I love babies.
I love their little toes and their fat starfish hands and their sweet milky smell.
I love my little boy dearly and sometimes desperately, but I mourn the passing of his babyness. He has a full set of teeth now and is starting to talk and it so great and wonderful but, still, no more little cozy baby.
While I was out of town this week I got to see and hold and smell my college roommate’s brand new baby. He is almost 8 weeks old and is cute as a bug’s ear and happily curled up on my chest and went to sleep. Swoon.
Now that Miles is over a year old, I get asked a lot if Mr. Monkey and I are going to have another one. The honest is answer is “I don’t know”. I think I’d like another one (some days I am completely certain I would, other days not so much) but right now it isn’t a good idea for a variety of financial and personal reasons.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel holding the new baby: would I feel a surge of baby lust? Would I remember how crazy hard those first few sleep deprived months can be (Miles was a good sleeper but, man, those first few weeks are a kick in the head) and decide against it forever? I think I was a bit afraid of the baby lust kicking in.
Holding that baby and smelling his sweet fuzzy head I feel tender and soft and completely certain that I don’t want to get pregnant again yet. I want to make it through this 12 races in 12 months plan. I want to be healthy, healthier than I was when I got pregnant with Miles, and I want some time to enjoy being fit again.
So, no new monkey babies for a while.
Must resist urge to sniff babies at the grocery store.