newborn. (Sorry, Robert Frost.) And that something, or someone, is me. I mean, I've always found their tiny noses and toes unspeakably adorable, and of course I loved my own children as newborns, but I am not really a "baby person." As infuriating as two- and three-year-olds can be, I am more of a "toddler person;" I love it when they say ridiculous things and come up with ideas that make no sense. (Like, right now, after dinner at my parents' tonight, Jemma is downstairs in her crib, saying to herself, "Gamma heeeeeere!" instead of going to sleep. Infuriating, ridiculous, and funny.) I love noticing when Annie asks great questions, like "How did I know my name when I was a baby?" and "How did I learn how to talk?"
If we were to have successfully spaced a third child in the same way that we spaced the first two, that child would have been appearing roughly now. Instead, Connie welcomed little Luke on Wednesday (so sweet, such perfect hair); neighbors on both sides of our house are expecting within the next weeks and months; babies are appearing all around us at church, preschool, and everywhere we turn.
So far, this has not tempted me to join their ranks. We have a whirlwind of a sunny day like today (teaching Sunday School, hitting the park, roasting chicken for lunch, getting ice cream for the first time this spring, walking to the library, having dinner at my parents', tucking sleepyheads in just before 8:00, and folding the last of the weekend laundry), and I don't feel like anything is missing. Maybe, this spring and summer, I'll get to love other people's newborns instead of my own.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
This comment may be less than heavily weighted, since I have neither newborn nor toddler, but I concur. Nothing is missing. Gamma heeeeeere.
ReplyDelete