To my little one, as you approach your second birthday,
If I had realized that it would be the final occasion, I would have captured that moment. I reminisce about you dozing off, just as you have done every day of your life. Your eyes would be half-closed, a gentle smile gracing your lips, completely absorbed in our nursing routine. Your tiny hands were often clasped together, as if in a silent prayer. Occasionally, you would pause to share a laugh, speak a few words, or even sing a little tune. Other times, you would simply relax and drift into a peaceful slumber. Regardless of how it ended, the beginning was always the same—just the two of us in our serene ritual.
Yes, you were nearly 2, and I was almost five months pregnant, eagerly anticipating the completion of this chapter in our relationship, while you were still very much attached to it. As the months passed during my pregnancy, I found it increasingly taxing both physically and emotionally. I would sit there, watching you fall asleep, quietly hoping that this phase of our journey would soon conclude.
Then one day, it simply stopped. One day it was our norm, and the next, it became a memory. Had I known, I would have approached it differently. I would have taken a photograph or perhaps held you just a bit longer, committing every detail of your tiny, praying hands to memory.
Next, you fell asleep—not in my arms, but in your father’s. He carried you to your room and gently placed you in your bed, while I stood in the kitchen, tears streaming down my face. It wasn’t merely another instance of you not needing me; it was another farewell.
And so, here we are, at the onset of the lasts. We have dedicated so much energy to celebrating your firsts that we failed to acknowledge the inevitable lasts that would follow. They arrived so swiftly. Although your second birthday is just around the corner, we have already encountered numerous lasts.
The last sound of your baby giggle, which has transformed into a deeper, more robust laugh. You no longer find amusement in simply hearing “mama” repeated over and over. Your sense of humor has matured, finding joy in the most unexpected things—a trait you undoubtedly inherited from your father.
I recall the last moment you needed to sign to communicate your wants before you mastered spoken words. I remember your first sign for “more” and how we celebrated your newfound ability to express yourself. Then, you began to speak—your first word being a simple “hi”—and soon after, your vocabulary blossomed. One day, you had a handful of words, and the next, you were forming sentences. I can’t even remember the last time you had to sign to me.
The last time you requested a stroll in your stroller has long passed. Now, you prefer to walk on your own two feet. Just as with everything else lately, you want to accomplish it all independently. I can’t even recall the last time I carried you in your carrier, which was once our only means of navigation. Another farewell that slipped by unnoticed; one day it was our routine, and the next, it was just a memory.
When will be the last time you request to be picked up? Or the last instance you want to hold my hand to lead me to see something outside the window? While I recognize there are many firsts awaiting us, this moment feels overwhelmingly like a season of goodbyes.
You are growing so rapidly, evolving with each passing day. Every day brings forth new discoveries, changes, and things you no longer require my assistance with. This is all wonderful, astonishing, miraculous, and yet heart-wrenching. It is not the fact that you are growing up—because that is my ultimate desire for you—but rather that these moments seem to vanish without warning. I hardly recognize when I am experiencing the transition into a new season until it has already begun.
Despite my perception of this time as a series of lasts, it simultaneously embodies a season of new beginnings. While I focus on the last time you nursed, it also signifies the first time you fell asleep independently. Rather than lamenting the last time you requested a ride in your stroller, I should celebrate the first time you asked to walk down the street. Just as autumn can sometimes feel like winter, this season of farewells also holds the promise of new beginnings.
I wish I had a little forewarning, a gentle reminder in my mind to cherish each moment because it may be the last time I experience it, and someday I will yearn for it.
Today, I miss your baby giggle and the way you used to drift off with your face snuggled against my chest, your ear resting on my heart. What will I long for tomorrow?
For further information about pregnancy and related topics, consider visiting this excellent resource: WomensHealth.gov – Pregnancy. If you’re looking to boost fertility, check out this article on fertility boosters for men, which is one of our other blog posts. Additionally, if you’re interested in at-home insemination, you can explore the at-home intracervical insemination syringe kit that they offer.
In summary, the bittersweet realization of “lasts” can often overshadow the joy of “firsts.” As we navigate this changing landscape, it’s important to embrace each moment, whether it be a farewell or a new beginning, cherishing the memories we create along the way.
Keyphrase: Toddler growth and development
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