A Missing Puzzle Piece
I had a mommy-son date today while the baby stayed home with my husband — and it was fantastic.
We went to one of my son’s favorite places, a little amusement park where he can ride rollercoasters and watch animals. Without his baby sister, we were free to go on as many rides as we wanted, with no nap schedules or stroller logistics. It was just the two of us, moving on his timeline. I held his hand, and we talked about his favorite rides while he laughed joyfully on the ride that lifts you up and down. It felt refreshing — simple and light.
For a moment, I thought: Wouldn’t it be nice if this was our everyday? Just me and him? But then something shifted.
We were about to go on the merry-go-round for the second time when I noticed a little girl — the same age as my daughter — in a cute dress, riding with her parents. I instantly missed my daughter. As lovely as it was to give my son my full attention, I wanted her to be with us in that moment too.
As if reading my mind, my son brought her up. He told me how much she loves the merry-go-round and said, “We should bring her next time.” In that moment, I nodded my head and held him tight.
She is a vital piece of our family puzzle.
That simple moment brought back a concept my husband once shared with me from his work world — Tuckman’s team development model. He uses it in the context of team dynamics, but today, I realized it applies just as well to family life.
The model describes how teams evolve through four phases: forming, storming, norming, and performing. And looking back over the past year, I can see our family moving through those same stages.
Forming
When our daughter was born, we were already a “formed” family. We had our rhythm, our routines, our roles. But suddenly, we had to make space for someone new — not just physically, but emotionally. That was the forming stage: reintroducing ourselves to our new family shape.
Storming
This stage was rough. My son, just two and a half at the time, was going through big tantrums. I was recovering physically and emotionally, trying to be a mom to both a toddler and a newborn. There was jealousy. There were tears — from all of us. My son, who once had me all to himself, now had to compete with a crying, nursing newborn. I often saw the confusion in his eyes. At one point, while staying with my mom, he asked her if his sister was “going back.” To him, this must’ve felt like a temporary vacation from normal life.
Norming
Over time, we settled into new rhythms. Expectations shifted, routines adjusted, and my son began to understand that this was the new normal — that she was here to stay. Slowly, the conflicts turned into sweet moments. He began to include her in his play, talk about her more, and recognize her place in our family.
Performing
This is where we are now — thriving. Not all the time, of course, but enough that I can say we’ve found a new kind of harmony. The other day, I was putting my daughter down for a nap, and she started to cry. My son came into the room — usually a sign that the nap would be disrupted. When he opened the door, I gave him a look and said, "get out".
Instead, he surprised me.
He quietly walked to the fridge, got her milk, brought it to me, and said, “Mommy, baby wants milk.” She drank it, calmed down, and went to sleep. Then he turned to her and whispered, “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. I’m a superhero.”
Yes — he is a superhero. He’s growing into the role of big brother with grace and compassion. We’ve been working on that language with him — leaning into Paw Patrol themes and helping him see himself as a helper and protector. But to see him live it out, without being prompted? That was magic.
It’s incredible how full my life felt before our daughter was born — and now I can’t imagine it without her. She didn’t just join us; she changed us. She helped shape a new version of our family, one that feels stronger, deeper, and more connected.
Comments
Post a Comment