When we brought baby Liora home, I thought my biggest challenge would be the sleepless nights and endless diaper changes. But what I worried about most was Ezra—my wild, energetic toddler who had been our whole world for three years. Now, he was about to share that world with someone so tiny she couldn’t even hold her head up.
At first, he didn’t react much. No jealousy, no big emotions—just quiet curiosity. He would peek into her bassinet like she was a strange new creature and ask if she was “going back to the doctor store soon.”
We didn’t push him. We gave him space to find his own way.
Then, one afternoon, I walked into the living room and froze. Both kids were asleep on the floor—Liora wrapped snug in her pink blanket, and Ezra lying next to her, one arm gently draped over her. In his little hand was a crumpled piece of paper.
I carefully pulled it out and saw the words, written in Ezra’s wobbly handwriting:
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