It’s 3 a.m. and I’m watching you sleep. You’ve drifted off in the crook of my arms, your tummy full. I probably should take advantage of this quiet moment to get some sleep myself, but tonight, I just can’t.
I admire you, lost in that peaceful sleep. You’re only three little weeks old, and I can’t help but feel that time is flying by too fast. It slips through my fingers, and every passing second reminds me that with you, I’ll experience all the “last times.”
You’re my third child in less than three years—that’s no small feat. Yet you’re the last one. The one who completes our family. Your dad and I agreed on that. Now that you’re here, and the grieving process for my time as a first-time mom has begun, it’s a little harder to accept.
I can’t help but think that I’ll never again scrutinize a plastic stick so closely, hoping to see two little lines appear. Never again will I be on the lookout for the first flutters of a little being growing inside me. Never again will I eagerly await the day of the ultrasound to find out the gender and choose a name.
I’ll never again caress my belly, rounded by the miracle of life. I’ll never again wonder when the baby will decide to make an appearance. I’ll never again feel the adrenaline rush of childbirth, the joy of knowing that despite the pain, you’ll soon be with us.
No, you’re my youngest—all that is already behind me—and every milestone you reach will remind me that I need to savor each of these “firsts” that are also “lasts.”
The first smiles, the first laughs, the first coos. So many moments that melt my heart and will never come back. I can’t wait to watch you discover the world and its flavors, and to witness your thirst for new experiences. You’ll crawl, walk on all fours, and then stand up, just like your sisters before you. At that moment, however, I’ll have to admit that from then on, you’ll be less and less of a baby and more and more of a little boy. I won’t have a baby anymore—ever.
Know that I’ll always be proud of you and your accomplishments, but Mom might wipe away a little tear at certain milestone moments. That tear will be tinged with both joy and sadness, because, you know, life goes by too fast, and there isn’t enough time to savor each of these moments that will never come again.
I would love so much to start all over again right away. To relive the beauty of every stage of motherhood, even the less rosy ones. Pregnancy aches, sleepless nights, inconsolable crying, and tantrums are nothing compared to the sheer joy of holding you in my arms and watching you grow up so beautifully.
I have enough love to go around for a thousand, but all good things must come to an end. Nine months ago, when I found out you were growing inside me, that was the beginning of all the “last times.” And even though I constantly feel like everything is going by too fast and that every “last time” slips away before I’ve had a chance to savor it, I’m certain that your “first times” will fill my heart with pride and that my “last times” will be perfect.
Tomorrow, I’ll rock you one more time to watch you sleep for just a few more moments. Then, I’ll slip quietly into your big sisters’ room to watch them sleep as well. I’ll give each of you a kiss on the forehead while gently stroking your cheek.
Now I understand the full meaning of the expression “take the time to take the time.” Because yesterday will never come back, let’s make sure that every day is special, that little snippets of each one remain forever etched in our minds. It helps us make peace with those last times.