I felt a rush of emotions when I received the text: “I can watch Lucy next week if you’d like to go out for a while.” I knew this moment would come, but I just wasn’t ready for it. Leaving my baby behind didn’t sit well with me, and admitting that would require a level of courage I wasn’t sure I possessed.
Lucy is my third and final child. Deciding to have her was no easy feat, especially since my husband and I are both getting older, and we already have two independent boys aged 5 and 7. After much consideration, we opted to experience the joy of having a baby once more. I’ve never looked back. My pregnancy was a delight, even those final tough days before her arrival.
In the week leading up to Lucy’s birth, New Jersey enjoyed an unseasonably warm spell. Each day, I took long walks through the neighborhood, secretly hoping to nudge labor along. But deep down, I knew my heart wasn’t in it; I longed for the feeling of those initial labor pains, and yet, I also felt a twinge of sadness. The end of my pregnancy meant sharing my precious baby with the world.
With my first two pregnancies, I didn’t think twice about it. I often say my boys are a gift to the world. They’re two of the happiest kids you could meet, spreading joy wherever they go. As babies, they would beam at strangers in the grocery store, drawing smiles and laughter from everyone around. I was so proud of their ability to brighten others’ days.
But Lucy feels different. She’s my gift to myself, and I find it challenging to express that to others. An older friend once told me that turning 30 meant caring less about what others thought and doing what made you happy. I waited eagerly for that birthday, hoping to gain the confidence to speak my mind. Unfortunately, as I approach my late 30s, I’m still working on that. This baby feels like a test of my growth.
This time, I truly grasp that the baby stage is fleeting. When Lucy was just 8 days old, her umbilical cord fell off, and I felt a wave of emotion; she was growing up too quickly. During those quiet, late-night feedings, I inhale her sweet scent and cherish those intimate moments that belong solely to us. When her tiny fingers wrap around my thumb, I can’t help but believe she’s trying to hold onto the months we shared together. When she kicks against my soft belly, my heart swells. I wish I could freeze this time. The thought of letting someone else hold her—even for a moment—makes me anxious. Am I being unreasonable?
With my first two children, I was overwhelmed by the demands of motherhood and couldn’t imagine relishing sleepless nights—especially since I’m not great with lack of sleep. If someone offered to babysit, I would have jumped at the chance, yearning for some time alone. But this time, things feel different, and I want to embrace that feeling.
In the end, I bought myself some time and told my friend I would go out next week, thinking that maybe a week would change my perspective. I’m not so sure it will.
Who knows? Maybe when I blow out 40 candles in a few short years, I’ll finally muster the courage to let others hold my baby.
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In summary, the baby stage is a precious time that I want to hold on to as long as possible. The bond I share with Lucy feels entirely different from my experiences with my boys. It’s a journey of love, growth, and a little bit of reluctance to let go.