I wrote in a recent post that I wasn’t excited to meet Miles, my 32 week old fetus, soon to be infant son, residing in my belly. Oh, come on! OF COURSE I’m super stoked to meet him! My god! You didn’t believe me when I spouted all that tripe did you? I was just being stubborn and indignant about my mother-in-law. I am SO excited to see him, hold him, smell him and tuck his little self in the crook of my arm.
I have a vivid memory from when Joel was just born. He was maybe three, maybe four weeks old and I was already folding (more like smashing into a bag pell mell) and putting away his newborn clothes (they outgrow those damn things so fast…it’s almost not worth the trouble of buying, washing, and stocking them) when I was hit with a pang. And, even though I was deep in the throes of sleepless nights, round-the-clock breastfeeding, and an obstinate and revolting toddler, not to mention that I had been fairly traumatized by his whole birth scenario and the weeks leading up to it, when I heard myself say to Greg, “We have to have another baby. This can’t be our last.” I know. I almost did a double take at myself when I said it. Something about those newborn clothes, how tiny they are, and the little new bodies that fit into them, that makes you ache for those precious, SO fleeting first few days and weeks with a newborn baby.
So, as much as I resent being treated like a baby vessel, especially by in-laws who think that MY child is a member in their elite club that I am not welcomed in, I get butterflies when I think about hearing his first cries. When I think about finally grabbing in my hands the being that has been growing in my belly for months and months, all wet and slimy and waxy and….NEW. I simply can’t wait (and what I mean by that is that I can wait. I am half terrified/dreading all of the craziness that is about to ensue. And I’m half so excited to have another newborn to snuggle and share those special, once in a lifetime first moments and days with).
I was at the thrift store the other day and I couldn’t resist buying some “new” newborn onesies for Miles, not that I AT ALL need any more newborn clothes, as my brother has had three boys and this is baby number 6 in our family over the past 6 years and the clothes are becoming so vast and plentiful they are taking over numerous basements, and I thought to myself, you’d better be small enough to fit into these, and I vowed, once again, to cut down on the simple carbs as much as possible until his birth. It would be so sad if he didn’t fit into the newborn stuff. I just might find myself declaring that I need another baby whose little body I can snap up in these sleepers. Perish the thought.