As I quietly tread down the dimly lit hallway towards my child’s closed door, the stillness envelops me. I gently twist the doorknob, pushing it open with care, and tiptoe across the room until I find myself standing beside the crib. A soft, bluish glow from the anchor nightlight fills the space, while the distant sound of a well-placed machine mimics gentle rain.
There he is—my little one—curled up, tucked into a cozy corner of his crib. His tiny body, once a whirlwind of energy, now rests peacefully, breathing in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Just not long ago, he was a vibrant, inquisitive toddler, always on the move, exploring every nook and cranny of his world.
Tonight, as has become my ritual, I’ve entered my 18-month-old son’s room after his little body has finally succumbed to sleep. I scoop him into my arms for one last embrace. Holding him close, I brush his hair away from his face and kiss his forehead. “Mama loves you so much,” I whisper softly before gently placing him back in his crib, covering him snugly with his blanket, and slipping away as quietly as I came.
These precious moments fill me with a sense of calm and gratitude, yet there’s an underlying twinge of sadness. He’s growing up too quickly. Everyone warned me about how time would accelerate once I became a mother. “Savor each moment,” they advised. And I have, but it never feels like enough.
I can’t shake the feeling of being robbed by time, and my heart aches at the thought of the day that will inevitably arrive—when he no longer seeks my embrace or welcomes my kisses with glee. The world will shift, drawing a line between us, with him on one side and me on the other.
How can it be that this innocent, boundless love will one day transform? How will it feel on the day he no longer rushes into my arms after a long day or clings to my legs with a plea for “up, up, Mama”? He’s already showing signs of wanting less cuddle time, fewer kisses, and more independence.
Just yesterday, we visited a park. He wandered ahead, unsteady but determined, heading toward the pavement, while I hurried to guide him back to the soft grass. A mix of pride and sadness swelled within me as the space between us widened. “Hold Mama’s hand,” I asked, but he stubbornly pulled away, captivated by older kids playing basketball, blowing them kisses as they laughed. In that moment, I wished for time to stand still.
In his infancy, we would rock together in the glider, his tiny fingers wrapped around mine, silently promising, “Never let me go.” I was his everything—his comfort, safety, and source of love.
Though I understand that change is a natural part of life, and our relationship will evolve into something equally beautiful yet different, it pains me to think of losing the closeness we share now. I cherish every memory, from cuddles in makeshift tents with stuffed animals to laughter shared during diaper changes and quiet moments gazing at the moon from my shoulders.
I treasure this fleeting phase and hold my little boy close, embracing each stolen kiss until the tides inevitably shift again. For more insights on parenting and family, check out this post about at-home insemination kits, which can be a valuable resource for those on a similar journey. Also, if you’re curious about pregnancy possibilities during perimenopause, visit an authoritative source on the subject.
In summary, the bittersweet journey of motherhood is filled with moments of joy and heartache as children grow more independent. Time may change our connections, but the love shared will always remain.