Navigating the Transition from Motherhood to New Beginnings

As my youngest child celebrated his third birthday this August, I find myself acutely aware of how he is gradually becoming more independent. Each day, he distances himself a bit more from me, and I realize that I am not quite ready for this transition. Letting go of my youngest is proving to be more challenging than it was with my two older sons. What drives this sentiment?

A Sense of Finality

Our family planning is complete. It’s fascinating how certain I feel about this decision. After the birth of my second child, I was unequivocal: I wanted a third. The very next day, the thought of not being pregnant again filled me with a sense of panic. Yet, after welcoming my third child, I experienced a profound sense of closure. I felt finished; my body was mine again.

I can be certain that my little one will remain my baby forever. (Yes, we are practicing effective contraception, so there will be no surprises!) Yet, this realization brings a twinge of nostalgia to my heart. Everything we experience with our youngest now is happening for the last time. We have long since bid farewell to diapers (he was out of them before he turned two), and breastfeeding is a thing of the past, aside from a few fleeting moments where he tries again but quickly loses interest. We haven’t had a baby in quite some time. In a typical family setting, he would be starting kindergarten by now (in Bavaria, children begin kindergarten in September when they turn three). He’s already a kindergarten child, no longer even a toddler.

A Bit Longer

While he eagerly agrees when asked if he wants to attend kindergarten, my response is more hesitant. He thrives at home, waking up each morning with an infectious joy that lights up his face. We, the adults, also revel in the happiness he brings. I cherish our time together, enjoying our little routines while the older siblings are at school.

In short, I am not ready to let him go for those morning hours. I am reluctant to hand over our beautiful moments to someone else, someone who may not appreciate him the way we do, especially with 23 other children in the mix. I recall similar feelings when it came to our second child, who we eventually sent to kindergarten because he needed that social interaction. But that’s a different story.

Lately, I’ve been pondering what I will do when I have time to work again. What direction do I want my life to take?

Facing the Inevitable

Perhaps my reluctance to let go of life with young children stems from the need to make decisions about my future.

The timing is certainly not ideal. My online business, which had been thriving for several years, has taken a significant hit following a Google update in 2023. My earnings have dropped to about a third of what they were before the update. While this is still a decent annual income, it’s not one I am satisfied with.

Simply returning to my websites may not yield the success I seek; the landscape has changed dramatically, and it will continue to evolve, especially with the rise of numerous AI models that threaten to render people like me obsolete in various areas. Rather than investing energy into outdated methods, logic tells me to build something new.

Yet, a voice inside me wonders if this is the moment to pursue something entirely different—something without a laptop or the internet.

Beyond the Digital Realm

Rest assured, my websites will remain online, and I will continue to write, as I have always had a passion for words. However, theoretically, there exists a world beyond the internet that is ripe for exploration.

I could return to teaching, a profession still in demand despite declining birth rates. At the same time, I yearn to engage in something that feels less like a “job” and more like a calling. What that entails, I am still unsure. And so the cycle continues. For now, as long as I am primarily a mom, I don’t need to have all the answers. And that’s okay.