Sharva, when you are reading this someday, I hope you know how deeply you were loved from the very beginning by everyone. But I also want you to know something honest about the days after you were born—because love can be beautiful, full, and complicated all at once.
Before you arrived, I was already a mom—a dog mom. Stella and Happy were my first babies. They had my routines, my quiet moments, and my whole heart. And then you were born, and suddenly my arms—and my life—were wonderfully full of you. After you came home, everything revolved around keeping you safe, fed, and loved.
In the middle of that joy, I felt something unexpected: dog mom guilt. I worried about Stella, who was with us, watching our days change. Walks were cancelled. Cuddles had to wait. Meals were late. But I hoped she knew that even when my hands were busy holding you, my heart still reached for her just the same.
And then there was Happy. Happy wasn’t physically with us anymore when you were born. And after you arrived, I learned how to love her in a new way—in her absence. I loved her quietly, in memories, in photos, in moments when I caught myself looking for her. Loving Happy didn’t stop just because she was gone. It became softer, but just as real.
What I didn’t know yet was that love doesn’t compete. I could love Happy even though she wasn’t here. I could love Stella while she walked beside us into this new chapter. And I could love you—fully, fiercely, endlessly—without taking anything away from either of them.
Stella stayed with us as we became a family of four again, adjusting to life with a baby boy and teaching me patience all over again. Happy stayed with us too, just differently—woven into our story, part of who we were before you and part of who we became after.
So Sharva if you ever wonder where you learned how to love deeply, gently, and without limits—know that it came from a heart that learned to hold grief and joy at the same time. You didn’t replace anyone. You added to everything.
