It was the first day home from the hospital, and my newborn son was wailing in my arms. As my tears mingled with his, I tried to nurse him, exhausted from a sleepless night. The love I felt for him was immense, yet I found myself yearning for the life I used to have. His new teddy bear, perched lonely on the dresser in his blue nursery, caught my eye. I picked it up, gently rubbing its ears while I settled into a nursing rhythm.
At 1 year old, he was taking his first shaky steps, glancing back at me as he maneuvered between the coffee table and the couch. I fought to contain my excitement so I wouldn’t distract him, but my heart swelled with pride. Then a thought struck me: the little one growing in my belly wouldn’t get the same cherished first year I had given him. I reached out, holding his favorite teddy bear, and he toddled over. I scooped him up, beaming with pride as I celebrated his new milestone.
Fast forward to age 2. He raced toward me, teddy in hand, eager to share that he had just fed him raisins. I juggled nursing his sister while trying to absorb every detail of his story. I could only give him half of my attention, but right now, he didn’t seem to mind. He sat cross-legged at my feet, continuing to feed teddy.
By age 5, he bounced out of kindergarten, grinning from ear to ear. “I had so much fun I didn’t even think of you, Mama!” My heart soared with relief; I had worried about his nerves. But it also stung—his world was expanding beyond our four walls, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. That night, as I tucked him in with teddy, he recapped his day, still clutching his beloved bear.
At 6, I stood outside his classroom, watching him present his latest science experiment. He was loud, a bit goofy, and filled with confidence. It filled my heart with joy to see him thrive, unaware that I was watching. Although he had stopped carrying teddy around, he still needed him at night for comfort.
When he turned 9, I greeted him after basketball practice, only to be hit by an unexpected smell. It was time for deodorant, and I felt tears prick my eyes. I had anticipated this milestone, but it came too fast. “Mom, can you smell me?” he asked, beaming with pride. I smiled through the lump in my throat, teaching him how to apply deodorant that night. “Maybe Teddy wants some too?” I joked, but he rolled his eyes, clearly too old for such silliness.
By 11, his room was a whirlwind of mess. He had grown quieter, now preferring the company of friends over family. Walking into his room, I noticed a familiar scent from his baby days. Teddy lay forgotten under his bed. I returned him to the top of the bed, thinking he’d miss it, but the next day, I found teddy shoved in the closet.
At 13, I caught a glimpse of him heading to the bathroom in the early morning light. Instead of my little boy, I saw a young man, broad-shouldered with size 11 feet, filling the doorway. “Good morning, baby,” I whispered, receiving only a mumbled response in return. As he left for school, I let him brave the freezing temperatures without a coat, realizing he was growing up. In his room, I held onto teddy, knowing that he wouldn’t understand the attachment until he became a father himself, with children who would one day outgrow their own stuffed companions.
Perhaps one day, I will share this with him—that he was ready to let go of Teddy long before I was.
For more insights and stories, you can check out our other blog posts, like this one on home insemination. And if you’re looking for resources on at-home insemination, Make a Mom is a great authority on the topic. Additionally, ASRM offers excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
As my son grows from a small baby into a young man, I find myself reflecting on the memories tied to his beloved teddy bear. From his first steps to the challenges of adolescence, each stage brings a mix of pride and nostalgia. While he may have outgrown his need for teddy, my attachment remains strong, reminding me of the fleeting nature of childhood.