Everyone focuses on baby milestones, but parent milestones are just as important

• As a parent to three kids, I've celebrated all their milestones, from first steps to first words.
• But I also know we should be celebrating parents' milestones too.

Everyone talks a lot about baby milestones. They're new, they're exciting. Babies are cute, and babies doing fun things are even cuter. I was over the moon when my babies smiled for the first time, took 100 pictures when they tried their first solid food, and definitely yelped when they successfully rolled over.

I clapped wildly when they took their first steps and thanked the universe endlessly when they finally slept through the night.

I took the monthly pictures and texted the grandparents about their stats after each checkup at the doctor.

My babies' milestones were always acknowledged, celebrated, and well-documented.

But where was the camera the first time I successfully transferred a sleeping baby from the car into the house? I planned it like an FBI takedown. Put the wave sounds on my phone before I step out of the car. Close my car door quietly. Open the house door, then prop the screen door. Open the baby's door, grab my phone playing the wave sounds, tuck it in my pocket, and slowly, quietly unlock the car seat buckle. Slip the baby out while also shooshing loudly. Bounce gently while tiptoeing and holding my breath but also shooshing all the way to their room. Place them gently in their crib. Put their sound machine on. Leave the room. Silently celebrate.

The first time that actually worked? That deserved some documentation.

We need to celebrate parents too

Do you know what else did? When I was finally able to figure out how to open our stroller and pop the car seat in without sweating profusely or being on the verge of a panic attack. The first time we left our kids with a non-family member babysitter, too.

The first time I left the house by myself with my new baby surely deserves a square on the feed. It was like a test, in a way. Could I do this? Should I be allowed to be a mom? I remember feeling like people were looking at me, watching, wondering if this was my actual kid. Wondering if I looked like I knew what I was doing. Because — spoiler alert — I didn't.

I would have soaked up the applause of someone cheering for me the first time I took my two kids out on a big adventure by myself. We went to a museum in the city, and it actually went well. Everything lined up; the kids listened, and there was minimal whining. A magical unicorn day. A day I proved to myself, I can do hard, intimidating things.

All those firsts built me up to be the parent I am

When I became a mother, there were so many firsts. For my babies and me. A lot of them seemed small at the time, but now looking back, I see that they were all big lessons. They built me up, bit by bit, strengthening my heart every day. Preparing me for the next round of firsts.

Like the time my child told me something majorly unexpected. I could tell they were opening their heart to me in the rawest, most vulnerable way — because I am their safe zone — and they needed to hear the right thing from me. And while I don't always say and do the exact right things, I remember in this specific conversation, I did. And that first? That, I wish I had a recording of.

Or the first time I spoke up to the grandparents about doing or saying something the way we do or say it. My voice may have quivered, I may have stumbled over my words, but I said it. I advocated for my child. I parented the way I would have liked to be parented. I dared to say, "We are doing things differently."

The first time I watched my child do something without me — like at their dance recital — blew my mind. I cried, of course. Not because it was all so beautiful and profound — though it was, in many ways. I cried because I couldn't believe my child got up there, danced confidently, and loved every bit of it. They did it without me. And I was so proud.

I celebrate my growth

Not too long ago, I found an old pacifier in a bag I haven't used in a while. We thought we lost it on a trip we took this past September. It was the only pacifier we brought for my 4-year-old, my youngest of three. When we realized we couldn't find it, we decided we weren't going to go out and buy new pacifiers — this was it, the end of the road. And our kid did fine — they stopped on that trip with minimal complaints.

But I didn't know that was the last time I'd see my child use a pacifier, and I can't help but feel like we left a bit of our "little kid" parenting phase out in Montana.

Holding that lost pacifier in my hand, all those worries that they'd never give it up were right there with it. And the ache of realizing this was one of the last toddler things our final baby was letting go of gripped my heart. But something else was there, too. With this, last came another first.

Because that moment was the first time I felt OK with being on the other side of those little kid years. I'm grateful for all the beautiful chaos we went through, all that I learned, and all the strength I built while raising my babies, but there was gratitude pulling at me from this side, too.

I was ready for the next stage.

There are still plenty of nerve-wracking firsts here on this side, but bit by bit, I continue to prove to myself my courage and capability. And while there may not be anyone following me around to document each one, I have learned — for the first time — to acknowledge and celebrate them all by myself.