Abstract: The experience of parenting a final child can be bittersweet, marked by a mix of affection and nostalgia. This article explores the emotional journey of raising a lastborn, highlighting the gradual shift in parenting style that occurs with age and experience.
Each evening, I ensure that my daughter, whom I affectionately call Lily, has her cherished trio of plush toys: Catboy, Owlette, and Gekko. Alongside them, she snuggles her Peppa Pig and George stuffed animals, as well as a small Moana plush we brought back from Disneyland. Just before bedtime, I offer her a few cornflakes, followed by a reminder to brush her teeth once more.
As she settles down for the night, I listen to her sweet prayer. With her little arms crossed over a faded Cinderella nightgown and her legs tucked under her on a blue Moana bedspread, she bows her head and closes her eyes. “Dear heavenly father, thank you for family, church, and Daddy. Amen.” Her voice dances somewhere between a cartoon character and a gentle melody.
After a warm hug, I sit beside her while we listen to classical renditions of popular songs. Occasionally, she resists lying down and quips, “I stuck, Daddy.” This leads to a playful exchange where she pretends to count to ten, attempting to trick me into a game of hide and seek. When I don’t comply, she adopts a serious tone that sounds oddly deep, commanding, “Go hide, Daddy.”
In these moments, I can’t help but chuckle at her antics, even as I ponder whether she’s channeling a mischievous character. But she’s not a trickster; she’s Lily, my youngest child. After undergoing a vasectomy a couple of years ago, I consider her our final addition. While I know accidents can happen post-surgery, I choose to focus on the reality that she is the last of my little ones. Consequently, I find it challenging not to indulge her.
My indulgence isn’t extravagant—it’s not about lavish gifts or yielding to every request. Instead, it’s about the small moments, like sitting at her bedside each night as she drifts off to sleep. With my older children, I typically stopped this routine after their second birthday. Yet here I am, still engaging in it with Lily, who is nearly four. Unlike her siblings, she enjoys treats before bedtime and playful baths filled with toys.
I exhibit more patience with her than I ever did as a younger father. When she throws a tantrum, I’m more understanding. I’m genuinely present when she shares stories about her favorite shows, and I often set aside my work to embrace her for a cozy cuddle. Watching her fumble around in my shoes brings a smile to my face, a simple joy I cherish.
Reflecting on my previous parenting journey, I realize I was often consumed by academic responsibilities. I became a father at 24 and am now 35, having juggled studies and work while raising a family. My early years with my older children felt like a blur, a time when I was more focused on deadlines than on creating lasting memories.
With Lily, I consciously savor every moment. Her issues are uncomplicated, and nothing feels quite as heartwarming as having her climb into my lap. I often think that I’m providing her with the time and attention I wish I could have given my older children. Perhaps I am spoiling her just a tad, and I can’t help but wonder if my older kids feel any resentment towards her. They might not remember the times I was hurriedly preparing for classes or managing work commitments. Regardless, I find it hard to resist showering her with love and attention.
In truth, my indulgence is less about her and more about me.
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Summary: The experience of raising a last child often prompts a shift in parenting style, characterized by patience and indulgence. As parents grow older, they may find themselves cherishing the moments they missed with their older children, leading to a deeper appreciation for the joys of parenting.