because I’m driving to an appointment or talking to a stranger.

I feel like an open wound hidden behind flimsy gauze and all anyone sees is the slight purplish color underneath my eyes or the way my stomach is close-to-flat as they inspect my postpartum body. People don’t see the fear that lurks under my postpartum skin because they don’t want to; it’s too uncomfortable. It’s much easier and lighter and nicer to talk about my stomach or my lack of sleep.

But my life right now is like a ginormous Jenga game—because it is perfectly placed, even if it’s precarious as well. And, though I so eagerly await my friend’s arrival, I’m also nervous that I’m too frazzled for adult human companionship.

There’s this mania that overcomes a new mother when she’s out in public—even at the grocery store.

She’s like a feral, protective animal as she holds her new baby close in the sling; needing both attention and not-too-much attention. Simultaneously, however, this new mother is manically excited to be out with other adults, since her species is usually found breastfeeding on the sofa with food stains from her four-year-old, or running errands like pre-school pick-up, and not out actually conversing with other “big people.”

So she laughs too much or too hard (which is really too much and too hard since she laughs loudly and easily anyways).

She over-shares just a touch too much (which, even that over-share took effort to reign in since she’s an open individual already).

Because the new mother is two people: herself, wanting camaraderie and giggles and fun and intellectual interaction, while also being a mother bear who wants to hibernate with her new offspring, away from the world and everyone in it (except her four-year-old daughter).

And it’s made even harder when you are a new mother for the second (or third, or fourth…) time. Because when I finally get to hold onto my first little girl—my husband, home from work, has the baby—I want to squeeze her and kiss her and tears come to my eyes all over again for how much I miss her, and our “us.”

But she shoves those tears down until they can spill over when she wants them to. (Although, she knows that this won’t happen—they’ll come freely when she’s writing and can no longer see the computer screen or they’ll come in the middle of a conversation with her doting husband and she has to excuse herself to sob violently alone in the bedroom.)

And this is the mania of the new mother’s careful, tender Jenga-built life.

And every piece is perfectly placed, from her chunks of sleep at night to her best friend’s few-days-long stay.

She grabs a tissue to wipe her flowing tears. The baby within the sling stirs against her beating chest. Her phone lights up with a text from her doting husband who is trying to help plan her friend’s airport pick-up. And all of these things are sitting, stacked one on top of the other in a perfectly ordered, disheveled array.

And she knows that she might be too raw for her manic interactions with the optometrist when she stops in for her daughter’s new pair of glasses, but she’s not too messy for her friend. Or for herself.

Because she’s a new mother and she deserves grace, especially her own.

After all, if we cannot be kind and gracious with ourselves, how can we be these fragile things with the rest of the gently waiting world?

Photo: Chris.

This article was first published by Be You Media Group.

The post The Mania of the New Mother’s Careful, Jenga-Built Life. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.