Saying Good-bye To The Baby Stage

As our fourth and final baby approaches her first birthday, I can't help but simultaneously grieve and rejoice the end of the baby days

Our baby girl is about to turn one in a couple of days. This approaching milestone feels bittersweet; never shall I have a baby ever again. That first year of a baby’s life is so hard on parents and as much as we struggled, I am reminiscing over the beautiful parts. Never again will it be her and I cozied up together nursing in the middle of the night while the rest of the world sleeps. Those moments were always so precious to me despite how tired I was. It was her and I, cocooned in the night like a blanket of freshly fallen snow: warm, quiet and peaceful. No more moments of just gazing at her while the rest of our home was nestled in for their own slumber and her and I rocked softly in her room. No more cheers of encouragement to crawl. No more nourishing her from my body (although if you are lucky to extend your nursing relationship beyond a year I applaud you; Kaizley quit voluntarily at Christmas to my dismay). No more holding her perfectly in my palms and later in the crook of my arm. No more newborn smells that make me want to eat her, lick her and never let her go. Never again will I see my newborn, alert and wondrous, taking in the world around her.

The funny thing about nostalgia is that it somehow erases the bad parts and idolizes the good parts

In the same breath, I can also say I won’t miss the long, sleepless nights. I won’t miss the incessant crying and her Dad and I trying to figure out what the problem was. I won’t miss the puking and the spit up and the blow out poops. But, I have reverence for those times too because they were integral to this first year and I’ll never have another first year with a baby again.

After everything that’s happened over the last nine years with my fertility and numerous pregnancies (lived and lost), this first (and last) birthday feels like the epilogue to a really long story that’s finally coming to a close. I’ll never cry on the bathroom floor while my body expels a life wanted but a life taken too soon. I’ll never take another pregnancy test with bated breath and fevered prayers. I’ll never feel the little butterfly kicks in my tummy as my baby moves and grows. I’ll never rub my womanly body again, ripe with pregnancy and possibilities. I’ll never go through this stage ever again. It’s both a welcomed thought and a sad realization. Did I appreciate my pregnancies enough? Did I commit her tiny hands resting in mine to memory? Did I take enough moments to absorb this first year? Did I give myself enough grace? Did I do enough? Did I take any of it for granted? Did I fully appreciate how blessed I am? Only time will tell but I hope I can yes more than I will ever say no.

If I were to write that book detailing the last decade, the epilogue would go something like this:

As our family of six gathered in our tiny kitchen with our friends-turned-family, the table overflowing with children and friends around it ready to sing Happy Birthday, I can’t help but feel…something new bubbling from deep within, rising like a gentle wave, warm and inviting. The lights in the kitchen ceiling against the dark evening backdrop of winter cast the people in the room with a warm, honeyed glow; everyone laughing, loving, celebrating: a picture of true contentment and blessings. I feel love and gratitude; these are the people who’ve stood by us through so much. But there’s something else. I look at my oldest, the one who made me a mother, her freckled cheeks smiling in anticipation for cake. I look at my son, the one we fought so hard to bring Earthside as he jumps up and down in his seat. I look at my third baby, our surprise joy as she sucks her fingers and coyly looks around the room. I look at my husband, my rock, the love of my life, the glue that keeps our family solid and strong. He sees me watching him with a quiet smile on my face and he winks at me. My gaze returns to our one-year-old; candles illuminate her beautiful, precious face. The song comes to an end and I realize the feeling that’s settled in and around me like a fleece blanket. It’s peace.