The End of an Era

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was right before Christmas. I was just a couple of weeks away from my due date and feeling like all pregnant women feel in those last weeks of pregnancy… ready. At my scheduled doctor’s appointment there was some talk of possibly needing to induce due to a minor complication, if it did not resolve. I would later find out that an induction wasn’t necessary, however, that night I planned on potentially having a baby the next day. 

The next morning I dropped our two dogs off at doggy daycare on the way to work, in case at my appointment later that day they decided to induce me. I found myself surprisingly emotional dropping off the dogs, knowing this could be the last time I saw them before you made your arrival. They were our first babies, and I knew things would be so different for them. I wish I could blame the pregnancy hormones, but I think it was sinking in that life was about to change big time for all of us. We were about to leave our old life behind and I was feeling all the things. It was the end of an era. A really good one. And it was so bittersweet. 

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Thump-thump, thump-thump. A sound I grew very accustomed to, very fast. The breast pump. I had a plan for how breastfeeding was going to work for me. I was going to nurse. I took the breastfeeding classes, I bought the nursing-friendly clothes, and I mentally prepared myself for what I thought breastfeeding was going to be. Well, plans change. For weeks, I tried everything. The lactation consultants tried everything. Nothing worked, you wouldn’t latch, and I ultimately decided that exclusively pumping was the way to go. 

The hum of the breast pump, baby coos, and Desperate Housewives playing in the background was the soundtrack of those early days of motherhood. Our days together were a blur of pumping and feeding. Once I finished a pump session, I would feed you, and then we would cuddle until the next pump session. The pumping schedule of course eased up as the months went on, but we continued this routine for the better part of a year. With you being my only baby I could hold you all day long, and most days I did. And I don’t regret a second of that first year, holding you, rocking you to sleep, pumping milk for you until I felt like I didn’t have any life left in me.

Once you turned one, I weaned. We traded the daytime bottles for sippy cups. I packed up the breast pump and put it away. That first year of motherhood was challenging for me, partly due to the expectations I had of breastfeeding and the demands of exclusively pumping. But after counting down the days and pump sessions until I was “free” from the pump, I was surprised to find that a part of me was sad to see it come to an end. I provided your nutrition for over a year. Having my body make exactly what you needed fascinated me and made me proud to be a woman and a mom. And for me, the end of that era was bittersweet.

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Suddenly, we had all this time. Most of our time together was spent in our house. It had been hard to leave home for long periods of time without my other precious sidekick, the breast pump. But now that I wasn’t attached to a machine for hours a day, we could go do stuff. What do you do with a newly turned one-year-old though? I didn’t know, so I did what anyone else would do. I googled it. We had already been attending library storytime. We continued going to that. I signed you up for tumbling and a toddler class at the zoo. I took you grocery shopping and to target where we got Starbucks and walked around for an hour or two. Once out of the baby stage and the breastfeeding stage, we suddenly had all this freedom. 

And then, Coronavirus. Just two months after you turned one, I watched as the news recorded officials as they stood at a podium and declared Covid-19 a global pandemic. That certainly changed things for us, and the rest of the world. We could no longer go out and do all the fun things we had been doing, so we started taking walks together outside. We did sensory play at home. As the weather warmed up, we had what I like to call “pool days.” We would put on our bathing suits after breakfast, fill up the baby pool, the water table, and the splash pad, and we would hang out in the backyard on and off all day, eating lots of popsicles.

As soon as our state started opening back up, we got back into the groove of all our classes and activities. We went back to tumbling and the zoo. We started going to art classes. We resumed our errands, appointments, and whatever else we decided to fill our days with. You and me, every day. 

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This year, you turned two. And this year, you will become a big brother. As your dad and I prepare in many different ways, we also have to prepare you. Because as grateful and blessed and excited as we are to grow our family and welcome our little girl to the world, it also means the end of an era. An era of just you and us. Just you and me. As a stay-at-home mom, you and I have not spent much time apart. You have gotten used to having my full attention every day, and I have gotten used to you being by my side almost every waking moment. You’ve accompanied me everywhere, from the grocery store to doctor’s appointments and oftentimes, even the bathroom. I’ve had the privilege to spend almost every single day with you, playing, teaching, learning, and exploring. But soon, things will be different.

Soon, you will have to share your toys, your space, and your mommy and daddy. You will have to learn patience, understanding, and how to share. You will probably get frustrated when those hungry baby cries interrupt our playtime. You will probably get jealous. You may even act out more, competing for our attention. It will be an adjustment. This I know. It is, after all, the end of an era. 

But it is also the beginning of a new era. Soon we will be introducing you to your baby sister for the first time. Teaching you how to be gentle. Buying you matching Christmas jammies. You will learn your sister’s name, kiss her, and tell her you love her, just like you do with us. You will teach her how to play and clap and talk. When you’re a little older, you will sneak into each other’s beds at night, giggling and whispering. Your dad and I will look at each other, smile, and act like we don’t hear you. The two of you will stand up for each other at school and look out for one another. You both will grow up into teenagers and have secrets between the two of you that you don’t tell us. One day you will both suddenly be adults, with families of your own, texting each other inside jokes you have from when you were kids. You will soon have a best friend for life. 

So while this is the end of an era for us, our little family of three, the end of an era for you and me, it is also the beginning of a new one. One I am so excited and so grateful for. But, it is still bittersweet.