Left a little of my heart behind as I closed the door on my two-month-old in his nursery tonight. Moments ago, he was fussing and refusing to sleep, cooing while making eye contact with me and just being the cutest baby ever. But I’ve got an early morning tomorrow and my mother’s here to take care of him at night.
He watched me with his big puppy eyes as I walked away.
I felt a little sad, just for tonight.
When he wakes for night feeds, I won’t be the first face he sees. When his nappies are full, I won’t be there to change them. I won’t get to fall asleep with him in my arms. I won’t be hearing his tiny snores while I try to fall asleep between feeds. I won’t be the first to soothe him if he wakes up scared and hungry. And I’ll have to let go of those regrets. Just for tonight.
This is what motherhood already feels like to me – a series of lessons in letting go.
At every stage of his growth, I know I’ll be missing the boy he was.
I already miss holding that newborn in my arms for the first time. And his shrill cries at the hospital. I miss the first time he latched as a newborn. I’ll never forget the car ride home and carrying him to his bed for the first time. And giving him his first bath. His first photo shoot was at two-weeks-old. His first shave was when he became a month old. The first time he said “mama” (or whatever he said that sounded like that). I already miss the first time we put him in his car seat and the way he wailed when we couldn’t pick him up. I know I’ll miss the way he needs me every night before he sleeps.
I’m finding it so hard to let go.
Telling myself it’s just for tonight.