I sifted through your “important things” bin today. Tucked away under my bed, it’s been a safe spot for years—filled with artwork, birthday cards, and little trinkets I’ve gathered along the way. Among them, I found your hospital bracelet from the day you were born.
I held it in my palm, circling it gently, feeling the place where the nurse had snipped it off and released you to me—for a lifetime, yet in a way, only for a fleeting moment. I could almost feel the tiny weight of your newborn body in my arms again. I miss you already.
It feels strange to say that when you’re right here, sitting in front of me. But not so long ago, you couldn’t even sit on your own. You learned to do that first, and then everything else followed—crawling, walking, running, jumping, singing, dancing, climbing. Each milestone came with awe and exhaustion, joy and nerves, and I cherished every single one.
You used to need me so completely. You’d cry in the middle of the night, and though I sometimes groaned—or muttered a bad word under my breath—I loved those moments more than I could ever explain. I was the one who fed you, held you, soothed you, and while some nights felt endless, looking back now, those moments pass in the blink of an eye. Time is a funny, strange thing.
I miss you already.
How can I miss you when you’re still here? But I feel it coming. Just around the corner are the days when Halloween parties will replace trick-or-treating. New Year’s Eve sleepovers with friends will take the place of sparkling cider in your footie pajamas. Birthday shopping sprees will replace themed parties and treat bags.
I miss you already.
The little ways you cling to me—climbing on your dad’s back for a ride to bed—will get awkward. Soon, you’ll paint your own nails and have your own lip gloss, never needing to swipe mine. And before I can catch my breath, your bright blue and pink roller skates will no longer be your favorite wheels. First Communion dresses will give way to prom dresses, and maybe, one day, wedding dresses.
I miss you already.
I knew from the very start that you would grow. I wanted it, I celebrated it, but I had no idea it would be both exhilarating and heartbreaking to watch you do it. Parenting is full of these contradictions—a day can stretch on forever, yet a year can vanish in a heartbeat. Everyone will tell you this—the sweet old ladies in line at the grocery store, women you meet at church, moms shopping for jeans with their teens. “It just goes by so fast,” they say.
I heard that phrase a thousand times. I smiled through gritted teeth when you licked the handle of the shopping cart. I smiled when you broke something at the store. I smiled when I was counting down nap time and bedtime. I nodded politely, but I didn’t really get it…until one day, it all clicked.
I miss you already.
So tonight, while you slept, I went into your room. I counted your freckles and tangled my fingers gently in your curls. I listened to the rhythm of your breathing and sat beside your bed, hoping to meet you in your dreams. Together, we laughed in silly voices, ate too much ice cream, and even went to Disney World before it was time for me to leave.
I leaned down, whispered into your ear, and said, “I love you. I miss you already, my baby.”
