For exactly three months, I will have two children under two. There’s still about three weeks left of that stage, at which point “two kids, two and under” begins. Perhaps it’s too early for a “review,” but I had some thoughts anyway.
I knew it was going to be hard. I knew I was going to feel emotionally stretched thin. I was prepared to be tired, to be overstimulated. One thing I did not expect to feel was…grief.
Even with my husband home on paternity leave (for 12 weeks – praise the Lord), I was not prepared for the reality of not getting the same amount of time with a second newborn as I did with my first. The demands of toddlerhood are relentless, and often nonsensical. Sure, Dad could get her a snack, or read her a book, but she wanted me to do it. Which meant putting down the baby, who just fell asleep in that snuggly, milk-drunk glory.
It broke my heart to have to place him in the bassinet, or hand him to his father, when that “milk drunk” time was once a period of adoration and gratitude for the miracle that occurred in my body. I’d kiss those squishy cheeks, take in the intoxicating smell that is newborn baby head (seriously, why do their heads smell so good?), count the little toes for the 800th time. With Millie, I had all the time in the world to sit and take it all in.
Not so in this era. This time, I am needed more. I am torn in two different directions, forced to triage between my children, and decide quickly who needs me more in that moment. Because I can’t be in two places at once.
It’s good to be needed like this, exhausting though it may be. There will come a day when no one needs me to pour more milk, open a stick of cheese, or turn on Bluey (which we allow in minimal amounts). One day they’ll wipe their own noses and butts and pick out their own clothes. And I will grieve again.
Motherhood is many wonderful things. It’s also a series of never-ending little heartbreaks. The newborn outfits that are now hard to zipper – when did that happen? Opening the next size of diapers – how did he grow without my noticing? Was I too distracted, too tired? Did I fully take in the newborn phase, sealing every detail into memory, before time marched on without my permission?
And when did my toddler start speaking in short sentences, and pronouncing “water” correctly (no longer “wa wa”)? When exactly did she stop playing with the musical walker that was her favorite toy since she started pulling herself up? Was I too sleep-deprived to notice?
There’s nothing I regret about this stage, for all the exhaustion it brings. I only wish I’d been less tired, and more present (impossible when newborn feedings are every two hours at night). I feel guilty for wishing it would pass quickly, while also wishing I could freeze time.
I love that Millie is too young to remember what life was like before her brother arrived; all her childhood memories will include him. I look forward to the day that they both play together, and I can write from my home office with minimal interruptions; just the sounds of their laughter and occasional reminders to share.
But for that day to come, this current stage must end. A door must close. And a piece of my heart gets left behind.
Photo credit: Kimberly Orrison
