Evan was born when Kostyn was 21 months old. In the last months of my pregnancy, and in the first months of that sleep-deprived haze of caring for a newborn with a toddler in tow, I lamented the fact that Kostyn’s memory of being an only child was waning. I knew there would come a day, very soon, when he wouldn’t recall that there was once just the three of us, a time when every day was filled with whatever Kostyn wanted to do.

It was hard in the beginning for him to understand that the tiny, wiggly baby who spent an inordinate amount of time attached to Mommy would someday make his life happier, more joyful, filled with more laughter and mischief and love than he could imagine. Because at the time that little thing just seemed to make life more confining. Filled with more crying. And certainly less focused on Kostyn.

Now when I watch them together, these two best friends and constant playmates, I have to search my own memory for a time before we were a family of four. Looking at these snapshots from my everyday life, I can hardly imagine it was ever any other way.

Last night as they were heading upstairs after kissing me goodnight, I heard Kostyn say, “Evan, I’ll always take care of you.” “Yeah!” Evan said, and I knew that although he can’t yet articulate it, the little brother is already doing the same, in a big way.