03/05/2026
They told me to savor it because it goes by in a “golden blink,” but they didn’t tell me that the blink is made up of a thousand tiny, quiet departures.
There is no notification when the toddler voice officially fades into a big kid voice. When they stop say manman instead of snowman, when they no longer want to cuddle you in the morning with their baba. No alarm goes off the last time they reach up for you to carry them on your hip. You just wake up one day and realize your hip feels a little lighter, and your heart feels a little heavier.
We spend so much time preparing for the firsts, the first steps, the first words, but no one prepares you for the lasts, that slip away in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.
With Bella’s passing, I realize even more how time is a thief and I am officially in my emo mama era holding on tight to all of the little moments that I know go by in the blink of an eye.
Audio:
To the mama in the thick of it: hold them an extra minute today. The transitions are undocumented, and the “golden blink” is already halfway through.
