Raising My 7-Year-Old Girl in a House Full of Boys

When people hear I have three kids, their first reaction is usually, “Wow, you must be busy!” And they’re right. But what they don’t always realize is that the dynamic between my firstborn daughter and her two little brothers is its own beautiful brand of chaos.

My 7-year-old girl—let’s call her the CEO of our household—is strong-willed, fiercely independent, and wise beyond her years. She’s the one who made me a mom. The one I learned on. The one who teaches me daily what it means to love with your whole heart and still have that heart stretched a little more every single day.

She’s a big sister in every sense—equal parts nurturer, leader, and bossy little general. (Let’s be honest: she was born to be in charge.) Whether she’s organizing backyard adventures or “teaching” her brothers how to color inside the lines, she is always, always leading.

But raising her isn’t always simple.

I’m constantly trying to strike the balance between letting her be the oldest and reminding her that she’s still just seven. Sometimes I catch myself expecting too much of her because she can handle so much—and I have to pause and remember: she’s still learning, too.

There are days she wants to help, and days she wants to be left alone with her books and sparkly gel pens. There are moments she melts into my arms like she’s three again, and others when she rolls her eyes with the sass of a teenager. It’s a wild in-between, and I’m just trying to meet her where she is.

And then, there are her brothers.

They adore her. Chase her. Copy her every move. She both loves and tolerates them with a maturity that stuns me. Watching their bond grow is like watching three puzzle pieces slowly fit together—imperfect, chaotic, but somehow just right.

She’s their guide, their built-in babysitter, their fiercest protector—and occasionally, their tattletale. And as much as she wishes they’d stop touching her stuff, I know deep down she wouldn’t trade them for anything (except maybe a little more quiet).

As a mom, I often worry: Am I giving her enough attention? Enough space to shine on her own? Enough freedom to not always have to be the helper?

But then she turns to me after a long day and says, “Mom, I love being the big sister.” And I exhale a little.

Raising a firstborn daughter—especially with two wild little brothers trailing behind her—is not easy. But it is magical. She teaches me grace, grit, and how to let go of the illusion of perfect parenting.

She’s my firecracker, my old soul, my tiny best friend. And every day, I get to watch her grow into someone I already admire.

So here’s to raising girls with strength and softness. Here’s to firstborns who lead with love. And here’s to the moms figuring it out one snack, snuggle, and sibling showdown at a time.

Cheers and Cappuccinos,
Kat