Last week I wrote about the struggle of being a mother and trying to be two places at once. My oldest son, Ford, had Academic Awards night at his high school at the same time my youngest son, Lindell, had a baseball game. I tried to split my time at both events, but I ended up missing the award ceremony altogether because Lindell begged me to stay at the baseball game when his team was winning for the first time in two years.
Later, Ford told me that he was glad that I got to see Lindell’s game and that he was sure Lindell was happy about that. I attributed this to children learning to share their mother through the years and ultimately coming out the other end more independent.
However, some readers, all of them firstborns, I assume, attributed it to something else. Mainly, that a character trait common amongst oldest siblings is their ability to share their parents more than perhaps their younger brothers and sisters do.
These readers might have a point. I’m the youngest of three, so this idea would not have occurred to me intuitively.
From the time Ford was 2 years and 2 days old, when his younger brother, Owen, was born, he had to learn to share my attention. Owen came home swaddled in a blanket, and Ford was promptly moved from his crib to a toddler bed, and I started saying things like, “You’re too old for a binkie now.”
Squirmy, impatient, 2-year-old Ford had to learn to wait in his car seat while I unbuckled his baby brother and got him in the stroller. Then he had to sit in the basket of the shopping cart while his brother’s baby carrier took up the entirety of his usual seat up front, facing me.
None of these things ever stood out to me until I watched a Christmas video many years later. In the video, Ford was 4 years old and Owen was 2. Owen had been a late walker and talker, and we were very excited about his newfound ability to get around. Behind the camera, you can hear me cheering on Owen — “You can do it. Look at you! We are so proud!” — and then you can hear Ford off screen asking, “Are you getting me in the picture, Mommy? I want to be in the picture.”
“Just wait, Ford,” I tell him. “I’m filming Owen right now.”
When I watched that a few years later, it hit me in the gut. It was so blatantly obvious how much Ford wanted my attention and felt overshadowed by Owen and his new tricks. Never mind that Owen could make a good case for the opposite, that he was overshadowed by Ford. When Owen had still not said any words by the time he was 18 months old, the doctors did all kinds of tests. At each appointment, they tried to get Owen to talk. “What’s your favorite food, Owen?” and Ford would say, “He likes peanut butter.”
Doctor: “Do you go to school, Owen?”
Ford: “He’s too young.”
Once all the doctors’ tests had been completed and they determined nothing was organically wrong with him, one of them said, “Owen has just one problem, and his name begins with F.” Ford, they said, had to quit talking for Owen. He had to quit getting his toys for him, too. Eventually, the doctors said, without Ford’s constant help, Owen would be forced to walk and talk.
And it worked.
Still, I wanted to pull the tape out of that cassette and destroy the home movie where Ford said at least two dozen times, “Get me in the picture, Mommy!”
When Ford was 6, Lindell was born, and Ford again had to be patient. Sometimes he had to make his own breakfast or pack his own snacks. Often, when I was busy with the baby, Ford did Owen’s bedtime story for me.
And again, later I would cry about these things. Just 6 years old and doing his brother’s bedtime story? What kind of mother am I?
Well, as it turns out, now that Ford is 17, I didn’t mess things up as badly as I had anticipated. To this day, Ford still makes Lindell eggs and toast in the morning. He gets him from school. And when I’m worn out, he takes Lindell on a walk. Many times, when Lindell is sad, he goes to Ford before anyone else. Dustin and I joke that when Ford goes to college, we will suddenly have a child to raise again. Because for many years now, Ford has been carrying a lot of the weight for us as our family dealt with military deployments and other separations before Dustin retired.
In fact, the house just might fall apart without Ford, Dustin says.
Ford didn’t choose to be the first born, but like all firstborns, his birth order has shaped him in ways we will never fully understand. And although I sometimes feel sad about the times Ford has had to grow up quickly or been forced to do without my attention, it’s made him who he is — a person who continually puts others first.
I just wish I could go back in time to that Christmas video and tell little Ford, “Yes, I see you. I always see you. And I love you.”
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