When my eldest, Ethan, was just a few months shy of his second birthday, his little sister, Emma, arrived. For nearly two years, it felt like we were in our own little bubble, just the two of us against the world. I rarely had a sitter, and I was almost always by his side. He claims he remembers those early days, expressing that the arrival of his sister changed everything. When our baby brother came along a year later, he began asking when we could return to our special time of being “just us.”
My mother once shared a perspective that resonated deeply: bringing home a new sibling can feel akin to your partner introducing a new lover into your life. While I initially thought this was an exaggeration, it became clear that Ethan was grappling with these complex feelings.
I vividly recall a moment one summer afternoon when I was nursing Emma while pregnant with our third child. Ethan stood by the window, and when he turned to look at me, his somber expression struck me. Dressed in his baseball cap and tiny red sneakers, he simply turned his head to meet my gaze, but there was no smile. Instead, he returned to staring out the window, something I had never witnessed before. It was a heart-wrenching moment because I longed to reach for him but chose to wait until I could put Emma down.
Once I did, we settled into our big leather recliner, where I read him a board book. The sunlight streamed through the window, causing him to squint, but he stayed put. “Just us, Mama,” he said, perhaps fearing that moving would end our precious moment. He cherished that time, and so did I.
As our family grew, those “just us” moments became few and far between. Life became chaotic, and he couldn’t quite grasp why carving out time for just the two of us was so challenging. With three kids, even the simplest solo bathroom trip felt like a luxury. We occasionally managed to sneak in moments together, but often, exhaustion kept me in my pajamas by 4 p.m., ready to settle in for the night.
Over the years, Ethan has frequently expressed how much he enjoys our one-on-one time. If too much time goes by, he subtly reminds me that it’s time for a reunion. “I know,” I reply, “I love it too, Ethan.” I want him to feel reassured that I haven’t forgotten.
Now that he’s older, it’s easier for me to find time for just us, as my children are less dependent on me. However, it seems that Ethan is the one who struggles to carve out time for our special moments. He’s busy navigating his 13-year-old world, which is as it should be. Ironically, I now find myself yearning for “just us” time. I stand by the window, trying not to frown as I watch him head off to pursue his next adventure. I’d gladly endure the sunlight in my eyes just to be close to him.
This boy, whom I’ve watched grow into a young man, used to reach for my hand, wanting me all to himself. Nowadays, he often ducks away when I try to hug or kiss him. Nevertheless, when he does make time for me—those rare moments when nothing else seems more exciting than spending time with his old mom—we truly enjoy each other’s company. He may act indifferent, but he still says, “Mom, I really like it when it’s just us.” To which I respond, “Yes, me too, just us.”
Little does he know how much I cherish these moments; it’s a feeling he may not fully comprehend until he has a child of his own and experiences that gradual pull away from him. It won’t be until then that he realizes just how precious “just us” time is for a parent—a true, priceless gift.
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In summary, as I navigate this new phase of parenting, I find myself longing for the “just us” moments I once provided for my son. The roles have shifted, but the importance of those special times remains unchanged.