It’s an unfamiliar feeling for me. After becoming a mother, this is the first time I don’t have a baby in the house. Tomorrow, my youngest son will celebrate his second birthday. My three boys are all spaced just 20 months apart, so when one turned two, there was always another little one around. For six consecutive years, I’ve navigated pregnancies, breastfeeding, and the sleepless nights of newborns without a single pause. But it’s been a whole year since I last cradled a baby, and lately, I’ve found myself looking around as if something is missing.
Just the other day, I found myself wandering through the infant aisle at Target. I quickly moved past the bottles, swaddle blankets, and other baby essentials, but not before feeling a lump in my throat. I have no use for those things now. Earlier this week, I ventured into my grandmother’s basement to retrieve bins overflowing with baby clothes—now set to be hand-me-downs for my soon-to-arrive nephew. As I touched a soft cotton onesie, I was whisked back in time. Was he ever really that small?
While I’m busy preparing breakfast for his brothers, my youngest zooms by, a blur of fleece pajamas and tousled blond hair. I recognize those pajamas—navy blue with orange soccer balls. They are size 2T, the same pair he wore while I was bringing home his baby brother. My heart aches with the longing for a newborn that doesn’t exist anymore.
Instead, I find my little boy, who wraps his arms around my neck, squeezes tight, and sits next to me, his tiny hand resting in mine. His blond hair still has that wispy softness and, when he sleeps, his face still resembles that grainy ultrasound photo from before we met. Yet, I’m caught off guard by how clearly he expresses himself now. His chubby toddler legs fill my lap, and he helps himself to a cup of water and brushes his own teeth.
When I pass by the mirror, I’m startled by the reflection of a baby who has grown too big to carry. Gathering him in my arms feels almost awkward. I’m struck by these fleeting moments that I somehow overlooked with my other two children, muted by the cries of newborns and the demands of toddlers. Now, without the arrival of a new sibling to overshadow him, he remains my baby. But he will be two soon—too soon.
His entry into the world was even earlier than expected—four days before my scheduled C-section. A sudden rush of amniotic fluid during his brothers’ bedtime routine signaled his dramatic arrival. Everything has been moving far too quickly, often ahead of what I felt ready for.
I find myself yearning for the hospital’s postpartum ward with its soothing turquoise and peach decor, the long hallways, trays of comfort food, and the attentive nurses. And, of course, the tiny, pink infant swaddled in a plastic bassinet or nestled in my arms, filled with gratitude.
Without a newborn, I feel like a stranger to myself. We’ve been racing toward his second birthday with an almost impatient inevitability because the months 22 and 23 are too cumbersome to articulate. The reality is dawning on me that as my sons grow, the distance between what they need and what I can provide widens. Their world will expand beyond our home, and I remain fixated on the small—those tiny hands, the everyday challenges of raising little ones, and the simple moments shared.
But as they grow, I feel bound to them yet also anchored. Recently, while wandering alone in Manhattan, I emerged from the subway steps only to find myself disoriented amidst the bustling crowd. Without the weight of my children, I felt unmoored. A little lost, like a plastic bag caught in the wind. Sometimes I worry that when they’re all grown, I won’t recognize who I am anymore.
For those navigating similar feelings, resources like ACOG’s guide to treating infertility offer valuable insights. And for those interested in becoming parents, check out CryoBaby’s home insemination kit, as well as BabyMaker’s home insemination kit.
In summary, as our children grow and evolve, we find ourselves grappling with nostalgia and the passing of time. The journey of motherhood is a beautiful blend of joy and bittersweet reflection, reminding us to cherish every fleeting moment.
Keyphrase: Transitioning to Toddlerhood
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