When Sam and I first had Piper, she was the classic first child. She adapted to things easily, she slept through the night early on, she was happy, and easy-going. Whenever anyone spent time with her, they’d eventually say with a smirk and a funny expression, “Just wait until the second comes along.”

You see, there’s this long-standing idea that the first child is this peaceful, ideal kid that convinces their parents, “We could totally do this again!” and leaves them totally unprepared for the second.

My daughter got a Pretty, Pretty Princess game for Christmas this year. The premise is simple, there is a game board, a spinner, and a bowl full of different color jewelry in the middle. The goal is to go around the game board and gather all the pieces of jewelry in your color: necklace, bracelet, ring, a pair of earrings, and a crown. The first one to have all their jewelry wins.

Me and my husband have played this game with her about two dozen times since she got it, and no exaggeration: she wins every time. She loves it. Dripping in jewelry, her smile is as big as a billboard when she realizes she won; she is the pretty, pretty princess.

There is one thing I remember from the birth of my children; my firstborn especially. I remember the way that little hospital room became this warmly lit, peaceful, little bubble. The moments where it was just me, the baby, and her dad, felt the most safe and golden I have ever felt.

We looked at her until our eyes started crossing and the lids felt heavy. We held her and marveled at her perfection. We kissed her and let her wrap her whole hand around our one finger. We sang to her and prayed with her and spoke softly about how beautiful she was. How we promised to be the kind of parents who taught her about Jesus and cherished her soul every day of her life.