My little one, the loud, giggling child who would reach for me with his tiny hands and toothless smile, is now 3 years old. Well, actually three and a half, if we’re being exact, which is crucial at this age when they grow so quickly and learn at an astonishing rate.
Three and a half. I can recall being that age, feeling like a complete person with emotions and desires. My baby, whom I affectionately call Sunny, insists he’s still “tiny!” but no amount of denial can change the facts: potty training is behind us, and his words are now clear to anyone. Rarely do I carry him on my back anymore. He sleeps beside us, but sprawls out like a little starfish, clutching his favorite Paw Patrol toy under one arm.
I’ve stopped worrying about nursing bras or how to access them. Although he still enjoys cuddles and demands kisses, he’s now capable of drawing a person with arms, legs, eyes, and even a sword.
In an instant, I transitioned from being a baby mom to merely a toddler’s parent. I’m now a mother to three boys: 7, 5, and 3 and a half years old.
This change has been gradual but inevitable. Once, I was not just a babywearing enthusiast but a certified educator in the art of babywearing. I was the one who welcomed new moms to our group, showcasing intricate wraps and carries that positioned my baby high on my back. I was the guide, the experienced mom who supported others during their journey.
As my baby years came to an end, I noticed a shift in our conversations. The topics I once shared with my mom friends faded. Those who were once my closest companions drifted away as Sunny outgrew his babyhood. We no longer shared the same interests, be it music, literature, or politics.
Suddenly, I found myself as a woman with three sons and no community. I wasn’t a baby mom anymore, and my shopping trips to the baby aisles had vanished. I lost touch with many of my online groups. While homeschooling has introduced me to other mothers, I still felt out of place. I’ve met a free-spirited kayaker whose daughter my oldest adores and a fellow mom whose kids are just as kind as she is. I appreciate these connections, but they feel more delicate. Our playdates have dwindled as our children grow older.
I used to help clean my friends’ homes, a gesture of love. I knew their lives intimately, from their messy kitchens to their exhausted faces. I long for that bond. Now, without a baby, I don’t have the instant connection that comes with school drop-offs and events. Instead, I find myself reconnecting with old friends—the stylish photographer and her poetic husband, and a single dad I once knew from college. I’ve taken to wearing more makeup, dressing up, and hitting the gym. My husband and I enjoy evenings out, and while I love these changes, I miss my defined role in the world.
I used to be needed constantly. Now, my son can be left with others and doesn’t hesitate to express his independence. I didn’t realize how much I valued being needed. Now, with that sense of purpose gone, there’s an emptiness I need to fill—whether through friendships, books, art, music, or date nights.
But the ease of being needed has vanished, and filling that void is proving to be much more difficult.
For more insights on navigating this transition, you can check out other posts like this one. Additionally, Make a Mom offers excellent resources on fertility journeys. If you’re exploring pregnancy, March of Dimes is a fantastic source of information.
In summary, the shift from babyhood to childhood has left many moms feeling lost as they navigate new identities. While there are new friendships and experiences, the simplicity of needing and being needed has changed, creating a sense of longing for what once was.