I didn't cry when I left you with the sitter for the first time on Monday, but I was profoundly sad. I drove to work with my coffee, my lunch and a bag full of bottles and pumps hoping to keep you in milk until you are at least year old.
Everyone else was happy, or so it seemed. Your sister was excitedly anticipating a new ability to watch over you. When I she asked if it was time to go to the NEW BABYSITTER'S house and I told her "yes," flinching for the litany of "I love THE OLD BABYSITTER'S HOUSE," I was heartened and surprised to hear an enthusiastic "Hurray!"
It has occured to me, after weeks of explaining why she couldn't go back to Lori's house, why now it seems OK to be at Terri's. Lori didn't have room for you, her brother.
Her brother: The boy she will tell strangers about. The chain of thoughts that come stream out of her mouth when she meets someone new: "I have a baby brother. His name is Silas. He's a good boy. He loves me and I love him."
She wants to be with you more than she wants Lori; and that's something huge.
So please, dear boy, try to be patient with her when things aren't going your way. Try and be kind when she's angry with you for touching her stuff or when she wants her privacy. You will not remember this time, but you should know she loves you more than you might ever imagine.
She thinks Silas is Golden; Golden.