It’s a new chapter for me. As a mother, this marks the first time I don’t have an infant in the house. Tomorrow, my youngest son will celebrate his second birthday. With my three boys spaced just 20 months apart, each time one turned two, there was always another little one around. After six years filled with pregnancies, breastfeeding, and caring for newborns, I’ve finally had a break. It’s been a full year since I last fed a baby, whether from my breast or a bottle.
Lately, I’ve found myself noticing an empty space. I’ll often wander into the baby aisle at Target, quickly bypassing pacifiers and swaddle blankets. The sight of the boppy pillows and breast pumps stirs an unexpected lump in my throat. There’s no need for them anymore.
Earlier this week, I rummaged through my grandmother’s basement, searching for Rubbermaid containers filled with baby clothes—now ready to be passed down to my soon-to-arrive nephew. I paused over a soft, hospital-issued onesie, nostalgia washing over me. It’s a cliché, but it’s hard to believe they were ever that tiny.
As I prepare breakfast for his brothers, my youngest zips past me in a blur, clad in his fleece pajamas with that unmistakable blond hair. I recognize those pajamas: size 2T, the same ones that always fit the little boy waiting for me to bring home his baby brother. My heart aches for the infant I can almost picture nearby, but it’s just him—my little boy. He wraps his arms around my neck, his embrace tight and warm. He sits beside me, plump hand in mine, his hair still wispy, and his sleeping face reminiscent of that grainy ultrasound image from before we even met.
Yet, I find myself surprised by how clearly he communicates now. His chubby toddler legs fill my lap, and he confidently pours himself a cup of water and brushes his own teeth. When I glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I’m startled to see a baby who has grown too big to be cradled easily.
These tiny yet monumental moments, which I missed or muted during past newborn phases, now stand out in stark clarity. There’s no new baby here to overshadow this boy’s growth, so he remains my baby, but he will be two soon. Too soon.
His entrance into the world was a bit ahead of schedule—four days before the planned C-section, marked by a sudden rush of amniotic fluid during his brothers’ bedtime routine. From the very beginning, it feels like everything has sped by far too quickly, always just ahead of our readiness.
I find myself longing for the postpartum ward of the hospital—its soft hues of turquoise and peach, the long corridors, trays of comfort food, and the gentle nurses. And, of course, that tiny pink infant, either nestled in the mobile bassinet or cradled in my thankful arms. It’s as if without a newborn, I almost don’t recognize myself.
We’ve been racing toward this second birthday with an almost impatient inevitability. But as my boys grow, I feel the widening gap between what they need and what I can provide. Their worlds are expanding far beyond our home, while I remain fixated on the small—those little hands, the challenges of a life with toddlers, and our everyday moments.
It’s bittersweet as we outgrow these stages. Yes, I feel tethered to my children, yet anchored too. Recently, during a fleeting afternoon alone in Manhattan, I climbed the subway steps only to find myself lost in a crowd, disoriented without the weight of my children. A gust of wind whipped me around like a stray plastic bag, leaving me feeling a bit adrift. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll even recognize myself when they’re all grown.
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Summary:
As Sarah reflects on her journey through motherhood, she navigates the bittersweet emotions of watching her youngest son approach his second birthday. After years of managing the chaos of newborns and toddlers, she faces the reality of her children growing up and the inevitable changes that come with it. Nostalgia for the days of infancy mixes with the joys and challenges of parenting as she contemplates her identity in this new phase of life.
Keyphrase: motherhood and growing children
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