Yellow Leafies & Pompom Beanies

They say it’s good to talk to your baby. By allowing them to hear your voice and be exposed to words, their brain development, language skills, and attachment are strengthened. It can be practically anything—speaking, singing, or reading. My personal favorite is narrating what we’re doing and what things are, as if I’m the voiceover narrating a documentary my baby is watching. I love seeing his wide, curious eyes focus in as he realizes I’m off on another monologue.

Recently, my baby and I went on a walk. We put him in this little car that we can push him around in. I buckled his seatbelt, welcomed my audience to this adventure, thanked him for joining us today on “Mama Knows Best Tours,” and off we went. There were some nice white rocks to our left, pumpkin decorations on our right, and a cat crossing the street just up ahead. But something that caught my baby’s attention on this particular tour was the sound of the crunchy leaves every time his wheels rolled over them. He kept trying to look down toward the wheels. So, I explained:

“Baby and gentleman, you may have noticed there is not only a chill in the air, but also a crunch on the road this fine morning. That, my esteemed passenger in the pompom beanie, is one of the biggest signs that fall is here. Those yellow things on the ground are leafies. Welcome to your first autumn.” I’d never had to explain a season to anyone before, so I tried my best. “This time of year, leaves change color and fall, making space for all the new leaves to come in the spring. The trees go bare, flowers wilt, and leaves fall. But Mama Nature knows what she’s doing.” I looked at my son. Then it hit me—I’m a mama now, too.

Mother Nature has always inspired me, but now, as a new mom, I feel more connected with her than ever. Perhaps I have my own seasons too—my own autumn.

I began to wonder what leaves I’ve shed in this new chapter, and what new growth was waiting underneath.

🍁 The leaves of body image.

Finding out you’re pregnant and watching your belly (not to mention other parts of you) grow—it’s magical. You even receive compliments as you get further along. The discomfort and waddle only get worse, but there’s peace in knowing it’s all for a good cause: growing that precious baby. But after delivery, it’s back to you and your body—alone again. Only, it isn’t quite the body you remember. Stretch marks, swelling, and yes, there is still a belly bump, but without the gratifying, adorable kicks that came with it.

The leaves of body image fall quickly, with a violent wind strong enough to knock you off your feet—which are somehow half a size larger than before. These may be the things pregnancy left my body with, but that is not all. New leaves grew as I learned that my body can now feed and nourish a little life. Despite being exhausted, hungry, or carrying what felt like the weight of the world and all the love in my heart in my arms, I was able to carry on—and my baby grew. I felt like my body was growing this baby from the outside just as much as it had from within.

Suddenly, my body was active in a different way. I was constantly lifting him or holding him for an hour or more because I was the only one he wanted. During desperate times at night, I would walk back and forth with an extra bounce in my step while holding our chunky boy for what felt like hours until he’d doze off. People ask how a mama can do things like this, especially with the lack of sleep. The answer is the new growth that came behind the fallen leaves. I may never have the same body I used to, but this is the body that has, is, and forever will take loving care of this baby. And for that, I adore her.

🍁 The leaves of spontaneity.

When I used to think of spontaneity, what would come to mind were sudden, impromptu date nights with my husband, karaoke parties with my girls, or sitting in a coffee shop alone just because I wanted to. Sure, I can’t do these things as easily as I used to, but these leaves fell when I realized I had been taking other small, humble moments of daily spontaneity for granted: eating when I’m hungry, using the bathroom when nature calls, stepping out because I’m restless, answering my phone when it rings.

With a baby, these previously spoiled parts of us are put on the back burner. They wait for a window of opportunity, lest the baby cry because you stepped away or, worse, get hurt because attention wasn’t on them. When these leaves fell, what took their place was presence. Before the thought of flitting from here to there settles into my bones—wondering what’s next, where I could be, or what else I could be doing—I feel something else: my baby sitting on the floor beside me, leaning on me. The gentle warmth of his tiny body on my arm and his tiny grip on my sleeve grounds me in the moment. There is nowhere else I need to, or would rather, be.

🍁 The leaves of routine.

Over time, we all form certain rituals in our day whether we know it or not. The first thing we do in the morning, the last thing we do at night, the way we get ready before going out, the tasks we complete that make us feel complete. They can be as simple as pressing the button on the coffee maker when you walk into the kitchen or something that requires a little more time, such as washing your face before you step out.

Every day is a make-it-work moment. You’re not guaranteed the things you once prioritized for yourself. I, for one, wish I had taken more advantage of a consistent writing routine. But you know what? Now, with the unpredictability and ever-changing flow of caring for a growing baby, I have learned to protect what I prioritize.

Free time is valuable, and what I spend it on is chosen. There are always a ton of things I could do. Our baby is always the priority, but when he’s sleeping, with his papa, or perfectly happy playing with his toys by himself, I have a moment to do something for me. I get to focus on something I choose. I have more than a fair reason to say no to everything else that may pull me away. Often it’s reading, writing, or simply taking my time to eat a meal. Or it could be finally folding the laundry that’s been waiting for me—but hey, if that feels like a weight lifted, that’s immense.

🍁 The leaves of time.

Never have I felt time the way I do as a mother. Other parents have warned me since the day I found out I was pregnant. “Enjoy it while you can.” “Before you know it, he’ll be driving.” “You won’t even realize it, but at some point, it’ll be the last time you cradle him in your arms.”

Those first few months all meld together. Living off a series of naps for weeks on end tends to do that. You’re just trying to survive while keeping someone else alive. You plan to go to bed at 8 p.m. for the first time since you were the baby, but it isn’t to get a good night’s sleep—it’s to prepare yourself for waking up every two hours for the next ten. As first-time parents, it feels like this will be the rest of your life.

But then, the indescribable time-travel of parenthood kicks in. One morning, you look at him and he’s visibly bigger from the night before. There are clear changes—he’s bigger, more active, actually looking at you, suddenly looking for you. He learns to roll over, then what feels like the next day, he can crawl. Blink, and suddenly he can pull himself up. Look away, and out of nowhere he’s starting to clap, laugh, babble, and tries to copy the sounds you’re making.

You were just holding his head up because his neck couldn’t; now you’re holding him up with just two fingers as he practices walking across the living room. And just as much as that little guy has grown inside and out, so has my capacity for love, patience, and all the things that make life beautiful. I’m happy for the Grinch and his grown heart, but after what I’ve felt for my baby—he’s got nothing on me.

One day, he won’t be in the little car. One day, he won’t need me narrating the world around him. But today, he does. Today, that’s what matters. Today, this little boy—and the yellow leafies.

“As our tour concludes, I’d like to thank you for choosing me as your tour guide and mama. It is truly the biggest honor and blessing, and I promise to cherish every moment of it.”

He looked at me with his wide eyes as I handed him a fallen, yellow leaf.

“Mama may not know everything, but I promise she’ll always give you her best. And remember, every autumn has its spring. I’m so grateful for all the leaves that have fallen in my life to make room for you.”