When my five-year-old son peeked into the crib, he whispered, “Mom… this isn’t the baby we saw at the hospital.” At first, I thought he was just jealous—until he told me what had happened while I was asleep.
The moment we brought our newborn daughter home, my five-year-old son stopped smiling.
Max had been waiting for this day for months. He helped me decorate the nursery, picked out a yellow blanket covered in tiny stars, and placed his favorite stuffed rabbit beside the crib.
Every evening before the baby was born, he would rest his hand on my belly and whisper:
“Don’t be scared, little sister. Your big brother is waiting for you.”
At the hospital, Max was even more excited.
He carefully sat beside me, stared at the tiny baby in my arms, and gently touched her little fingers.
