My husband and I took our 4-year-old daughter to the hospital yesterday for a sibling class, geared to prepare her for what it’ll be like when the new baby arrives. I had high hopes, as a friend had recently attended and thought it was extremely helpful. I should begin my mentioning that my daughter is your atypical little girl–NOT a huge fan of dolls (she’d choose Thomas the Tank Engine over a Betsy Wetsy anyday).
So, as you can imagine, when it came time to role-play, Peyton was not having any of this. Practicing diaper changing and burping…does it get your blood pumping, too? In fact, if anything, she seemed rather bored and wanted to know when we could go home.
More useful, perhaps, was our trek over to the nursery where the nurse held up a live baby for our viewing pleasure. A preemie boy (because “none of our ‘regular’ babies were available), he was so small and fragile-looking, it made me catch my breath. I looked over at Peyton who my husband was holding up, so she could get a better look, and realized that in a few short few weeks, this little baby of mine would have her place as “baby” usurped, and I felt a genuine pang of pure empathy. Would she be OK with this change in her young life? I could only hope so…
