This marks a pivotal moment for me. As I navigate motherhood, I find myself in a unique position—my youngest son is about to celebrate his second birthday. With my three boys just 20 months apart, my home was once a bustling nursery. Each time one of them turned two, another baby was already nestled in my arms. For six long years, I’ve been enveloped in a cycle of pregnancy, breastfeeding, and caring for newborns, with no respite in sight. But now, it’s been a complete year since I’ve needed a breast or bottle.
Lately, I’ve noticed a void in my surroundings. During a recent trip to Target, I inadvertently wandered into the infant aisle, only to feel a lump in my throat as I passed by pacifiers and swaddle blankets. Those items are no longer relevant to my life.
Earlier this week, I delved into my grandmother’s basement to uncover Rubbermaid bins filled with baby clothes destined for my soon-to-arrive nephew. As I touched a soft cotton onesie from the hospital, I was instantly flooded with memories—was it really so long ago that my boys were that small?
Now, while preparing breakfast for my older sons, my youngest dashes by, a blur of fleece pajamas and tousled blond hair. I recognize those pajamas—size 2T, adorned with soccer balls. They were once worn by the toddler waiting for his baby brother to come home. My heart aches for the newborn I no longer hold, yet all I find is him.
My little boy, who envelops me in a tight embrace, whose hand fits perfectly in mine, and whose wispy hair still reminds me of his baby days. His face, even in sleep, mirrors the grainy ultrasound image I cherished before we met.
But what surprises me is how articulate he’s become, and how those chubby toddler thighs now occupy my lap. He helps himself to water and brushes his own teeth, a testament to his growing independence.
As I glance into the mirror, I’m caught off guard by the reflection of a child who has outgrown the need to be carried. Gathering him in my arms feels almost awkward now. Those little, monumental moments that I missed during the chaos of early motherhood are suddenly magnified. Without a new baby to contrast his development, he remains my baby, yet he will soon turn two. Too soon.
His entry into the world was unexpected—a burst of amniotic fluid during his brothers’ bedtime routine led to an early C-section. Since then, time has sped by, always a heartbeat ahead of what I felt prepared for. I find myself reminiscing about the hospital postpartum ward, its soft turquoise decor and the trays of comfort food brought by attentive nurses, and most importantly, the tiny pink infant swaddled in a bassinet or nestled in my arms.
Without a newborn, I feel like a stranger to myself. The countdown to two has felt inevitable, almost like a race against time. As my sons grow, the distance between their needs and my ability to fulfill them widens. Their lives will soon extend beyond the walls of our home, while I grapple with my attachment to the small moments—from their tiny hands to the daily joys of toddlerhood.
Though I feel anchored by my children, I wonder about the ties that will hold me once they loosen. Recently, I experienced a day in Manhattan alone, only to find myself disoriented amidst the crowd. Without the weight of my little ones, I felt untethered, like a plastic bag blown by the wind—lost.
Sometimes, I fear that when they are grown, I won’t recognize myself at all.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Jenna Carter shares her emotional journey as she transitions from the chaos of having multiple young children to the bittersweet reality of her youngest son approaching his second birthday. She grapples with feelings of nostalgia for her early motherhood days, the profound changes in her children, and the uncertainty of her identity as they grow increasingly independent.