I find myself standing at a pivotal moment in my life. Each time I pack away a season’s worth of my little girl’s clothes to store, it hits me—my baby is growing up too fast. Now wearing size 2T, I’m having a hard time accepting the reality of it all.
That storage closet is overflowing with onesies, blankets, and those adorable tiny hats. As my partner, Mark, hoisted the box labeled 18-24 months to the top shelf, he casually mentioned whether we should consider transitioning our daughter to a toddler bed. I felt a surge of resistance. Are we really running out of space for her crib? Where would we even put it? We’re keeping it, right? Just in case?
I always envisioned that I would have an instinct about when to stop expanding our family, but that clarity eludes me. The uncertainty gnaws at me, robbing me of sleep at night. On one hand, I know no one ever regrets the children they have. The joy of a new life is undeniable. Sure, we would embrace another baby with open arms. But then, I consider the logistics: my hands are already full with two kids.
Yet, I can’t shake the fear of regretting the child I might not have. What if I reach a point in my life when I yearn for just one more baby, but it’s too late? That fear sometimes pushes me to say, “Let’s just go for it. Let’s try one more time.”
But another voice inside me whispers, “Not yet.” That pause makes me ponder: what if she’s my last?
My little girl is rapidly outgrowing her babyhood. I feel this truth deeply as I fold her new, larger clothes and neatly arrange them in her drawer. We’ve moved on from the soft cotton outfits and muslin wraps to sturdier fabrics that can withstand the adventures of a toddler. My heart aches at this realization; I’m not ready to let go of those cherished onesies and footie pajamas. I still feel attached to the baby who once wore them.
I can’t help but think we didn’t capture enough memories. It seems ridiculous, especially with thousands of photos on my phone, but what if she’s my last?
Her cheeks are thinning, and her curly hair now cascades to her shoulders. She sports a little ponytail that is so cute it makes my heart ache. She’s my vibrant, joyful child—yet she’s undeniably a toddler now. The sweet scent of infancy is fading, and I wasn’t prepared for that. I didn’t savor those moments enough, and I think other moms would understand my sentiment.
What if she’s my last?
Mark and I had just finished organizing when our daughter stirred awake, calling out for us. We exchanged smiles and dashed down the hall, playfully jostling for the chance to be the first to scoop her up from her crib. Those moments of hearing her joyful “Mama!” or “Dada!” upon our arrival are precious.
It’s amusing how we compete for those special instances now—whether it’s the bedtime cuddles, weekend family walks, or even diaper changes. These were moments we might have taken for granted with our first child, but not anymore. We know all too well how quickly they grow, and it can be bittersweet.
Mark reached her first and changed her diaper, showering her with kisses and singing in the silliest voice. Watching from the doorway, I felt a wave of warmth. He seems to relish every fleeting second, as if knowing that babyhood is a limited-time offer.
The question looms over both of us: how do we cherish every moment? Because what if she’s our last?
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In summary, as I navigate this emotional uncertainty about possibly having my last child, I grapple with the bittersweet reality of watching my daughter grow. I cherish every moment and hold onto the fear of what might lie ahead.
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