My son does not like change; change is scary and change is bad. He doesn't like entering the house through the back door instead of the front, even when he's in the back. He doesn't like going out without checking the mail. He doesn't like eating from a new bowl or drinking from a new cup. So, you'd better believe he doesn't like traveling or moving to a new home or getting a new little sibling.
My son was two-and-a-half when my daughter was born, and he was NOT HAPPY with her arrival. I have this great picture of the two of them together, just after we got home from the hospital: she is a little pink bundle of blankets propped on pillows to make a vaguely babylike outline for the camera and he is inching as far away from that bundle as he can, looking over his shoulder at her, glaring in disgust.
We did that thing you're supposed to do when the new sibling arrives: have a gift ready for the baby to give to the big brother and have a gift for him to give to her. In the scenario I had written, his eyes would light up when we said, "Oh, look! Here's a gift from Sister!" And they would bond for life. As it was, his eyes did light up, but it was love for his new toy, not his new sister that shone in them: "Ah, I love you toy!" He was too afraid of that weird little crying, squirming thing we were calling his sister to show her the gift he had for her. Fortunately, she didn't know the difference.
But slowly, as the months wore on, he began to warm up to her. When Christmas arrived, I thought we would try again and I told him he should pick out a present for her. He decided that she needed a stuffed rabbit, just like a beloved toy of his. And he decided it should be white. Then I learned an important lesson in the world of stuffed animal shopping: if you want a stuffed white rabbit not associated with Alice in Wonderland, do not go shopping for one in December, they are only available in spring for Easter. Who knew! So, I searched the Internet looking for nice white rabbits. After I had found a few, I showed my son the photos and he picked one.
When the rabbit arrived in the mail, I showed it to my son. "Look," I said, "here's the rabbit for you to give to Sister for Christmas." But he wasn't going to wait for Christmas, he ran right into their room, where his sister was sleeping in her crib and climbed up and snuggled the rabbit into her hand. "There you go, Sister," he said. I wish I had a picture of that moment, to put in an album alongside the one of him glaring, but the only camera in the room at that moment was the one in my mind.
The rabbit used to sleep in my daughter's crib with her, along with a gradually increasing menagerie, until she outgrew her crib and in the flurry of getting the big girl bed, the rabbit was buried in the closet with the rest of the crib menagerie. And as my son grew older, he showed fewer of those touching moments of spontaneous affection with her. He plays with her more often, but also fights with her more often. He laughs with her more, but actually tells her he loves her less often.
This week I was cleaning out their closet and found the rabbit. "Look," I said to my daughter, "it's the rabbit Brother gave you for your very first Christmas." Now, "my rabbit that Brother gave me" has joined the esteemed company of the stuffed animal ruler of the bedroom, her beloved Gigi, as the object she cannot sleep without and must take everywhere with her. And I know she loves it, not for what it is, but for the love she knows it represents from the sometimes distant big brother she adores, the brother who adapted to the change and came to quietly adore her too.
