With his hand wrapped around my finger, my newborn fell asleep on top of me. I smelled his head and smiled. This used to be you.
You, my first born, slept just like this— nestled on my chest with your head right under my chin. A teardrop fell. This used to be you—lying together in bed with me—unbothered by time.
His sudden cry took me back to the present. He was hungry again. He quickly latched on to my breast. I looked around the room to see if you needed me.
Another tear drop fell. I saw you sitting by the table with your favorite princesses. You were playing on your own.
On your own.
I was not prepared for this. Many asked me if I was ready to care for another child. But no one asked me if I was ready to lose the baby in you. I didn’t know.
I looked down and saw my barely one-month-old staring at me. He was happy and content with being held by me. He needed nothing more. Nothing else mattered. We were all we needed.
This used to be us.
I used to be all that you needed.
“Niah, come here,” I said. You were busy playing. So I called you again. When you finally came to me, I hugged you as tight as I could for as long as you let me—which wasn’t long enough. I told you I loved you. You smiled.
“I love you more,” you answered back.
You left to play before I could even respond.
When did you grow up? I wish we could go back to what we used to be, and stay like that just for a little while longer.
Whatever happens, you will always be my baby girl. Happy 4th birthday, my love.
Robyn Rodriguez 