It feels like just yesterday when my son, Lucas, was just shy of his second birthday, and I was welcoming his little sister into the world. For nearly two years, it seemed like we were in our own little bubble, just the two of us against the world. I rarely had a babysitter, and I was hardly ever out of his sight. He claims he remembers those days, even at such a young age, and he still insists that the arrival of his sister was the moment everything changed. And when his baby brother came along a year later, he started asking me when we could return to our exclusive “just us” time.
My mom once told me that introducing a new sibling can feel like your partner bringing home a new lover—intense, but she may have been onto something. I could see that expression in Lucas’s eyes one summer afternoon while I was nursing his sister, with another baby bumping around in my belly. He stood at the window, his back to me, and when he turned to face me, his head tilted slightly. His lips were pursed, and he wore a baseball cap with tiny red Converse. I smiled, expecting him to rush over for a hug, but he didn’t move. Instead, he resumed staring out the window, a sight I had never seen before.
I know, it sounds overly dramatic, but it was like a knife to my heart. I wanted to reach out, but I held off until his sister finished feeding. Afterward, we settled into our big leather recliner, and I read him a board book. The sunlight streamed through the window, and I noticed him squinting, but he didn’t want to budge.
“Just us, Mama,” he whispered.
Maybe he thought moving would end our moment, and he didn’t want to risk it. In that instance, he was blissfully content in our “just us” time, and I was too.
As life got busier with the arrival of his brother, those precious moments dwindled. He didn’t quite grasp why carving out time for just the two of us was so challenging. After all, finding a moment alone when you can’t even sneak away to the bathroom is a feat. Occasionally, we managed to squeeze in a little time, but more often than not, I was too exhausted to venture out after my husband got home. By 4 p.m., I was usually in my pajamas, ready to tackle dinner and bedtime.
Throughout the years, Lucas would always mention how much he cherished our alone time. If it had been a while, he would casually drop hints that it was time for a little “just us” moment. “I know,” I would reply, “I love it too, Lucas.” I wanted him to know I hadn’t forgotten.
Now that he’s older and more independent at 13, I find it easier to carve out time for just us. However, the tables have turned, and it’s him who’s busy with his own teenage adventures. Ironically, I’m the one yearning for “just us” time now. I stand by the window watching him rush off to his next escapade, trying not to frown. I don’t mind if the sun bothers my eyes; all I want is to be near him.
This boy, who once clung to my hand and sought my undivided attention, now dodges my hugs and kisses. Yet, when he does find time for me, those rare moments when nothing else is calling his name, we truly enjoy each other’s company. He might act all cool, but he still says, “Mom, I really like it when it’s just us.” To which I reply, “Yes, me too. Just us.”
He may not fully understand the depth of that sentiment until he has a child of his own, one who gradually pulls away. Only then will he grasp just how invaluable those “just us” moments are for a parent—a true, priceless gift.
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In summary, as our children grow, the dynamics of our relationships shift. While they once sought our undivided attention, it often becomes the parents who yearn for those special moments of connection. Cherishing these times, however brief they may be, becomes essential.