Every once in a blue (totally hormone-driven) moon, I get a yen for a baby. Any baby. Boy baby, girl baby, black baby, white baby, green baby..don’t care. Want one. These little sojourns down memory lane never last very long, but I’m always surprised by their brute force and abruptness. I am aware that it’s my middle-aged body’s way of saying, “Heeeey, Mama…eggs are dropping at an alarming rate here…it’s alllllmmmmooooossssttt too late, but not quite! Procreate! Procreate!!”.
With a very active almost 13 year old and an 18 year old with autism, I’m still very much in the thick of parenting, it’s not like I’m not surrounded by kids and kids stuff all day long. But now and again, out of nowhere…BAM! BABIES! BABY STUFF! BABY BABY BABYOMGNEEDABABY. Tiny hands, fat legs, neck creases, downy hair, diaper butts…
I was putting around Goodwill this morning, minding my own business, not bothering anyone…and then these happened.
Teeny, tiny mittens. Pink ones, with flowers. My ovaries tried to jump out of my body and grab them and I had to get a grip and talk myself out of buying them. I flashed back to the days of minuscule hats, fuzzy baby socks and round, rosy fat cheeks. (Theirs, not mine)
I spent the rest of my day running errands and it seemed like every store I stopped at, there were darling babies to
grab and run look at and at one stop I had the sweetest conversation with a 2 year old, who informed me with great sadness, that there were no sparkles on her pants. This revelation was heartbreaking to her and there were tears involved. She was fat, and tiny, and crying because she wanted sparkles on her pants. Just like me. Except for the tiny part.
And online? Babies falling out of the frigging woodwork. One friend is having twins. Another is due any minute with a girl, her 3rd. I want a 3rd girl. Wait, no I don’t. See? Hormones trying to hijack me again. Screw you, hormones…go mess with someone else and get me some chocolate before you leave. Sigh.