My son, hes 4 months old, and he’s my last baby.
Its not something I like to think about, but the question is asked of me at least twice a week, by friends and strangers,
“so, are you done?”.
I hate this question, because I hate the answer,
Yes, we are done.
My life is full, my heart is full, my HOUSE is full, my days are beyond full. I have four beautiful children, who are my light, and we are done.
And yet, in my heart, the thought we are turning the page on this chapter, hurts, it really hurts.
As I hold my son close at night, I am so aware that he is the last baby, and that hes growing by the moment. As he grows, his tiny sleepers, onesies and hats have been packed away, not for a future sibling, but for donation, to another family, another baby, but not mine.
As he learns new things, his first become my last firsts, his first smile, was the last time my baby smiled at me for the first time, the first time he slept through the night, the first time he rolled over, his first coos and babbles, all of those first are behind us. Soon he will have his first Christmas and take his first steps, and each of these will be the last time I guide my child through that first.
As he snuggles close to me in the early hours of the morning, I breathe in his sweet warm smell, hes so small now, but how quickly he will grow, like his brother, like his sisters, soon he will outgrow his baby-ness, he will outgrow my bed, he will outgrow his need for constant love and snuggles, and for the first time in a long time there wont be a baby that needs me.
A few short years ago, that thought would have been exciting. Deep in the early years of my first children, happy, but feeling like it would be an eternity before I could be even a little independent again, I fantasized of the days I could just go to the store, alone, without planning, without a babysitter without a thought.
The days are long but the years are short.
I had no idea.
Of course I knew the saying, I even said it sometimes, but I had no idea of the feeling of it, the true weight of it, because the years have began to pass now, and they seem to be speeding up. I look back to the first baby, the one who made me a mom, who I spent so many nights just gazing at, the one who taught me what love was, and what tired was, and then what colic was, my starter baby, the one who got on the school bus this morning and didn’t even look back to see if I was waving.
They are all slowly growing up, but as the days go by, I begin to realize its not that slow, it seems like a moment ago, my eldest started school, but now her little sister has joined her there. Before long my big boy will be climbing those bus steps with the girls, and then, my last baby will be joining them with a backpack slung over his shoulder.
I can see it all on the not far horizon.
I would slow time down if I could. If only I could.
What I can do though is savor the moments; and I do, oh how I do. I think the knowledge of the chapter closing helps, when the baby wont stop crying, or the night is slipping away and my head has yet to touch a pillow, I think of the time passing and I know, in a few short years I will be missing this moment too.
My last baby, he is the one that is giving me the ability to savor, to truly live in the moment, because he has made me realize that this moment is the only “this moment” we will have, and though a million other moments stretch out before us, none of them will have the exact magic of this one. So I will savor this moment and this magic, as I hold my last baby.