I went to church today. This has nothing to do with my post, other than the fact that church is where I was. And the church has a nursery. Today there were babies in the nursery. And babies, my friends, are what we are talking about. The sermon was blah, the post-coffee discussion seemed hopeless, so I wandered to the religious education room where my children were. And there were the babies. Two of them. Both were boys, both fussy. One was snotty, had spilled his bottle down his front, was shoeless and pants-less, in a onesie. That's the one I wanted. The nursery worker, said, "you don't have to hold him". Have to? Oh, yes I do. So I held him, sang half a song, and he fell asleep in my arms, sucking a little fist. Nursery worker says, "You're hired!".
I love babies. Babies love me. I don't know if it is my big goofy grin and matching nose, but they almost always smile at me. I loved having babies and I was really, really good at it. It came naturally because I knew it was natural. I didn't worry, never sought books or baby videos, no signing or sleep-through-the-night methods. I dealt with explosive poop in a diaper too small better than most. I had an inhuman ability to live without sleep. Crying didn't faze me. I've never had a desire to dress my babies better than average (the fact they were prettier than average was enough for me) so spit-up was not an enemy of concern. Baby hassles were not hassles to me. It came so easily to love them, despite a total lack of preparation on my part (forgetting the graduate degree with multiple child development courses, but that's neither here nor there).
I miss my babies. It's not that I loved them more when they were younger. I know the opposite is true. I love them more now. It's just that it's so much harder to show than it used to be. A game of patty cake and a clean diaper just don't cut it. Explaining that not having a: Nintendo DS/TV in your room/your own computer/cell phone/trampoline/make up kit, like your friend is not child abuse; it is love, is much harder to do. Looking at a child who, in all actuality, will not want one second of my opinion 4 years from now is hard. She was so dependent on my every move not so long ago.
So I tell my children: this is where my babylust comes from. I don't want a new baby, not really. I don't want to go back in time. I miss it, yes. It was an easier gig- not a better one. Mothers of babies, if you see me on the street, hand me your baby. I will not run with it. I'll baby whisper for you. I'll feel useful and young. You can go buy a training bra for my daughter and we'll be even.
Quinn, age one DAY. Eliza, age 10 months.
