My sister, Clara, and I have always shared an incredibly close, loving bond, despite the significant six-year age gap that exists between us. She has always been the undeniable baby of the entire family, and our Mom has consequently always been a little extra protective and preferential toward her younger daughter. I genuinely never perceived this favoritism as a difficult or painful problem until this past, highly emotional week. We both found ourselves pregnant at almost exactly the same time, with our respective due dates scheduled only one single month apart. We spent our entire pregnancies joking constantly about the unusual timing, excitedly buying matching baby outfits, and making heartfelt plans for how our children would inevitably grow up to be the very best of friends, inseparable from birth.
The impending due dates approached rapidly, and we were both visibly huge and deeply uncomfortable from the final stage of pregnancy. Then, late one night last week, I suddenly began experiencing strong, consistent contractions that signaled the start of labor. I immediately called my Mom, doing my absolute best to keep my voice calm and steady despite the increasing pain, and she immediately promised that she was already on her way to the hospital and would arrive as soon as she possibly could manage. Not even five minutes after that comforting call, my phone rang again; it was Clara. She was intensely crying, explaining through sobs that her water had unexpectedly broken, and she was going into labor herself, demanding her mother’s presence instantly at her side.
Faced with the truly impossible choice of which daughter to attend, my Mom immediately declared her clear preference, shattering my expectations. She firmly announced, “I will go straight to Clara first. She’s much younger than you are, and she’s never actually been through this difficult experience before.” Then, she added the single, brutal line that cut me to my core, establishing my new position instantly: “You’ll cope perfectly well on your own, Remi.” That devastating sentence was the very first time I had ever consciously felt like I was completely second on my mother’s priority list. I numbly told her that I completely understood her choice, and she immediately hung up the phone quickly to rush to Clara’s hospital side.
Alone, I gave birth to my beautiful, healthy baby girl, a monumental moment that was profoundly special, yet undeniably tinged with deep sadness due to the massive absence. As soon as the baby was cleaned up and gently settled safely in my arms, I instantly picked up my phone to text my Mom the wonderful news, bursting with excitement and the desire to share my overwhelming joy. I desperately wanted to see the pride and relief in her response. I truly believed this incredible news would finally bring her to my side of the hospital, eager to meet her new granddaughter and offer the congratulations I felt I justly deserved for enduring the delivery entirely alone.
My Mom‘s brief, impersonal return text message completely gutted me, proving my painful feelings of being second were absolutely justified, and crushing all the pure joy right out of the moment. Her entire focus was clearly elsewhere, dedicated solely to Clara: “Your sister’s baby is so beautiful! You absolutely have to come and see her! I’ll come by to see you after Clara is fully settled at home.” It felt entirely like my immense personal news and the successful birth of my daughter simply did not matter at all to her. She never once even asked how I was doing after the grueling delivery. Her only priority was Clara’s newborn; she didn’t even acknowledge that my baby was beautiful too, or that she was perfect and needed a grandmother.
We came home from the hospital yesterday with our new baby girl, and my Mom still has not yet come by to visit or check in properly on me or her new grandchild. She finally sent a detached, general text message this morning, reading simply, “Just checking in, hope you’re all doing well! Thinking of you!” I intentionally chose not to reply at all, overwhelmed by a consuming, complex mix of hurt and intense pain. I know deeply that I should be perfectly happy for Clara‘s own motherhood, and I truly am, but I cannot shake the deep, stinging emotional pain. I constantly think about how my Mom was such a huge, supportive part of my first baby’s birth experience, and with this one, she was completely absent, choosing clear favoritism over simple equal maternal care.
