Losing Memory

English: Baby emu feeling a little hen-pecked!...

English: Baby emu feeling a little hen-pecked! Noah’s Ark Farm Zoo – what an excellent place for a day out with the kids! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I just checked in on a mom’s group I’m in on Facebook.  One of the moms was scheduled for induction yesterday and there was no word from her as of late last night.  This morning there is the picture of a perfect baby girl swaddled in a hospital blanket with a hat on her head.  Sheer perfection.

As I looked I felt this rush of tears.  They flooded my head and my eyes, and I had to sit and think what this emotion was.

You see, we are done having children.

I’m 42, my husband is 55.  He is still trying to re-establish himself in his career field after being out of work for so long and moving to another state and then back again.  I’m trying to start a new career.  Our daughter is amazing.  We are so blessed.

I don’t want another baby.  Besides age and money and the feeling of not missing anything, I hated dealing with a newborn.  I love my daughter but it was so hard!  Breastfeeding and establishing routines and generally feeling like the whole world was upside down.  I’m just not built for that.

I think what I was missing as I looked at that picture was the magic of it all.  I loved being pregnant so much.  The doctors appointments were awful, the special diet, pricking my finger four times a day, all of that sucked. But the times in between: those little kicks first thing in the morning, feeling her move as I sat reading a book, the special smiles you get from people when they notice you are pregnant.  All of that was amazing.

And when she was here, this tiny little person.  She was perfect.  Her smell, the way her body fit into mine, the sighs in her sleep.

I remember early one morning I was feeding her a bottle.  Everyone else was still asleep and it was my hope to put her back in the bassinet in that sweet spot just after her father’s alarm clock went off.  She’s sleep for another couple of hours.

She was drowsing, and I pulled her up to my shoulder to burp her.  She melted into me, and I remember thinking “remember this remember this remember this remember this” because she was so tiny, and I knew she wouldn’t be that tiny forever.  I knew those moments wouldn’t last forever.

I can’t really remember what she felt like then.  Sometimes if I concentrate really hard I can feel the ghost of that tiny baby nestled against me, but it’s just that: a ghost, a fleeting memory that may just be my imagination.

Today she is a big, strong two year old with a mind of her own.  She is long and skinny, all legs and arms and opinions.  It’s all uphill from here.

I guess I just wish I could go back in time and savor those little moments that I swore I would never forget.  Not with another baby, with this one. 



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