Author: Shannon Wood

        It was a crisp autumn evening, the kind where the sun dips low on the horizon and casts a golden glow over everything it touches. As I stood by the fireplace, cradling my daughter, Lily, against my shoulder. Her head nestled comfortably in the crook of my neck, and I could feel the warmth of her tiny body pressed against mine. It was a moment of calm after a day filled with the usual whirlwind of baby antics.

       In that moment, I was overwhelmed by a deep sense of contentment. Lily was heavy, as if she had grown a little overnight, her weight pulling down on me in a way that was both comforting and slightly wearying. I had been picking her up like this for two years now, and I knew each time was special, but you never imagined it would end so abruptly.

       “Let’s get ready for bed, little one,” I whispered, gently rocking her from side to side. Her soft little sigh against my neck was a balm to the day’s stress. She was growing so fast, every day bringing new words, new milestones, new challenges.

       I set her down gently in the new little toddler bed for a mid day nap, careful not to wake her, and she stirred slightly, a sleepy smile crossing her face. I lingered, adjusting the blankets around her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. Then, as I turned to leave, I felt a pang in your heart—a feeling I couldn’t quite place but knew it was important.

       Later that night, I tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and watched as she drifted off to sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically. I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the last time I held her like that, cradling her like a baby. That it would be the last time I would hold her so close, feeling her breathe, her warmth mingling with mine.

       Months passed, and Lily began to grow more independent. She started walking confidently and then running, her baby steps evolving into the confident strides of a toddler. I noticed the little things: how she no longer reached up for me to lift her, how she preferred to climb into the car seat by herself, how she would wriggle free from my embrace, eager to explore on her own.

       One day, I watched as she ran across the park, her laughter echoing in the crisp air. She looked back at me, her face flushed with joy, and I knew she was slipping further away from that baby I once held so close. It was a beautiful sight, but it also came with an ache in my heart. 

       That evening, we did our bedtime routine and she climbed into bed herself. As I tucked her into bed, I reminisced about the days when picking her up and placing her in the bad was a daily, cherished routine. She was no longer the tiny bundle who fit perfectly in my arms, and as she snuggled into her blanket, I realized just how precious those moments had been.

       As she fell asleep, I placed a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering a quiet goodnight. I knew then that every moment was fleeting, and while I had many more memories to make, I would always cherish those quiet, golden evenings when I held her close, completely unaware how fast these fleeting moments can be.

       In the quiet of the night, I sat by that same fireplace, in the same rocker I once held her in as she fell asleep, watching the autumn leaves fall, and the weight of that final moment settled over me. It was bittersweet—a poignant reminder that time moves quickly and that the small, seemingly mundane moments are often the ones we hold closest.

       And as the years went by, I often look back on those times with a bittersweet smile, thankful for every last time I picked up my baby, knowing that each was a fleeting moment, cherished and loved, as precious as the day I first held her in your arms.