My once tiny, crying baby, the one with the cheerful smile who always reached out to me with his chubby little hands and toothless grin, is now three years old. To be exact, he’s three and a half, which is crucial at this age when they grow and learn at lightning speed.
Three and a half. I recall my own experiences at that age — feeling like a complete person with real emotions. Yet, Baby Max isn’t a baby anymore, despite his insistence, “Me not big. Me tiny!” His protests can’t change the facts: he’s mastered potty-training, and his speech is clear to everyone around him. I rarely carry him on my back now. He sleeps in our bed, but sprawls across it, limbs everywhere, clutching his favorite Paw Patrol stuffed animal.
Gone are the days of nursing bras and concerns about nursing access. He still cuddles, seeking kisses and hugs. But today, he drew a person — complete with arms, legs, eyes, and even a sword.
In an instant, I transitioned from being a baby mom to merely a toddler mom. I am now a mother of three boys: ages 7, 5, and 3 and a half.
This shift has been on the horizon for quite some time. I was once an avid babywearer and even a certified babywearing educator, part of a community that trained and supported one another. I was the welcoming face at meetings, expertly wrapping my baby in a complex carry that ended with him perched high on my back. I was the mentor, the experienced mom guiding newcomers.
As I moved forward, babywearing led to discussions about feeding practices, diaper choices — cloth or disposable? We compared sleepless nights and introduced solids. I could connect with moms I had little in common with for hours. My older children added to my credibility; I had been through it all.
Many of these women became close friends. But as Max’s babyhood faded away, I stopped wearing him as much. I let my certification lapse. I realized he was no longer the tiny bundle that new moms brought to our meetings. While I loved him as he grew, it was a painful realization. Our conversations became limited. The friendships started to drift. We bonded over babyhood, but with my baby no longer a baby, we lost that connection. We didn’t share musical tastes, book preferences, or political views — even our artistic interests diverged.
Suddenly, I found myself as a mother of three boys without a close-knit community. I no longer frequented the baby section at stores like Target. I didn’t instinctively scour cloth diaper or baby carrier swaps anymore. I lost touch with many of the Facebook groups that had once been my online home. We decided to homeschool, so I started meeting other homeschooling mothers. But I still felt out of place. There was the adventurous mom whose daughter my eldest son adores. Another mom whose son shares a love of Spinosaurus with my middle child, and the kind-hearted mother whose kids are as sweet as she is. I cherish these connections, but they feel more fragile. As our children grow older, playdates become rarer.
I remember the intimacy of cleaning my baby friends’ bathrooms, a sign of love. I’ve seen their homes in chaos and brought them coffee when they were too exhausted to make their own. I miss that camaraderie.
These days, I struggle to find where I belong. I no longer have a baby. Max isn’t in preschool, so I miss out on the instant bonding that comes from drop-offs and classroom events. I find myself reconnecting with old friends — the stylish photographer and her poet husband I haven’t visited in ages, or the single dad from college whose son plays with Max. I’ve started to wear more makeup, dress nicer, and even exercise more. My husband and I enjoy dinner dates. While I appreciate these changes — I love my makeup, new clothes, workout routine, and nights out — I still yearn for my previous sense of belonging.
I used to know that someone relied on me constantly. Now, Max is independent enough to be left with others, and he can tell me to go away or express his frustration. I didn’t realize how much I needed to be needed until it was gone; it has created a void in my life. I need to fill it with friendships, books, art, music, and more date nights.
But filling that void is much more challenging than simply being needed.
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Summary: The transition from babyhood to toddlerhood can be surprisingly difficult for mothers. As children grow, the connections formed in the early stages of motherhood often dissipate, leading to feelings of isolation. The author reflects on the changes in her life as her youngest son grows older, revealing a longing for the supportive community she once had, and the challenge of finding a new place in the world as her identity evolves.