Baby No. 4 will be 12 weeks old on Saturday. This means that I’m down to my last few days of life with a newborn. Sure, after Saturday I’ll have an infant. And a toddler. And a preschooler. And a kindergartner. And I’m thankful for all of them. But I won’t have a newborn anymore. And I won’t have a newborn ever again.
Now, I realize there is a (shockingly large) subsection of people I know who don’t believe that this is our last baby. They apparently have some sort of wager going regarding whether or not two years will pass without me being pregnant again. And that’s not an unfair assessment, given our track record (four babies in six years). But the joke’s on all of them because this is our last baby. IT IS. I mean it this time!
Anyway. Baby No. 4 is our last baby. So, somehow that makes transitioning out of the newborn phase sadder than it normally would be. Baby No. 4 is growing up right in front of my face. Without my permission! I thought we’d made a deal that the others could grow up but that she’d stay my tiny baby forever. Apparently that’s not the way it works (but it definitely should work that way).
She has already outgrown her newborn and 3-month clothes. And because this is our last baby (don’t roll your eyes at me; she is the LAST one), I’m giving away her clothes as she outgrows them. Now, don’t get me wrong; this is actually a relief. I’ve been hanging on to all our baby clothes for the past six years. And there are so many of them. Boxes and boxes. My husband had to expand the attic at our old house just to fit all the baby clothes. Because we never find out the sex of the baby ahead of time, I’ve held on to all the girl clothes and all the boy clothes.
Once we found out Baby No. 4 was a girl, I quickly unloaded as many of the boy clothes as I could. And now I’m passing along the too-small girl clothes, too. It’s nice to clear out the closet (and attic) space, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little sad when I fold up each of those tiny outfits for the last time.
My husband points out that instead of being sad, I should be happy that Baby No. 4 is happy and healthy and growing and progressing like she should. He’s so practical. And, if I use the practical side of my brain, I realize all those things are true. But when I look at it from an emotional point of view, none of that matters, and I just want to keep my snuggly little baby doll forever. She doesn’t talk back or roll her eyes or tell me how disappointed she is that her father and I have only been married for nine years. (True story: The 6-year-old was openly disappointed when I told her that her dad and I would be celebrating our nine-year wedding anniversary next week.)
So, as we say goodbye to our final newborn (I’m going to point and laugh at all of you two years from now when I’m not pregnant), I can’t help but be a little sentimental over the fact that our teeniest girl is growing up so fast.