There is something going on around here. Everyone seems to be getting pregnant. (And by everyone, I mean at least 2 of my friends. )
If you have read this blog at all, you know that we have two handsome and active boys running the house. Now that CJ is four and on the verge of going to full-time Kindergarten next year (should he ever potty train), I can feel a tiny urge just gnawing away at the back of the brain. I want another baby.
My husband doesn’t quite feel the same way.
It really isn’t very practical of me, I know. After all, our boys are finally at an age where we can go camping without pack-n-plays and sippy cups. We enjoy playing games together (unless you win, and then it all hits the fan and you are voted worst parent of the year). And with CJ in school next year, that means I can finally go out and get…a…job. (Insert grimace.)
That scares me more than having another baby. Let’s be honest. It’s been a while since I have had someone older than me dictate my days. As life is now, no one cares if I drive my kids to school while wearing my favorite monkey jammies with the fuzzy multi-color socks. But isn’t there a dress code for employment? I don’t know, but I get the feeling that Board members may frown upon that just-out-of-bed look.
That aside, The Hubby has declared we are too old. Yes, I’m a bit indignant at that. I, my friend, have not yet hit my 40’s. He has just eeked over onto the other side. Really, I think it’s the premature graying and the fact that someone referred to him as the boys’ grandpa at Home Depot that has him thinking he is beyond the baby years. (He insists he smelled alcohol on that woman’s breath in the checkout line. Whatever.)
In my mind, however, these aren’t reasons not to have another child. I feel a little empty without having a precious baby in my arms. Yet I have to admit, when I begin to reminisce on those days, there is this still small voice that attempts to snap me out of my stupor, or maybe it’s just my much-wiser friends. My husband would call it the voice of reason.
Voice of Reason: It was difficult to grocery shop while carrying a 15 pound lump of inertia.
But I miss those tiny little clothes. (VoR: Are you remembering laundry day when you had to fold countless stained onesies and no less than 50 burp cloths because you had a “projectile vomiter?”)
And the quiet times in the middle of the night when I would rock my sweet boy back to sleep. (VoR: Who are you kidding? Do you remember your infant son crying while you and The Hubby played possum, waiting to see which one of you would cave first and get the screamer?)
So, okay, even if I see reason and don’t persue the whole baby thing, I need something to quell these maternal proddings. The boys are getting to the point where they don’t want to snuggle with the Momma so much. How uncool! And, let’s face it, boy clothes really aren’t cute past the age of two. There are only so many trucks, stripes and animals that you can put on a shirt in the rainbow of blue, brown and green. What’s a Momma to do?
Well, the stork may not be visiting any time soon, but maybe Santa can drop me off a Webkinz or a Build-a-Bear. They may not keep me out of the work force, but they sure are cuddly, have teeny little outfits, and I can put them away before I nod off in uninterrupted sleep.
What more could a mother ask for?
