The Last Time

Last night I was laying in bed with my son, getting him ready to fall asleep, and I had the thought that this might be one of the last nights it’s just the two of us falling asleep like this.

I’m 36 weeks pregnant, which means this baby could come any day now (and based on the current state of my back and pelvis… I would not be shocked if it’s sooner rather than later). And it just hit me that very soon there will be another baby in this bed, I’ll be breastfeeding around the clock again, and this exact version of our nights is about to change.

He was curled into me like a little spoon, completely tucked in, like his body still instinctively knows mine is home base. I started noticing his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and then mine started matching his without me even trying. You know that feeling when you’re next to someone and your body just settles without you doing anything? It was that. And for once I wasn’t thinking about everything still sitting on my to do list or what I was going to rush to clean once he was fully asleep. I was just there with him. And I realized this version of us is ending. He’s about to become a big brother, which I’m so excited for. Our family is growing in the best way. But also, this exact chapter, just me and him falling asleep like this, is something I won’t get back in the same way again. Even if you’re not a parent, you know this feeling. It’s that moment where you suddenly realize this version of your life is temporary. The way things are right now, the people, the routines, the way something feels so normal you don’t even question it, it’s not actually permanent. And it made me think about how many “lasts” we move through in life without ever realizing they are our lasts.

I don’t remember the last time he needed me to hold his bottle before he figured it out on his own. I don’t remember the last time eating was messy and new before it just became something he could do easily. One day you’re doing something constantly and then suddenly you’re not doing it anymore and you didn’t even notice when it changed. There will be a last time he reaches for my hand to cross the street. A last time I carry him down the stairs because he’s too sleepy to walk. A last time he fits into me like this without his legs hanging off me.

And it’s not just kids. This is happening everywhere in our lives all the time. The last time you’re in a room with a certain group of friends and you all assume you’ll keep doing this forever. The last random night that feels insignificant but ends up being one you wish you could go back to. The last time you casually call someone before life slowly pulls you in different directions. The last time you sit in a classroom, or live in a certain place, or exist in a version of your life that once felt so permanent. There are heavier ones too. The last time you see someone before you lose them. The last conversation you didn’t know would be the last. The last time someone says I love you before something changes.

Then there are the quieter internal ones like the last time you override your own needs to keep the peace. The last time you tolerate something you’ve outgrown. The last time you speak to yourself in a way that you would never speak to someone you love. The last time anxiety runs the show before something shifts and you start relating to yourself differently.

We are constantly moving through endings and beginnings at the same time.

And I don’t actually think this is meant to make us sad. I think it’s meant to wake us up a little. Because most of the time we only realize how meaningful something was after it’s already over. We look back and think wow I would have stayed longer, paid more attention, not rushed through that. But we don’t need to know something is the last time to treat it like it matters.

And this is also why I keep coming back to how important it is to not let other people steal your joy in the small, everyday moments. If this moment right here might never exist again in the exact same way, why would I let a random comment, a weird tone in a text, someone else’s bad mood, or whatever headline is circulating that day completely take me out of it? Why would I let the annoyed barista, the passive aggressive email, or someone else’s projection hijack my nervous system and pull me away from something that actually matters to me?

It doesn’t mean you ignore things that matter or never get affected by people. It just means you start being a little more protective over your attention. A little more intentional about what actually deserves access to your energy. And when you layer this idea of “lasts” on top of that, it becomes a little clearer. Do I really want to spend this version of my life, this exact season that won’t repeat, irritated about things that don’t actually deserve that much space? Or do I want to be here for it, even if it’s imperfect? Because the cost of letting everything get to you is that you miss your own life while you’re in it.

And here’s the part that’s easy to overlook but actually really important. When you do choose to be present like that, when you soften, when you let something small go and come back into the moment, it doesn’t just impact you. It changes the energy of the interaction you’re in. Your nervous system settles, which makes other people’s nervous systems more likely to settle too. You respond instead of react, which shifts the tone of conversations, relationships, even entire days. You become someone who feels easier to be around, safer to be around, and that ripples outward in ways you don’t always see.

It’s subtle, but it’s real. One regulated, present person in a room can shift the entire dynamic. One moment of choosing to stay open instead of shutting down can change the trajectory of an interaction. And when you multiply that across days, relationships, families, communities, it adds up. So no, you’re not singlehandedly “raising the vibration of the earth” in some abstract way. But you are absolutely influencing the emotional tone of the spaces you move through, and that matters more than we tend to give it credit for.

Something else that feels important is that even the changes we want come with their own set of lasts. When someone stops people pleasing, there is a last time they abandon themselves, and that can feel uncomfortable even if it’s good. When someone starts setting boundaries, there is a last time they tolerate certain dynamics, and there can be grief in that. When someone starts showing themselves compassion, there is a last time they rely on being hard on themselves to feel in control, and that can feel unfamiliar at first. And even those lasts, the ones we are actively trying to move toward, are worth being present for, because if you check out of them, your body doesn’t actually learn anything new. If you numb out, distract, or just try to get through it as fast as possible, your nervous system tags the experience as something to avoid next time. But when you stay with it, even a little bit, your body learns this is hard but I’m okay. That’s what actually rewires things. That’s what makes the next hard thing feel more manageable instead of just as overwhelming. It’s like the difference between going through labor gripping against it versus working with it, one reinforces fear, the other builds capacity. So being present in those moments is how you teach your body that you can handle real life as it’s happening, not just survive it and hope it passes. So even growth has endings built into it.

Which means if you’re in a season where things feel a little bittersweet, it doesn’t mean anything is wrong. It probably just means you’re present enough to feel both what you’re gaining and what you’re leaving.

Last night I didn’t try to hold onto the moment or make it into something bigger than it was. I just noticed it. I let myself feel how full it was in a really simple way. And I think that’s the whole point.

Not putting pressure on every moment to be meaningful, but remembering that it already is. That this version of your life, exactly as it is right now, will never exist in the same way again.

So maybe this is just a reminder to pay a little more attention, to soften where you can, and to let a few more things roll off your shoulders. Because you don’t always know when it will be your last time doing something exactly like this. And that’s exactly why it’s worth being here for it.