Something has been plaguing me lately. I’ve felt it in my toes, and fluttering in my heart. A fuzzy warmth spreads over me and my eyes glaze over. Babies. They have that effect.
For the past several months – 18, to be exact – the very thought of another baby was enough to spontaneously turn my hair grey. No way. I have my hands full with the one.
My son finally started sleeping through the night (more or less) under six months ago, which means my sleep has started to normalize for the first time in over two years. A new “normal,” but more sleep nonetheless. But, after spending the first year shuffling to my son’s room multiple times a night, why would I want to subject myself to that again so soon?
Because there is something in a mom’s brain that tricks her into believing things won’t be that way with a new baby, or those memories have been entirely wiped clean and all you think about are those pink cheeks and little grunts and coos. Enough to make your ovaries melt.
I’m quickly pulled back into reality when my toddler is having a meltdown because I filled his cup with milk instead of juice, or I’m busy trying to wrangle him and the two dogs outside, and I think to myself how on Earth could I handle one more tiny body?
The answer, I assume, is a simple one. You just make it work.
For now, I’m able to fight the baby fever that’s been nipping at my heals. I’m enjoying my son and keeping busy, and those sweet little baby thoughts come and go so quickly. So bring it on tiny babies. I’ve got willpower of steel. I think.
