My daughter rubs her eyes as I fasten a clean diaper on and zip up her sleep sack. I pull the blackout curtains across the window and tap on the white noise machine. I sit down to feed her but instead of quietly drifting off to sleep after she’s finished eating, she begins getting squirmy. She starts babbling, moving her arm forcefully back and forth, and I have to turn the other way to avoid getting hit in the face. She pulls at my glasses, leaving an abundance of smudgy fingerprints on the lens. She grabs ahold of the short little baby hairs that have fallen loose from my ponytail, the ones that are finally starting to grow out postpartum, and yanks hard. I look down to see her smiling and babbling away, several strands of my hair in her tight little fist. She arches her back and tries rolling over in my arms. I can’t help but sigh and roll my eyes, missing those sweet cuddly newborn days. 

You see, up until fairly recently, I had this routine where many afternoons while my toddler was napping, and every evening after he went to bed, I would sit on the couch in our family room, a tiny pink bundle asleep on my chest. As a mom of two, with a toddler to chase around, I had to be intentional about remembering to just sit down and hold the baby. But a couple months ago we moved Gia from the bassinet in our bedroom to her crib in the nursery. And subsequently, we have had to figure out a more stringent nap and bedtime routine for her. Gone are the days where she would effortlessly fall asleep in my arms in the bright and sunny living room, not bothered by the toddler tornado that is our son. She now needs a routine, white noise, and blackout curtains. Our frequent cuddle sessions are getting fewer and far between. And I’ve just been all in my feelings about the end of this stage.

I continue rocking my stubborn baby in the recliner, over and over and over again. Simultaneously patting her little butt, trying to find that perfect rhythm. Gia’s eyes grow heavy and before long she finally gives in and her eyes close. I stare down at the baby now fast asleep in my arms, head resting in the crook of my elbow. I reach for my phone to snap a picture of her. It feels silly because I have so many photos of her like this — sleeping soundly up against me, usually wrapped up in the pink knit blanket that was gifted to us shortly after she was born. I’m grateful I thought to take all these photos of her, because looking at them now transports me right back to the moment. I can literally feel the weight of her in my arms. I can see her chubby little cheeks puff out as she breathes and I can remember exactly how it feels to kiss the top of her head, the spot right at her hairline where her hair doesn’t know which way it wants to part.

I loved every minute curled up on the couch like this with her. For months, like five months to be exact, it was the highlight of my day. I craved those moments. It was as if she was the drug and I was the addict. I wanted nothing more at the end of a long day than to just sit and cuddle my daughter.

I don’t remember being this devastated when we moved my son to his crib and he stopped napping on me. As a first time mom, I think I was so overwhelmed and preoccupied with simply learning how to be a mom, that I don’t remember being so… delighted to just sit and hold my sleeping baby. I held him a lot (first baby and all), but I don’t think I appreciated how special those moments were at the time. And just how fast they would go. 

But now, with my daughter, it’s like I finally realized that sitting and holding my baby might just be one of the most special things I ever do.

That’s the beauty of time though, isn’t it? It lends you this perspective that you didn’t have before. Maybe this new perspective can be attributed to the fact that this time, I’m experiencing motherhood with a set of eyes that have seen this all before. I knew how fast this season would go. And I knew once it was gone, there would be no wishing it back. Maybe I can attribute it to the back-to-back miscarriages I suffered before getting pregnant with my daughter. There’s something about months of loss and darkness and uncertainty to make you really appreciate every stage. Every moment. Especially the ones just sitting and holding your baby. The one you hoped and prayed and pleaded for.

And I can’t believe how much I’m going to miss it.

***

I sit there and continue rocking my daughter and she moves ever so slightly to where she is now asleep on my chest. It’s been so long since she’s fallen asleep on me like this. She is growing and learning and moving everywhere now. Lately, it feels like I spend more time pulling her off the stairs and away from the dog bowls than I do holding her. I put the feet of the recliner up and I savor a few extra minutes of her asleep against me. I still have to put my toddler to bed and unload the dishwasher but for right now, I sit and hold the baby.