When Little Brothers Get Bigger

There are certain photos of my boys that tell the same story; one beaming with the cheeky grin of a toddler who’s just discovered he can do something new (or scowling because I've made him take a picture with his brother as per this post), the other gently watching on, calm as ever. At first glance, you’d assume the one doing the exploring was the older sibling. But he’s not.

Elias is the big brother. The one who made me a mum. The one who taught me more about strength and joy and complexity than I thought possible. And now, his younger brother - his shadow, his sidekick - is starting to outpace him. First it was the milestones: sitting unaided, standing, walking, running. Now it’s the more visible things. Like size. Strength. The weight of him on my lap. Strangers calling Elias the younger brother as he sits back.

And let me tell you: it’s a strange kind of heartbreak.

I never expected either of my kids to be giants, we’re not exactly a tall family, and CHARGE children are often much shorter in stature, but I always imagined Elias would have that big brother edge. That gentle authority of being first. Lately though, it feels like things are shifting. We’re entering uncharted waters where the younger sibling is becoming - physically and developmentally - the ‘older’ one. And while age still gives Elias that chronological crown, life isn’t always so neat with its timelines.

I catch myself watching them play and wondering what they’ll understand of each other in the years to come. Will Elias mind being the smaller one? Will his brother notice the pace he’s gaining? Will he slow down sometimes, just to sit with Elias in his world? I hope so.

Because while this stage is beautiful, filled with giggles and toddles and chubby hands reaching for everything, it’s also bittersweet. It’s a reminder of the paths we’re on. That Elias’s journey is unique. Slower in places, richer in others. And that comparison, though inevitable, is a weight I don’t want either of them to carry.

For now, we navigate it gently. We celebrate every new step, no matter who takes it. We make space for the complexity, for the joy and the ache to live side by side. Because that’s what parenting children with additional needs often looks like: holding two truths in one hand, and loving fiercely with the other.

And if you’re reading this and nodding along, maybe feeling the same twinge as your youngest starts to reach heights your eldest is still working toward, just know you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel the mix. It’s okay to grieve and rejoice all at once.

We’re walking this path together, at different paces, in different shoes, but always side by side.