Early on in my pregnancy, I began telling my toddler son how a new baby was on its way. I was excited to share the news with anyone who would listen, and he was interested in why I was always laying on the couch letting him watch Sesame Street. Also, I wanted to prepare him for the new little girl or boy who would soon be upending our family dynamic.
The first time I truly appreciated that my son would be a big brother was when he felt the baby move. His hand was on my belly when the baby gave a big kick. “I felt it!” he exclaimed, looking at me with such a wondrous expression that it made me teary. It was my best parenting moment thus far—to have my son connect with his future sibling in that way.
Yet, it was a one-time event—my growing belly holds no interest to him anymore. He’s moved onto bigger and better things. Specifically, he’s moved onto Baby Big Bird. It’s his Big Bird doll, dressed in an onesie and needing constant attention.
I am amazed how much time he dedicates to keeping watch over “his baby.” He puts him in the crib where the real baby will soon be sleeping, turns on the mobile, and watches Big Bird “watch” the mobile like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “Baby Big Bird likes this song!” he squeals.
Then he changes Big Bird’s diaper 10 times in a row, using clumps of real wipes that I try to salvage as I trail behind him. He also likes putting Baby Big Bird in the baby swing, where he’ll rock him back and forth while singing songs about trains and stickers (his current passions). It’s all very sweet and I love seeing him practicing being a big brother, but at the same time I feel obliged to remind him that Baby Big Bird is not at all like the baby who is going to be coming out of my tummy.
“Imagine how much more fun this will be when the real baby gets here!” I tell him.
“No—Baby Big Bird is the real baby,” he responds.
“You know the real baby is going to sleep in this bed when it comes, right?” I tell him as he rubs Baby Big Bird’s tummy to help him fall asleep in the crib.
“No, this is Baby Big Bird’s bed!” he tells me, looking offended that his stuffed animal’s rightful place might be usurped by an impostor.
“But Baby Big Bird’s just pretend right?” I say, a little concerned that he thinks Baby Big Bird is somehow better than his soon-to-be real life sibling.
I’m pretty sure he knows the real baby will (hopefully) look nothing like Baby Big Bird and that he’ll forget all about his Baby Big Bird obsession over the next few days. And I have to believe it’s great that he’s showing any interest in the baby at all, even if it’s in the form of an awkward, yellow, nasally Sesame Street character.
Still, Baby Big Bird is getting on my nerves. He may have to take a vacation sometime soon in the back of my closet. Until then, I guess I should try to appreciate a baby who never cries, poops, or wakes up in the middle of the night. And if he does, my toddler is on top of it.
