Changing Seasons: Their Childhood Is My Motherhood

Here’s to the changing of seasons in motherhood—the quiet, aching shift that no one warns you about.

It sneaks up on you in the softest of ways. One day you’re rocking a baby to sleep, and the next, you’re looking at a child who suddenly feels like they’ve grown up overnight. You blink, and the baby face fades. The cheeks are less chubby. The once-tiny hands now reach a little higher, stretch a little further… and hold on a little less tightly.

Right now, I’m grieving in four different ways—four different seasons, all changing at once.

My youngest is no longer the fragile 3-pound, 14-ounce newborn I once held so delicately in the NICU. She had a soft little rug of hair and cheeks so round they could barely hold up her tiny smile. Now? She’s a full-blown toddler. A toe-headed wildflower with curls that bounce when she runs, and eyes that shine like summer. She talks. She climbs. She runs into life headfirst. And though she still curls up beside me, it’s clear—she needs me a little less each day. That ache? That’s the beauty and the heartbreak of watching her grow.

Then there’s my son. My baby boy, now crossing that invisible line from toddlerhood into full-on childhood. The soft edges of his baby face are fading, and every time I notice, it’s like a punch to the gut. But then he smiles—with that dimple that could light up the world—and says, “I love you, Mommy,” like it’s the most important truth in the universe. And just like that, I’m undone. I know there will come a day when he won’t want to hold my hand, or crawl into my lap just because. My heart breaks a little for the baby he was… but oh, how it soars for the boy he’s becoming.

And then, there’s my middle girl—my book-loving introvert who once hid behind my legs and begged to stay home just to be near me. Now, she’s learning to be bold. She’s growing out of her shell and into herself. She wants to dress up, hang out with friends, and figure out who she is. She still gives the sweetest hugs, but she’s slowly trading bedtime snuggles for independence and confidence. It hurts, but it’s beautiful. Watching her love herself—awkwardness and all—is one of the most healing things I’ve ever seen. She's becoming the kind of person I prayed she’d be.

And then there’s my first. Oh, this season feels the hardest.

My first baby—my sparkly-eyed, music-singing, dream-chasing girl—is standing on the edge of teendom. Tween today. Teen tomorrow. I can already feel time slipping through my fingers. Soon, she’ll be driving. Dating. Choosing a world that’s hers, not mine. I miss her little voice singing Disney songs with her whole heart. I miss her messy fashion shows and the way she thought everything in the world was made of magic.

If I could, I’d go back and hug that little girl one more time. The one who believed the stars danced just for her. But standing before me now is a young woman I admire deeply. Fierce. Loyal. Devoted. She’s been through fire, but never let it steal her light. She holds her faith like a sword, and stands strong when life tries to shake her. Honestly, the little girl I once was would’ve looked up to her. I still do.

These changing seasons—these quiet goodbyes to the babies they once were—hurt in ways I never expected. But the bloom that comes with each one is more beautiful than I could’ve imagined.

So here’s to motherhood. To the joy. The ache. The stretch and the surrender. The seasons that come and go like the wind—each one leaving a mark on our hearts.

I may have four children, but they’ve given me a hundred versions of motherhood. And I wouldn't trade a single moment of it.

They are my reason, my reflection, my reminder of how precious this life is. And I'm so, so thankful I was chosen to walk this journey with them.