“Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you. The kitties adore you. We all love you so much. Now it’s time for sleep.”
I paused, gently pulling the blanket up to my daughter’s chin and tucking it around her little legs.
“Good night, my sweet girl.”
That night marked the end of an era—my daughter’s final night in her crib. It was the first “last” that I truly absorbed. Dinner was bubbling in the oven, an article awaited its turn on my screen, and a toddler bed sat unfinished upstairs, but in that moment, I stopped.
I lingered in the doorway, watching her sleep with her thumb in her mouth and her tiny feet pressed against the cherry wood bars. I wanted to imprint that image in my mind—the transition from baby to “big girl.” I longed to take in the scent of her peach-fuzz head one last time (the same head now adorned with beautiful, yet often wild curls). I wished I could reclaim the fleeting moments of the last two years.
Let me be clear: not every moment is a postcard-perfect memory. I don’t miss the sleepless nights, the teething pains, or feeling like a dairy cow. Parenting is challenging, often thankless, and filled with a rollercoaster of emotions.
But that night, in her room, I found a rare moment of pure maternal joy. I wanted to scoop her up, cradle her close, and sing her to sleep just as I did when she was a newborn. I could’ve stood there forever, but my independent little girl interrupted with a cheerful, “goo’bye!” (She has a special way of singing that word, stretching the last syllable for maximum effect.)
So, I bid her goodnight and quietly closed the door.
For two years, I’ve celebrated “firsts”—her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps. Yet, I’m only just now recognizing the significance of “lasts.” It’s bittersweet, bringing both joy and a touch of sadness. I beam with pride at her growth, but when did we reach this new stage? When did things shift, and why can’t I pinpoint when it happened?
When was the last time I swaddled her? When was the last time she drifted off to sleep on my chest? When did that sweet baby powder scent fade from her skin?
I try to stay present, not to dwell on tomorrow for fear of missing today. But what if earlier today, she crossed another milestone I didn’t even notice? (She did ask me not to color with her yesterday, so have we hit that milestone too?)
That thought compels me to savor each moment. I often find myself lost in emails or scrolling through social media, and I realize I risk missing these fleeting experiences altogether. Not only could I miss them, but I know I will. While I might not recognize the last cuddle or the final sip from her sippy cup, I’m learning to treasure these moments—even the messy, chaotic ones that end in tears or food on the floor.
So maybe tonight I’ll let her stay up a little later, or comfort her when she cries instead of letting her cry it out. Because today could be a “last day,” and I want to make the most of it.
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Summary
In this heartfelt reflection, a mother contemplates the bittersweet nature of parenting as she recognizes the significance of “lasts” in her daughter’s rapid growth. The piece captures the delicate balance between cherishing fleeting moments and the inevitable changes that come with time.