To my little one, as we approach your 2nd birthday.
If I had known it would be the final time, I would have captured that moment in a photograph. There you were, dozing off just like you have every day for as long as I can remember. Your eyelids were heavy, a soft smile gracing your lips, completely focused on nursing. Your tiny hands were often clasped together, as if in a silent prayer. Occasionally, you’d pause to laugh, share a thought, or break into a song. Other times, you’d simply lean back and drift off, leaving me to cherish our quiet routine, just the two of us.
You were nearing 2, and I was about five months pregnant, eager for this chapter of our relationship to come to a close. But you weren’t ready. The past month had been both physically and emotionally taxing for me. While I sat there watching you slowly drift into slumber, I quietly wished for this phase to wrap up.
Then, one day, it was over. One moment it was our usual routine, and the next, it was a relic of the past. Had I known, I would have lingered a bit longer or snapped that picture, etching the memory of your little praying hands into my mind.
Your father took you to your room and laid you down in your bed while I stood in the kitchen, tears streaming down my face. It wasn’t just another reminder of your growing independence; it was yet another ending.
This is it, the start of our lasts. We spent so much time celebrating your firsts that we overlooked the bittersweet nature of the lasts that would inevitably follow. And they came at us like a whirlwind. Even though your 2nd birthday is just around the corner, we’ve already experienced so many of these milestones.
The last time you giggled like a baby, your laughter now richer and more boisterous. You no longer find humor in simple things; gone are the days when I could make you laugh just by saying “mama” over and over. Now, your sense of humor is particularly unique, finding joy in the most unexpected moments (a trait you definitely inherited from your father).
I vividly remember the last time you needed to use sign language because you couldn’t express yourself verbally. I can still picture the first sign you mastered—“more”—and how we cheered for your triumph. Then, you spoke your first word: a sweet “hi.” One day, you had just a few words, and the next, you were forming complete sentences. I can’t even recall the last time you signed to me; it just slipped by.
The last time you wanted to ride in your stroller was another moment lost in the shuffle. Now, you prefer to walk on your own two feet. Like everything else, you want to do it all by yourself. I can’t remember the last time I carried you in a baby carrier, which once felt like our only means of getting around. Just like that, another phase faded without much fanfare.
When will be the last time you ask me to pick you up? Or when will you lead me by the hand to show me something you spotted outside? I know there are many firsts still ahead of us, but right now, we seem to be in a season filled with lasts.
You’re growing up so fast, evolving day by day. Each new day brings fresh discoveries and shifts in what you no longer need my assistance with. It’s wondrous, awe-inspiring, and heartbreaking all at once. Not because you’re maturing—because that’s what I wish for you more than anything—but because these fleeting moments often arrive without warning. I don’t even realize I’m witnessing a seasonal change until it’s already here.
For all the lasts I see, this time is also brimming with firsts. While I mourn the last time you nursed, I also celebrate the first time you drifted off on your own. Instead of lamenting the last time you asked for a stroller ride, I embrace the first time you requested a walk down the street. Just as fall can sometimes feel like winter, this season of lasts is still intertwined with firsts.
I just wish I had a little signal, a whisper in my ear reminding me to hold onto certain moments tightly because they won’t come around again, and someday I’ll find myself longing for them.
Today, I miss your baby giggle and how you would snuggle against me as you fell asleep, your ear pressed against my heart. What will I miss tomorrow?
If you’re interested in exploring more about parenting and home insemination, check out this post or visit Make A Mom, who offer valuable resources on this topic. For a week-by-week guide on pregnancy, March of Dimes is an excellent resource.
Summary:
As my toddler approaches her second birthday, I reflect on the bittersweet nature of “lasts” we experience together. From the final baby giggle to the last time she signed for something, these moments slip away faster than I realize. While I celebrate her growth and the firsts that come with it, I find myself mourning the sweet, fleeting endings. As I navigate this emotional journey, I cherish our time together and wish I could hold onto these precious moments just a little longer.