Reflections on Our Last Baby

I hold onto Sebastian’s tiny feet, weighing each one in my  hand, as I slip them from his pajamas for a diaper change. The curl of his toes; the sweep of my finger across his soft arch; a simple, sweet routine built unknowingly over the last three months.

He finishes nursing on one side, unlatches, and turns his gaze to me. He grins in recognition and the smile lights his eyes, as if to say, “Ah, there you are, mama!” After briefly socializing, he eats on the other side, then the scene repeats. I look forward to it every time.

Last night, he fussed until I changed him, then left his belly and feet free from the confines of his sleeper. He kicked in delight as I lie down next to him, leaning on my elbow for a chat, rubbing his smooth stomach. And the thought crossed my mind, This is it. Our last baby. I expected it to be bittersweet, to feel the ache of future loss. But only a pure joy overcame me, followed by a gratitude for the moment.

In Sebastian’s big, bright eyes I see his siblings. Not as babies, but as they are now. I don’t long for their baby days, but instead see the wonders that lay ahead for Sebastian. I’m certain that one day in the not so distant future, I will pack away the last of our baby things and mourn the loss of this stage of motherhood. I just want to revel in the beauty of babydom for now, though, and even enjoy the idea that I’m letting go of the last newborn nights and inexplicably fussy days.

Some days it hits me that I have four children and I feel the temporary weight of it. Then I stop and take in the beauty of these complex characters filling our home.

Ella, at eight, is a blindingly beautiful soul. She is an untapped well of enthusiasm; bursting with anecdotes, stories, and jokes. She aches for an audience, but is simultaneously self-conscious. Her energy sometimes bursts over as she talks and walks in circles around you. In quiet times, she craves affection; a sweep of your hand  through her hair, a random kiss, a hug that refuses to let go. Ella is brave and vulnerable all at once; her heart broken at the smallest slight and buoyed by a touch of tenderness. She eagerly reads to understand the world, consuming books like sweets. Ella writes to interpret the world, re-imagine reality, and express an endless supply of ideas.

Six sneaked up on me with Ezra. When did all the last vestiges of toddlerhood disappear? Uncertainty over letters is now replaced with a bursting confidence with reading in just a few short months of Kindergarten. His is a big brother now, gradually letting go of the resentments toward maturity; wrestling with his temper, holding his own in a conversation. Ezra is a connoisseur of silliness, while tending toward an almost painful seriousness. Ezra adores Ella and will follow her lead until he reaches his breaking point, often bursting with frustration because he wants to play with her, but he also wants a say. He is impatient with many, but all tenderness with baby. His hovering concern for Sebastian and gentle touch melt me.

Kai – the ever easy going one – has turned into a tease. His wit is crackling for three and it’s clear how often he’s in on a joke that might go over the heads of his peers. Three has made Kai contrary and he consistently goes against the grain just because. You want him to do something and it’s automatically abhorrent. He digs in his heels at dinner or putting his coat on to go out the door. The primary exception is Dad, whom he worships and tortures simultaneously. He’ll eat five bites if Dad proposes it. If Dad says, “I bet you can’t!,” he can. Kai is fiercely independent, a lover of preschool, and addicted to Super Smash Brothers. Despite a current tendency toward contrariness, he is the least likely to run off in a parking lot and is the best of companions at a store. I miss my amiable buddy of a year ago, but he sometimes rewards me with a random cuddle and I remind myself that three won’t last forever.

Babies are beautiful, but the joy your children bring doesn’t have an expiration date. I will certainly fail at “cherishing every moment” with my kids, but I will cherish them; complex, delightful, frustrating, infuriating, and altogether wonderful.