It's not the sleepless nights, the toddler tantrums, the battles over bedtime or the constant worrying. The worst part is a very different kind of unknown.
Last Thursday, B stopped napping. Usually on weekends he would consistently fall asleep in the car, I'd carry him inside on my shoulder and snuggle on the sofa, snoozing for an hour or two before snack time. He still looks like a baby when he's asleep. Not just a blur of activity and motion and dirt and noise like he does during every waking hour. He's safe and warm and comfortable in his mommy's arms. But last Thursday, he stopped napping.
Maybe he'll do it again on occasion after a busy day or while battling a cold, but I don't know when that will be or if it will happen or how many times. I realized... the worst part of parenting is not knowing when it's the last time, while you're in the last time.
Someday I will nap with him on the sofa in my arms for the last time. It may have already happened. Someday I will carry him from the car for the last time, or help him use the potty, or put a band-aid on a hurt knee. On all of these occasions I will just go about the task routinely, unaware of the monumental privilege I may never have again. The last time will come and go, only for me to try to remember later when I realize there hasn't been another.
They don't tell us. We don't get a notification. It's not written down in a book of developmental milestones. There's no fanfare or celebration or recognition. These moments just pass as part of life.
Soon I'll be singing happy birthday to my baby boy. And welcoming another life that will be full of last times. Luckily for me we all still have so many firsts to look forward to.
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