I'm not sure when it happened....or how, but it did.
Was it the birthday photos I mulled over during my insomnious late night ritual, Staring into the eyes of a little girl who made me what I am today? Or maybe it was the way he bounded through obstacle after obstacle at the park in the cool autumn sun, seemingly leaving every giggle, every roll, every stumble, every tear drop of his "babyness" trailing behind him. Or maybe it was the goosebumps I felt glimpsing the private bliss of an unseen, but heartfelt friend.
I don't know when it happened, but it did...this yearning....for one more life to fill with joy, love, and happiness....one....more....baby.
I know, I know. You think I'm crazy. And for anyone that witnessed my bumbling transition into motherhood, I don't blame you. But in my defense, my first go 'round was complicated by 5 months of colic, a broken tail bone, a badly healed episiotomy, and a blustery New York winter that caged me for 4 months. I'll be the first to admit, I did not take kindly to motherhood in the beginning. But now, I think of myself as being pretty damn good at it. And I love it. I really do. I love playing with them; wrestling with them; talking with them; cuddling them; reading to them; watching them absorb like sponges every nuance, every word, every color, every sensation. It is life's finest miracle and biggest conundrum all rolled into one smudgy, giggly, nimble, little package. And my little miracles are growing up. Their tender "baby years" are slipping quickly away. And I selfishly yearn for one more chance, one more opportunity to cradle, to cuddle, to suckle, to nurture. One more chance to "become" a mommy all over again.
And incidentally, there's no WAY I'm signing that vasectomy form now!!! (hee hee)