I often reminisce about the simple moments we shared. The days when we could sleep in as long as we wanted, enjoy breakfast sprawled out on the living room floor, and spontaneously take strolls on those crisp spring mornings. I’d snuggle you into the baby carrier, wrapping us both in my oversized coat, and we’d wander, discussing the names of the trees or imagining how the clouds resembled snowmen, unicorns, or even whipped cream.
And we would always search for the moon, your favorite. We called it the “day moon,” remember?
Back at home, we would cuddle on the couch, chatting as we read a book, completed a puzzle, or created drawings together. Just the two of us, in our cozy little apartment, living a simple life, completely enamored with each other.
Of course, I know I’m glossing over the epic toddler tantrums, your stubbornness, and how you hardly ever wanted to play alone, leaving me with little time to myself. I can’t forget how you were a restless sleeper, often waking multiple times during the night, and how overwhelmed I felt back then.
There was a summer when you were 2 ½ that I’ve blocked from my memory — it was a time when the stress of motherhood caught up with me, leading to some late-onset postpartum anxiety and daily panic attacks.
But that’s behind me now. What remains are the memories, and they leave me feeling shattered. I miss those days. I miss our unique bond.
I know I have everything I ever wished for now. Two wonderful boys who still love to cuddle and appreciate life’s little joys, like the moon and beautiful sunsets outside our window. Each of them brings me “special time,” and they’re growing into intelligent, caring individuals.
Yet, life feels so different now. You’re growing up, and I understand you don’t need me as much anymore. Your bond with your brother is incredibly strong, and it’s a joy to witness, but our lives have become busier. Gone are the days of sleeping in and lazy breakfasts on the rug—now it’s breakfast in front of the TV, rushing off to school, and often, I’m preoccupied with work or chores when you come home.
While there’s love and connection in our lives, it’s just not the same. Our worlds don’t revolve solely around each other anymore. You’ll never have all of me the way you once did, and though our lives are filled with beautiful moments, there’s a sense of loss that lingers.
When I was expecting your brother, I harbored a fear that I hardly shared with anyone. I was afraid of losing the bond we had. It crept into my thoughts unexpectedly; despite my excitement for your brother’s arrival, I dreaded the changes that would accompany it.
However, once he was born, all those worries vanished. I fell in love with him instantly and realized my capacity for love was boundless. I often refer to it as my “boy love,” and it hasn’t diminished. I persuaded myself that I didn’t lose anything; rather, things just evolved as they were meant to.
Still, I can’t deny that I occasionally yearn for those earlier days, pondering how something so intimate could dissipate so quickly. The connection between a mother and her first child is irreplaceable. How does one truly move past that level of connection when it seemed like time stood still, and you were my entire world?
Perhaps the reality is that you never fully recover from that loss. It may not haunt you daily or consume your thoughts, but it’s a loss that can still tug at your heart.
At times, I feel like motherhood is a series of losses, and maybe all I can do is learn to accept them. Yet, I often find myself reflecting on those tender memories—like the way your golden curls would fall in the back of your head or how you’d ask to be carried to bed, giggling and tenderly stroking my face with your little hand.
Sometimes, those small details come rushing back, and I crave those moments so intensely it hurts. I still miss it. I still miss us. And perhaps that longing will never fade.
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Summary:
The article reflects on the bittersweet memories of motherhood, focusing on the deep bond shared between a mother and her first child. It highlights the simple joys and intimate moments that defined their early days together, while also acknowledging the inevitable changes that come with family growth. The author expresses a sense of loss for the past while embracing the joys of the present.