Trixy Life

This morning, Marco drove himself to school for the first time. And just like that, yesterday became the last time I drove him. I didn’t even realize it. Isn’t that how many of our “last times” happen?

Some moments come and go quietly; they do not announce themselves, they do not wave goodbye. They just happen, and unless we are paying very close attention, we only realize they were “the last time” when we look back, weeks, months, or even years later.

I am talking about those small, everyday things that slowly disappear: a gesture, a routine, a habit. You think there will be another time, but sometimes there is not.

As a mother, I have felt this especially with my children, Elisa and Marco.

We remember the firsts, not the lasts

Everyone talks about “firsts.” The first time they walked, the first time they said mamma, the first day of school, the first sleep in their bed. We take pictures, write them down, and call grandparents to share the news.

But the lasts? They just happen.

I remember the first time Elisa slept in her bed. I even remember the bedtime story we read that night, but I have no idea when the last night she slept in my bed was. It probably seemed like just another normal night. I might have been half asleep; I probably did not even open my eyes.

With Marco, it was similar; he used to sleep in our bed every night, and then… one day he stopped. I could not tell you when.

Looking back, I wish I had noticed. I wish I had taken a second to realise: this is the last time this will happen.

Little things I miss

When they were little, both Elisa and Marco would take my hand without being asked. It was automatic when crossing the street, walking in the parking lot, entering school, or even just walking next to me.

Then, like everything else, it changed: they became more independent, more confident, and slowly, those little hands stopped reaching for mine.

There was no dramatic moment; it just faded away.

One day, I was walking alone. That moment hit me more than I expected.

Now, I ask for hugs every single day. Not because they are not affectionate, but because I do not want those hugs to become rare without noticing. I ask because I know now what it feels like to miss something that used to be so normal.

With the second child, I paid more attention

When Marco was born, I had already gone through all the stages with Elisa. I knew that babies do not stay babies for long, so I was more mindful.

I paid more attention to the small things: how he pronounced words wrong, how he held on to my arm when we were sitting together, how he called for 1000 times a day.

I still missed some “lasts,” of course, but I noticed more. I was more present because I understood just how fast it all goes.

With Elisa, everything was a first. Everything was exciting and overwhelming at the same time. I was learning how to be a mother, how to manage daily life, how to deal with emotions, hers and mine. So while I remember a lot about what was happening around certain moments, I do not always remember the exact moment itself, the feeling, maybe, but not the last time.

The moments I wish I had held on to

I breastfed both of my children. I remember the experience in general: the positions, the routines, the feeling, but I cannot tell you when I did it for the last time.

I did not know it was the last time.

I did not stop on purpose; it just happened. Maybe I was in a rush that day, maybe I thought, “We will do this again tomorrow,” but then we didn’t.

The same goes for other routines like buckling their seatbelts. Things that once felt endless. And then, one day, they were over.

And I missed it.

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Other goodbyes we do not see coming

It is not only with children.

I do not remember the last time I stroked my dog Neve’s fur before she passed away. I do not remember the last real conversation I had with my grandmother before she got sick. Or the last time I spoke to certain friends, I lost touch with.

Some of those “lasts” hurt more than others, but they all have something in common: I did not know they were the last.

I probably thought we had more time.

How I try to be more present now

After missing so many moments, I have started doing things differently.

This summer, for the first time, I made sure to be in more family photos. Usually, I am the one behind the camera. I never liked seeing myself in pictures, but something changed.

I thought about the future, about my children growing up and wanting to look back. I want them to remember what I looked like, what I wore, how I smiled. I want them to see me in those memories, not just the places we visited.

I also started recording short videos, not staged, just real moments. Us laughing while taking a selfie under an obelisk in Rome, while hiking, or while making pasta. Nothing fancy, just us. Because those everyday moments are the ones that disappear the fastest.

Journaling to keep track of life

Another habit I picked up is journaling. Every evening, I write down a few lines about the day. Not long stories, just what we did, something funny someone said, what I felt.

At the end of the month, I write a quick summary in a little table. Highlights, milestones, and any important news. It helps me remember. Sometimes I go back and read something I had already forgotten happened just two months ago.

It also reminds me how much we are living, even when it feels like nothing is happening, there is always something.

Why this matters

Life moves fast. And the reality is: we are always living a collection of firsts and lasts. Most of them feel ordinary. That is the tricky part.

The first time your child goes to school on their own is also the last time you walk them in. The first time they say, “I’ll go with my friends,” is also the last time they want to tag along on your errands.

Sometimes we notice, but often, we do not.

That is not something to feel guilty about. We cannot freeze time or predict the future, but we can try to show up more. To be present in the everyday stuff. Because that is what becomes the memories.

Remembering what really matters

We often try to hold on to the big moments: birthdays, holidays, celebrations. But the everyday things, those are the ones that hit you later. When they are no longer happening.

So I remind myself every day: what I am doing now, even if it feels small, might be the thing I miss later.

Take the picture. Ask for the hug. Say “I love you” more often. Write it down.

Because one day, this will all be memory, and the more we live it, the more we will remember it.

Thank you for spending time with me today!

See you next time.

Valentina