You only have your first once. Briar was my storybook first—a glorious pregnancy, no family awkwardness, late summer into fall home-with-baby rapture. Six and a half years and 2 daughters later, her firstness gets eclipsed be her being the eldest. She is pushed hard, punished longer and coddled less. It is unfair and seemingly unavoidable. I was also a first and an eldest, but it doesn’t stop me from the rut of expecting more and forgiving less. The last year has been difficult as my own awareness of the closing window of babies in our house has rooted me in devouring Fin. So fierce has my desire to soak up every minute been, I have failed to understand the fading moment in time in which…