When my eldest, Liam, was just shy of two years old, my daughter, Mia, arrived. For nearly two years, it felt like Liam and I were the only two people in existence. It was rare for him to have a babysitter, and I was almost always by his side. He insists he remembers those days, even at such a young age. He often says the day Mia was born changed everything for him. When his little brother, Jake, came along a year later, he started asking, “When can it just be us again?”
My mom used to say that bringing a new sibling into the family can feel like your partner introducing a new love interest to live with you. While I thought that was a bit dramatic, I can see how Liam might have felt that way.
I vividly recall a summer day when I was nursing Mia while pregnant with Jake. Liam stood by the window, his back to me, and then turned to face me. His expression was solemn, lips slightly downturned. He wore a baseball cap and those adorable little red Converse shoes. I smiled, hoping he would rush over for a hug, but instead, he turned back to look out the window, a scene I had never witnessed before.
I know this sounds overly sentimental, but it hit me hard. I wanted to reach for him immediately, but I decided to wait until Mia finished feeding. Once I was able to set her down, we curled up in our big leather recliner, and I read him a board book. The sun poured through the windows, making him squint, yet he stayed put.
“Just us, Mama,” he said softly.
I think he feared that if we stood up, our special moment would end, and he didn’t want to take that chance. He was so content, and honestly, I was too.
As Jake arrived, those precious “just us” moments became increasingly rare. Life turned chaotic, and Liam struggled to understand why it was so hard for me to carve out time just for us. With little time for myself, finding a moment to escape with one child felt nearly impossible.
Occasionally, we managed to sneak in some quality time, but more often than not, I was too exhausted by the time my husband got home. I found myself in pajamas by 4 PM, preparing to serve dinner, settle the kids in bed, and call it a night.
Throughout the years, Liam has often expressed how much he cherishes our one-on-one time. If it’s been a while, he gently hints that we need to reconnect. “I know,” I tell him. “I love it too, Liam.” I want him to know that I haven’t forgotten.
Now that he’s older, it’s easier for me to make time for just us. My children rely on me less, but the tables have turned. Liam, busy with his 13-year-old life, finds it challenging to create time for me. Ironically, I’m the one now yearning for our “just us” time. I stand by the window, trying not to frown as I watch him venture off for his next adventure. I don’t mind if the sun is in my eyes, as long as I’m close to him.
This boy, who once clung to my hand, now pulls away when I try to hug or kiss him. Yet, when he does have a free moment, when nothing else holds more appeal than his old mom (which is rare), we truly enjoy each other’s company. Although he plays it cool, 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 grasp the depth of my feelings now, but one day, when he has a child of his own pulling away bit by bit, he will understand just how precious “just us” time is for a parent—a gift beyond measure.
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In summary, the dynamics of motherhood often shift as children grow. What began as a cherished bond of “just us” has evolved, with roles reversing over time. The moments become more precious as they grow more independent.