Suddenly Two (Holden)

I remember the day like it was yesterday—though somehow, it’s been two years.

We waited anxiously for the call to go to the hospital. Once there, we waited again for the medicine to kick in and start my labor. It took nearly 24 hours before things truly picked up, but then suddenly, it was go time. We went from slow progress to “time to push” in what felt like an instant.

And then he was here.

It felt like magic.

The road to meeting Holden was not an easy one. After a painful, almost traumatic delivery with Caleb, it took me a long time to even consider having another child. I’d always wanted two, but when Caleb was a newborn, I swore—dramatically and often—that I would never give birth again.

But time softened the edges. I forgot just how bad the pain was. Caleb grew older, and that longing for another one came back.

So we tried. I got pregnant quickly, but before we even knew we were expecting, we were already losing that pregnancy. It was ectopic—traumatic in its own way—but we didn’t give up. We tried again. And again. And again. Nearly a year of negative tests passed before I finally saw that faint positive. I laughed out loud, hardly believing our luck.

I mourned deeply for the pregnancy we had lost, but the moment I met Holden and held him against my chest, I understood. Holden was the one. The missing piece of our family. Worth every setback and every tear. His birth was good—nothing like the first. I enjoyed it. I would re-live it if I could, just for the chance to meet him again for the first time, to feel that rush of joy all over again.

And then, just like that, two years went by.

I was a more confident mom this time around. I had some idea what I was doing. And while I felt bittersweet watching Caleb reach his milestones, it’s been harder with Holden. I know this is the last time. That knowledge makes every goodbye sharper. With Caleb, there was always another baby ahead—another first step to witness, another newborn to hold.

But now there isn’t.

Now, these are our last first times.

There have been so many days of frustration, so many moments where I’ve been glad to see the baby days go. But then there are moments like this—my baby’s birthday—where I want to sob at the thought that they’re over.

God, bring me back for just one hour so I can hold my sleeping baby again. For just one minute so I can rock him in our chair.

I am overjoyed to see my funny boy becoming himself—tantrums and meltdowns and all. I see in him a determination that will serve him well in life. I catch glimpses of the man he will be, and I am so lucky to be here, watching it happen.

But I am also sad. Sad that the long nights are behind us. Sad that his fuzzy baby hair is gone. Sad that he no longer needs me to stand, or walk, or even eat. Each day, he needs me a little less. One day, he may not need me at all.

These last few days, I’ve carried a lump in my throat, tears always threatening.

But still, I smile—because how lucky am I to be the one to watch him grow?

"It’s 3am and I’d do anything to get you back to sleep

And that face will be the same one in the rearview

The day I watch you leave

But boy, you’re gonna come back home

You’re gonna settle down

But you won’t feel the way I’m feelin’ now

Til you have a boy." – Lee Brice