To My First Born, Middle Child, and Baby

Many years ago, before marriage and children, I rolled my eyes as I watched my mom cry in a store reading these framed poems. I think she bought them (?) but I can't remember for sure. I've been thinking about them the past couple of weeks, and wanted to share them. I love them because they each say "I've always loved you best....".

Dear First Born,
I've always loved you best because you were our first born. You were the genesis of a marriage and the fulfillment of young love. You sustained us through the hamburger years, the first apartment, furnished in EARLY POVERTY and the 7 inch T.V., we paid on for 36 months.
You were new, had unused grandparents, and enough clothes for a set of triplets. You were the original model for a mom and dad who were trying to work the bugs out. You got the strained lamb, the open safety pin and the three hour naps.
You were the beginning.



Dear Middle Child,

I've always loved you best because you drew a tough spot in the family and it made you stronger for it.
You cried less, had more patience, wore more faded hand-me-downs and never in your life did anything first. But it only made you more special. You were the one we relaxed with and realized a dog could kiss you and you wouldn't get sick. You could cross a street by yourself long before you were old enough to get married. And you helped us understand the world wouldn't collapse if you went to bed with dirty feet.
You were the child of our ambitious years. Without you we never could have survived the job changes and the tedium and the routine that is marriage.





To The Baby,
I've always loved you best because while endings are usually sad, you were such a joy. You readily accepted the milk stained bibs, the lower bunk, the cracked baseball bat, the baby book that had nothing written in it except a recipe for graham cracker crust pie that someone had pushed between the pages.
You were the one we held on to so tightly. You were the ties with our past, a reason for tomorrow. You darkened our hair, quickened our steps, squared our shoulders, restored our vision, and gave us a sense of humor that security, maturity and durability can't provide.
When your hairline takes on the shape of Lake Erie and your own children tower over you, you will still be our baby.