TO THE GRINNING KID IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TWELVE-PASSENGER VAN WITH MISMATCHED SANDALS AND A CHOCOLATE CHIN

You're no slip-through-the-cracks kinda kid.

First Child stretched the untried Mother-Heart
     More than her torso.
Painful, unfamiliar, delightful, beautiful, surprising.

Second Child unique, yet repeated; adjustments, guilt, pleasures, expanding heart-bulge.

Third Child the routine-original, heightened anticipation, interwoven relationships,
     thin-spread surrender, deeper appreciations, soul-swell

More And More Children brought saggy-baggy mombody, greater capacities, familiar 
   routineshandmedownsterribletwosthisisjustanotherphasewe'vebeenheredonethisseenitallbefore,
    webs of interactions, intense longings, unbearable varicose infatuations, chaos, despair, ecstasy.  You.  

The balloon which was the Heart of Mother stretched disproportionately with each new life.
Threatened to burst, terribly resilient.

Every babe a newnaked gift of
    self, stories, needs, hilarity, weaknesses, longings, challenges, blessings, trials.

Each bringing a greater poignancy to the previous, adding to the design, packing in friendship, meaning.

A stranger, uninformed, looking in might speculate.  What's one little kid in a such a big family?
Like marbles in a jar.  Take one out, shake 'em up, no noticeable difference .
Gold coins are only valuable in scarcity.

This is most untrue.
You are a balance-block in our Jenga Tower.  A steady ripple in our pond.
Pull your thread, our pattern changes.  Never the same beauty, something gone forever.

If your link breaks, what of the chain?