We spend a lot of time focusing on the "firsts". Our child's first words, their first steps, first day of school.
But we often overlook the "lasts"; they slip by us almost without notice.
We delight in the firsts. We capture them with cameras or commit them to memory to relive them privately or publicly, often with associated anecdotes. Our proud parenthood comes gleaming through, and we struggle to contain it.
The lasts are different. Suddenly one day we reflect back and realize that, almost imperceptibly, things slowly shifted into something different. Not better, not worse. Just different.
The night your child goes to bed without a good night kiss. The last time they unconsciously hold your hand in public without a second thought. The last time you scoop their limp body into your arms to move them from the couch to their bed. The list goes on and on, and yet you're blindsided by these small steps that never happen again. No fanfare. No photos. No cute stories to tell friends and relatives.
The question is this: if you knew it was the last time, would you have done it differently? Would you have been more in the moment the last time you help them buckle a seat belt or tied their shoe for them? As a tired parent, you are usually relieved that some of your responsibilities have lightened, but later you think wistfully about pudgy little fingers that lacked the dexterity for basic tasks. And you find yourself missing it.
The moments you realize the lasts have gone by sneak up on you, and they're unrelentingly brutal. Soon you find a lot of phrases tumbling out of your mouth that begin "I can't remember the last time we..."
Maybe that's why we focus so much on the firsts. There are always more ahead, and it keeps us from fixating on the lasts.
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