I don’t really want to be pregnant again, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to get up at night. I know with all certainty we can’t afford a third tuition, but still
I want a baby.
Last night we had two families over and there were babies. Not like the lumps of newborn, but actual crawling, squealing, smiling, pacifier sucking baby girls. One was chubby and bald and the other had the leanness of a cruiser, but she still had the yummy creases at the knees.
There were diaper changes and some crying, but these are second children and the mothers were calm. They reminded me of the best moments with my kids. My daughter took their four year olds on walks, and my son taught them to wear a baseball glove.
My kids were the big kids, and I’m proud of them. It’s strange for me to see Jane and Alexander as the tall people in the room, the authorities. The role models.
When I looked at the babies snug in their slings or playing with baby jar lids, I realized once again, how every moment is magical. I’m trying to imagine looking back at today and thinking that my kids are little now, but it’s getting a little more difficult each week.