Mommy adores you. Daddy adores you. The kittens adore you. We all cherish you dearly. Now, it’s time to sleep.
I paused, pulling the blanket up to her chin, gently tucking the sides around her chubby little legs. Good night, my precious little angel.
That night marked my daughter’s final night in her crib, and it was the first “last” I truly took a moment to appreciate. Dinner was waiting in the oven, an article lingered unwritten on my computer, and an unassembled toddler bed sat upstairs, but I chose to stop.
I stood in the doorway, gazing at her lying there, thumb in mouth, feet pressed against the cherry wood bars. I took a moment to soak in that sight, to embrace what represented her transition from babyhood to “big girl.” I paused, wanting to inhale the sweetness of her peach fuzz head one last time (the same head now adorned with the most delightful, albeit often unruly, curls). I paused, wishing I could reclaim the fleeting last two years that passed by so quickly.
I don’t mean to paint an overly rosy picture: not every moment is a treasure. There are plenty of instances I don’t miss – teething and feeling like a dairy cow come to mind – and parenting is challenging, often thankless, and frequently laced with tears, frustration, disappointment, and even rage.
Yet in her room that night, I experienced one of those rare flashes of motherly bliss. I longed to pick her up and hold her close, to rock her and sing softly until she drifted off, just like I did when she was tiny (and I would often doze off with her). I wanted to linger in that doorway, but my independent daughter interrupted with her nightly proclamation: “goo’bye!” (She sings this every evening, the “iiiiii” stretched out for emphasis.)
So, I whispered goodnight and gently closed the door.
For two years, I focused on “firsts” – her first smile, first laugh, first tooth, and first word – but now I’m becoming increasingly aware of the “lasts.” I realize how significant they are, and, truthfully, they bring me both joy and sorrow. Her growth fills me with pride, but when did we reach this point? When did things change so subtly that I can’t pinpoint how or when it happened?
When was the last time I swaddled her? When did she stop falling asleep on my chest, her warm body nestled against mine? When did that baby powder scent fade from her skin, or her eyes shift from a bluish-gray to their current hue?
I try not to fixate too much on tomorrow, fearing I’ll overlook today. But what if, just hours ago, my daughter crossed another milestone, another “last” that went by unnoticed, one I’ll wish I could recall weeks, months, or years from now? (She asked me not to color with her yesterday; have we crossed that line?)
This thought keeps me grounded in the moment. I often find myself distracted by emails, my phone, and – let’s be honest – social media, missing precious moments of her childhood. Not only can I miss a moment, but I know I will. So while I may not recognize the last cuddle or the final sip from a sippy cup when it happens, I’m learning to treasure these fleeting instances, even those that conclude with chaos, tears, food on the floor, and doodles on the walls.
Perhaps tonight, I’ll let her stay up a little longer or hold her when she cries instead of letting her cry it out. Because today might be a “last day,” and I want to save the best for last.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Samantha shares the bittersweet journey of parenthood, highlighting the significance of “last” moments as her daughter transitions from babyhood to a big girl. Amidst the chaos of parenting, she emphasizes the importance of cherishing every moment, even the challenging ones, and encourages parents to embrace the fleeting time with their children.