When I look back on those early days, they feel like a blur. A beautiful blur, but a blur nonetheless.
I remember the tiny newborn stretches, the contact naps, the endless feedings, and the way time seemed to both go by slowly and race by all at once. But what I remember most is survival mode. I was navigating postpartum anxiety, my body healing from delivery, and the constantly checking, worrying, researching, and convincing myself that if I could just prepare for every possible scenario, I could protect my son and give him the most possibilities to thrive.
The truth is that anxiety stole more moments than I would like to admit. I was there physically, but mentally I was often somewhere in the future—worrying about what could happen instead of soaking in what was happening. And now, ten months later, I sometimes find myself wishing I could go back. Not because I want to relive the sleepless nights, but because I wish I could tell that version of myself to pause and look around. To memorize the tiny fingers, the sleepy smiles, the milk breath, the way he fit perfectly on my chest. To savour those moments when he would sleep on me, even though all I wanted was for him to be in his bassinet. I didn’t know then just how quickly those moments would become memories. And that’s the thing about time, when you’re in the thick of postpartum and the newborn stage there’s nothing you want more than to get past it, you're begging for the days to pass. But once you make it out, there’s nothing you want more than to get it back.
Now we’re standing on the edge of many big transitions. Daycare is approaching, and with it comes a whole new set of fears. Separation anxiety for both of us lol. Illnesses. Bumps and bruises. For the last ten months, I’ve been his primary caregiver. I've been there for the morning wakeups, the naps, the bottles, the milestones, the tears, and all the little moments in between. I know what his different cries mean, how he likes to be comforted, and the tiny quirks that make him who he is. Even though we still have six more months together before daycare begins, the thought of leaving him with people who don’t know him the way I do feels daunting. I know they won't be strangers forever. I know he'll build relationships, make friends, learn new things, and gain experiences that I could never give him on my own. But that doesn't make the transition any less emotional. There is something incredibly vulnerable about placing the person you love most in someone else's care and trusting that they'll be safe, happy, and loved while you're apart.
And now he's learning to crawl, which is equal parts exciting and terrifying. Bumped heads, tumbles, and tears are suddenly becoming part of our daily reality. I know a few scrapes and bruises are a normal part of childhood, but watching him venture farther from me reminds me that I can't protect him from every fall. A world that suddenly feels much bigger than the safe little bubble we’ve built together over the last ten months. Part of me wants to keep him close forever. But a bigger part of me knows that growing up means letting go, little by little.
Motherhood, I’ve learned, is a constant balancing act between holding on and letting go. Between protecting and allowing independence. Between wanting time to slow down and knowing that growth is a blessing. As much as I miss the tiny newborn he once was, I know that every new stage is a privilege. Not every family gets the opportunity to watch their baby grow up.
So today, I’m feeling a little nostalgic. A little emotional. A little overwhelmed by how quickly ten months have passed. But mostly, I’m grateful. Grateful for every hard day, every beautiful day, every lesson, every challenge, and every moment that brought us here.
Because while I can’t go back and relive those first months, I can choose to be present for the ones that are still ahead.
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