All the Pretty Babies

I love babies.  Puffy little baby chicks, pink wiggly baby piglets, gangly wobbly baby cows, chubby puppies (and what about that puppy smell!), fuzzy baby kitties, pudgy cheeked baby girls and bouncing baby boys.  Just babies.  Finding myself as a single mom when my children were very little, I was sure that I never wanted any more children.  When I was having my second (and last) child (I knew divorce was pending), I told my doctor to tie my tubes.  He refused, “You’re a young woman still.  You may want another child.  Take some time and think about it.”  I was so sure of myself then.  But, in that position, I was too tired to argue.  Don’t get me wrong, I love every bit of my two boys with all my heart.  But it was a lot of work on my own. Being a single mom of two little ones and working full time meant staying up all night with sick babies, trying to find someone to watch them when they were too sick for day care, going to work sick because you took too many days for the kids…and trying to bundle up their bottles, bibs, and breakfasts and somehow still make it to work on time.  I told myself then…nevermore. 

Now years have gone by (where did they go?) and here I am amidst the start of menopause.  I ended up having a run of procedures that basically eliminates my opportunity to have babies.  Truly, I had no intent of having another baby.  I didn’t really have the desire over the years.  But suddenly when I couldn’t have babies, I wanted babies.  And then I felt really sad!  Sad to know that my option was gone.  That I couldn’t change my mind…if I wanted to.  And now when I see a baby anything, I just miss my option. 

I remember with great longing how it feels to cuddle a little pudgy baby in my arms and they way they smelled and the way they snuffled and made little baby noises.  And I miss their dependence on their mommies.  Rocking them and cooing a little lullaby of Sweet Baby James and the sing song of  baby books – nothing like a good round of Goodnight Moon, all of Sandra Boynton’s Moo Baa La La La books, Guess How Much I Love You, anything by Eric Carle, all the Mercer Mayer books and, of course, Dr. Seuss. 

My babies aren’t babies anymore.  One is getting his driver’s license and one is just hitting his teen years.  They don’t cuddle much anymore.  They do make me smile and laugh (and sometimes not).  I love seeing them turning into nice young men.  And as much as I know and appreciate that I am in another stage of my life, I can still remember the stories like it was yesterday, “In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and picture of the cow jumping over the moon…”  Goodnight babies.