“Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you. The pets adore you. We all love you endlessly. Now, it’s time for bed.” I gently pulled the blanket up to her chin, ensuring her little legs were cozy and snug. “Goodnight, my sweet girl.”
That night marked my daughter’s final slumber in her crib, and it was the first “last” I consciously acknowledged. While dinner was warming in the oven, an article awaited my attention on my computer, and a toddler bed remained unassembled upstairs, I chose to pause.
Standing in the doorway, I gazed at her peacefully sleeping, thumb in mouth, her tiny feet pressed against the wooden bars. I wanted to soak in that moment—the transition from baby to “big girl.” I longed to savor the scent of her soft head one last time (the once peach fuzz is now a mass of perfect, albeit chaotic, curls). I wished for a way to reclaim some of the fleeting time over the past two years.
Let me clarify: not every moment is idyllic. There are plenty of experiences I don’t yearn for—like teething or feeling like a dairy cow—and parenting can be challenging, often thankless, filled with tears, frustration, and disappointment. Yet, in her room that evening, I encountered one of those rare glimpses of pure maternal joy. I wanted to scoop her up, hold her close, and sing her to sleep like I used to, until we both drifted off. But my independent little one interrupted my thoughts with a cheerful, “goo’bye!” (She sings this nightly with an extra flourish on the “iiiiii.”)
So, I bid her goodnight and closed the door behind me.
For the past two years, I’ve been captivated by her “firsts”—her first smile, laugh, tooth, and word—but I’m only now realizing the significance of the “lasts.” These moments fill me with both joy and a sense of melancholy. I take immense pride in her growth, but I often find myself asking: when did we reach this point? When did everything shift so subtly that I can barely recall when or how?
When was the last time I swaddled her? When did she last fall asleep on my chest, her mouth still attached? When did the scent of baby powder fade from her skin, or the blue-gray color from her eyes? I try not to dwell too much on the future, fearing it might detract from today, but what if, just hours ago, she hit another milestone—a “last” that slipped by unnoticed? (She asked to color alone yesterday; have we crossed that line?)
This contemplation keeps me grounded in the present. I often get caught up in emails, my phone, and—heaven forbid—social media, and I know I risk missing these fleeting moments. So, while I may not recognize the last time she cuddles me or takes a sip from her sippy cup, I’m learning to appreciate every moment—even the chaotic ones involving tears, spilled food, and crayon art on the walls.
Perhaps tonight, I’ll let her stay up a little longer or comfort her when she wakes up, rather than letting her cry it out. After all, today might be a “last day,” and I want to treasure the best moments.
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Summary
This article reflects on the bittersweet nature of parenting, focusing on the poignant “last” moments that accompany a child’s growth. While celebrating achievements, it emphasizes the importance of being present and cherishing fleeting experiences.