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As I said in my original post the day my husband got his vasectomy, I knew this day would come.
On Saturday, as I mutter "kick your feet" every so often to my adorable 3-year-old during her swim lesson at the Y, I can't help but let my attention wander to the other end of the pool, where the baby class is being taught simultaneously. I can't help remembering the day my 3-year-old was one of those babies. And I can't help wishing I was still in the baby class tossing my own baby into the air.
I go to lunch and there never fails to be a Mommy, or worse, a Mommy network, each of them with their own little reminder, rudely staring me in the face with their toothless grins, that mine will never be that small and helpless again.
It's a kick to the ovaries, I tell ya.
If my husband hadn't gotten fixed, I might go all foamy at the mouth and try to have another baby one of these days. And while it seems like a good idea for that half a second I stare over at the babies blowing their little baby bubbles in the pool, I know that once that baby started growing in my body I would wonder what the hell I'd gotten us into.
I just have to keep reminding myself that infants are cute. Especially when they're somebody else's not-yet-sleeping-through-the-night-and-still-attached-to-my-boob infant.
Just sayin'.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
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2 comments:
I have those moments every now and then. But then I remind myself that I don't want to be in the infant class with any infant other than the infant I already had. Does that make sense? I'd love to have those infant days back again, but I want them with my Bean -- not some other baby.
Not to mention, I just (finally) lost all that baby weight!
So, yeah. No thanks.
i mean!
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As I said in my original post the day my husband got his vasectomy, I knew this day would come.
On Saturday, as I mutter "kick your feet" every so often to my adorable 3-year-old during her swim lesson at the Y, I can't help but let my attention wander to the other end of the pool, where the baby class is being taught simultaneously. I can't help remembering the day my 3-year-old was one of those babies. And I can't help wishing I was still in the baby class tossing my own baby into the air.
I go to lunch and there never fails to be a Mommy, or worse, a Mommy network, each of them with their own little reminder, rudely staring me in the face with their toothless grins, that mine will never be that small and helpless again.
It's a kick to the ovaries, I tell ya.
If my husband hadn't gotten fixed, I might go all foamy at the mouth and try to have another baby one of these days. And while it seems like a good idea for that half a second I stare over at the babies blowing their little baby bubbles in the pool, I know that once that baby started growing in my body I would wonder what the hell I'd gotten us into.
I just have to keep reminding myself that infants are cute. Especially when they're somebody else's not-yet-sleeping-through-the-night-and-still-attached-to-my-boob infant.
Just sayin'.
The Vasectomy Pays Off
On Saturday, as I mutter "kick your feet" every so often to my adorable 3-year-old during her swim lesson at the Y, I can't help but let my attention wander to the other end of the pool, where the baby class is being taught simultaneously. I can't help remembering the day my 3-year-old was one of those babies. And I can't help wishing I was still in the baby class tossing my own baby into the air.
I go to lunch and there never fails to be a Mommy, or worse, a Mommy network, each of them with their own little reminder, rudely staring me in the face with their toothless grins, that mine will never be that small and helpless again.
It's a kick to the ovaries, I tell ya.
If my husband hadn't gotten fixed, I might go all foamy at the mouth and try to have another baby one of these days. And while it seems like a good idea for that half a second I stare over at the babies blowing their little baby bubbles in the pool, I know that once that baby started growing in my body I would wonder what the hell I'd gotten us into.
I just have to keep reminding myself that infants are cute. Especially when they're somebody else's not-yet-sleeping-through-the-night-and-still-attached-to-my-boob infant.
Just sayin'.