To Our Fourth Child

Dear Popsicle,

You are not a First Child. When I was expecting your big brother, joy abounded from the people I'd meet just going about my day. Spotting the little bump proudly stretching my tight maternity clothes, they would ask if it was my first. When I said yes, those strangers would positively twinkle at me, telling me how much my life was going to change and sharing such 'helpful' advice as "Whatever you do, don't breastfeed", "Make sure you breastfeed", "Keep that baby close, the years are short" and "Show the baby who's boss".
Beaming in return I nodded at all advice, calmly confident that we - and your brother - would work things out as we went along. And thankfully, that seemed to work for us as we became a family of three.

Nor are you a Second Baby, the baby who prompted knowing smiles from all we encountered. "That's a lovely age gap, they'll be the best of friends", "You're going for the girl, are you?" and "Proper order, a fine young man like that needs a little sister to look after". Advice was still forthcoming too, mostly on how to avoid sibling rivalry. The people we met were still on safe territory overall, feeling they could easily understand and have some input.

But, sweetheart, you're not even a Third Baby. The sight of my third big bump was accepted by most as a funny sort of indulgence. Our first kids were getting a little older and clearly I wanted one more 'go' at the teeny baby stage before retiring my ovaries. I was being a little greedy perhaps, but no harm. "Sure the older ones will be able to help now, you'll get on grand".

And now your impending presence is announced every time I walk down the street. On realising that you will be a fourth child, there have really only been two responses from the people who like to think they're in the know.
Option A is that your Daddy and I must be 'gluttons for punishment' with a laugh and a headshake to indicate that the speaker would never be so foolish.
Option B is often from the older generation, where four children was actually a small family. They reassure me that you'll 'slot right in and you'll hardly notice at all'.

What those people don't understand is that you, my love, are not an afterthought or an also-ran. Far from going unnoticed, your arrival is eagerly awaited by older siblings as well as your Daddy and me. Strangers on the street haven't heard the squeals of delight as you move my belly about beneath the hands of Little Man and Little Lady, and I often wonder what Little One thinks of the pummelling you attempt to give him each time he sits in my lap.

I am looking forward to seeing your little face every bit as much as I did with your brothers and sister, and to that particular mixture of smugness and awe on your Daddy's face when he holds you for the first time. I sing your very own 'bump song' to you, the same song I plan to sing while I nurse you to sleep in a few short months. While you kick, and squirm and grow inside me, I can hardly wait to see if you'll be another old soul, or a free spirit - or whether you'll surprise us anew.

Your arrival will be celebrated not by two, but by five people who will form your immediate family, who will each  love you and annoy you (sometimes in equal measure) as you grow.

Sweetheart, you are not our first baby, but you will likely be our last - and you will be cherished.

Love,
Mammy
xxxxx