Little Shoes, Big Moments
It’s a Friday morning in the middle of July and my son rushes out of the house into the hot summer sun. I follow behind, carrying my daughter and her new little velcro tennis shoes. My son immediately runs over to grab his scooter and I quickly stuff my daughter’s little feet into the shoes that she will, without a doubt, soon outgrow.
I have been walking with my son for a couple years now. In the heart of Covid, there wasn’t anything else to do, so we walked. We walked around our little neighborhood practically every day. At the time, he had just turned one. Everything fascinated him. He would stop at every leaf or flower or bug and squat down on his unsteady little toddler legs to study any and everything he came across. Now when we walk, he wizzes around on his scooter or rides his bike. He looks both ways before he crosses the street, before I even have a chance to remind him. He greets the neighbor’s dog by name and runs over to pet him. He isn’t quite as fascinated by a random leaf on the ground and he definitely doesn’t hold my hand anymore.
Even though things are more or less back to normal, we have continued walking most days in our neighborhood. For a while it was just him and I every day. Last summer I waddled along behind him with my 9 month pregnant belly. That was also the summer he called dandelions “dandy flowers.” Shortly after that, we walked together while his baby sister was asleep, strapped to my chest. And for the last few months, I followed my son around our neighborhood, lugging my growing daughter along with us. It isn’t lost on me how quickly the time goes. It was literally just yesterday that I carried Gia while we took our daily walk. And now, I’m setting her down on the sidewalk to walk with her brother.
The walk starts off slow. My daughter stops and gazes at every ant hill, acorn, and crack in the cement we come across. She walks clumsily in her new shoes, which she’s not quite used to. She bends down, much like my son did when he was her age, and studies a blade of grass, a pine cone, and bird poop, as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. For the first time in a long time, the only thing I have to hold onto is my coffee. It’s just one of many ordinary, but significant moments that remind me of how fast she is growing and that my baby won’t be a baby for much longer.
I was reminded the first day I packed the diaper bag with an applesauce pouch and cheerios instead of a bottle of breastmilk. I am reminded every time I drop a pump session, and incorporate more solid food into her diet. I went from treating spit up and diaper blowout stains, to now treating berry and avocado stains.
In those early days, our house seemed buried under burp cloths, breast pads, and baby swaddles. Now? The house is overrun by toys. After months of seeing that gummy little smile, and then a rough couple weeks of teething, I am now greeted by the four cutest teeth I have ever seen. I miss the days where she would so easily fall asleep on me, because now she sleeps for twelve hours in her crib, which every mom knows is a blessing, but also a strange curse.
As a new mom-of-two, I cared for my toddler and did things around the house with a newborn wrapped up tight against my chest. Then when she got a bit bigger, I found myself stirring the soup, picking up the toys, and helping my son use the potty, all while I had a clingy baby perched on my hip. Lately, I’ve been doing less holding and more chasing up the stairs and checking to make sure the baby gate is closed. My camera roll went from being full of pictures of my daughter swaddled and sleeping, to videos of my son cheering her on as she took her first steps, and no less than a dozen videos of her saying “uh-oh.”
During those early newborn days, Luca would cuddle up with us, stroking his sister’s little head while she slept on my chest. Now, just one year later, they both run back and forth across our main floor, Hot Wheels cars clutched in their hands, giggling and making more noise than two kids should be capable of making.
A year seems like forever. When you bring your new baby home from the hospital, it feels like you’ll have so much time. But before long, with each little ordinary milestone, you’ll be asking yourself: how did we get here? Where did the time go? It really does go as fast as everyone says it does.
My Gia girl turned one yesterday. I spent much of this past year desperately holding onto her baby-ness, knowing how quickly it would go. There’s just something really special about bringing home your second baby. Doing motherhood with some experience in your back pocket. Watching your oldest become a big brother. This year, I made myself slow down. I took too many pictures. I let the dirty lunch dishes sit next to the sink while I held my sweet baby for her naps. I soaked. it. all. in. I reminded myself over and over again how fast it would go, and yet, here I am one year later wondering where the time went. I told myself to embrace this hard, wonderful, fleeting season, and it was truly the most magical year of my life. I would live this past year over and over again if I could.
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We continue our walk, my son yelling from up ahead on his scooter “just pick Gia up!” He’s tired of stopping at every rock we see along the way. I try telling him he did the same thing when he was her age. He says he wants to find me a dandy flower. I don’t correct him. I will miss it when he remembers that it’s actually “dandelion,” not “dandy flower.” I scoop my daughter up. Luca does have a point. We’ll be out here for hours at this rate. Besides, I don’t mind another walk with a baby in my arms. She has plenty of time to grow up. They both do. And personally, I’m in no hurry.
